Did you hear that Ned? Theon's eating our son. Someone has to go save him.

The words rang through the lord of Winterfell's head as he strode with reluctant purpose down the dark halls of his castle. Ned thought that nothing could ever make him dislike his wife. It was hard for him to even argue with her on his best days. Hell, Catelyn could have made a cuckold of him and he would have called it justified; he might have thanked her, even, for finally giving him his comeuppance. He loved her that much.

This, though. Sending him to confront their eldest child about his month-long affair with the Greyjoy captive-slash-ward (the line there had blurred considerably) while they were likely still in the act. This would be hard for him to let slide.

(...)

None of that seemed to matter right now, though. Maybe it was that he was here, briskly pacing down dark hallways instead of with his wife comforting his sobbing four-year-old son, or maybe it was the prospect of purposefully intruding on his eldest son's lovemaking session. Either way, Ned felt like a bad father and a scummy person for the latter bit.

He should have planned for this or built up the willpower to confront his son sooner so he didn't have to plan for this.

But, alas, he did not, and now he was reaping the consequences as he quickly approached the door left ajar (Ned could only hope that was Rickon's doing). Deep inside, he had prayed that the two would be finished by the time he got to the room, just so that he wouldn't be... interrupting anything, but it was a vain hope at best; as he had gathered from Jon's despairing rants, the two could go at it for unnervingly long periods.

As he had feared, the telltale noises of lovemaking made themselves heard not a half turn up the stairway from the bedroom: a throaty groan, hitched gasps, the rhythmic creaking of a bed frame, and the gentle smack of skin against skin. They clearly thought they were being quiet, with poor muffling attempts evident in the noise, but it was louder to Ned than any storm could be. How on earth do they think no one knows about this? Ned pondered, truly baffled by his son's blissful unawareness. It didn't even seem like they knew the door was open. He hadn't been planning on punishing his son for this tryst, but a lesson in privacy and double-checking locks was probably in order if nothing else.

Now upon the doorway, Ned realized he hadn't come into this with the slightest plan for what to do next. I should probably knock, he decided. But do I wait until they're done? Embarrassing his son was the last thing he wanted, and definitely the last thing Robb needed, but that meant he would have to wait outside the door and listen. Bad and wrong. Not what good fathers do. He really didn't want to have to look into the room, though.

The choice was soon made for him, though, for a wayward glance towards the cracked door gave Ned a far clearer view of his son and ward than he would have cared for. He only saw for a second, but it was enough.

Suddenly Ned was glad Rickon only noticed the "eating". There were marks of that, too, all over both lovers but mainly condensed to Robb's collar and chest, challenging his freckles for space.

Robb was lying with his back on the bed, one leg thrown over Theon's hips, the other pushed to his chest by a pale hand. The hand that wasn't occupied with failing to muffle his now incessant moans was clasped tightly with Theon's as the ironborn rocked against him, into him.

"A-ah! Theo-!" Robb's cry was quickly (thankfully) cut off, but Ned had looked away so fast he couldn't be bothered to know why. It didn't stop Theon from moaning in turn.

"Fuck, oh- mmh! I'm-"

"Me too." Only a whisper now. Enough was enough and waiting was officially out of the question.

It's now or never, Eddard. Stealing himself for whatever came next, Ned rapped loudly on the door frame and cleared his throat. He heard one of the boys suck in a startled breath through his teeth while the other yelped in surprise, and then a silence fell, so thick it was nearly tangible.

He cleared his throat again.

"Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy, I am giving you exactly thirty seconds to make yourselves decent before I enter this room." He hoped his voice didn't betray his hesitations.

"Thirty." There was a moment's stunned pause, then a scramble from the bed and half-whispered arguments. ("Did you leave the fucking door open!?" "Of course not, did you?")

"Twenty seconds." The sound of clothing being shaken out, various profanities spilled as they were hastily thrown on.

"Ten seconds." More swearing and panicked rambling, frantic now ("Pants, pants! Where!?")

A deep breath and Ned reached for the door. "Zero. I'm coming in now."

A slight push and the door opened to reveal the two, flustered, half-dressed, and looking anywhere except for at Ned or each other. He tried his best to stifle a laugh at the sight of them. To both of their credit, they had managed to cover all of the important bits, even though it looked like Theon had somehow put his breeches on backward and Robb still only had one arm in his nightshirt. Their faces were as red as they could be, mussed hair and heavy breathing all pointing towards their previous engagement. Robb wore an expression that screamed "kill me now", and even Theon had the decency to look embarrassed for once.

". . ."

The silence that permeated the room was a fragile thing that neither party seemed willing to break first. As seemed to be the theme tonight, Ned was at a loss for what to do next. He stood impassive in the doorway, arms crossed and looking between the two boys before him, and quirked an eyebrow in hopes beyond hope that one of them took the hint and began explaining themselves before he had to initiate the conversation. They just fidgeted and avoided his gaze.

The longer the silence dragged on the more dismal the two became, until Theon had a look in his eyes like he couldn't decide whether to be sick, terrified, or both and Robb was clenching back tears.

Shit. With an inward groan and a look of reluctance, Ned gave in. Not how I wanted this to go.

"Well, I'm not about to lob off your heads," he began, hoping he could at least defuse the palpable tension. "If sleeping around were treason, few men would make it past their twentieth name day."

It didn't seem to help all that much.

Ned gave a tired sigh and dragged over a chair, motioning for the other two to sit on the bed. They did so with haste. He sat, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees, and looked between his son and his ward once more.

"I'm not upset with you. And you shouldn't be upset with yourselves, either. This kind of thing is only natural if a bit awkward to deal with." This earned a visible release of tension from his son and a grateful sigh from Theon. Were they that afraid of me? Ned thought with a sudden lurch of guilt.

"Now, I don't know how else to say this, and it's far too late an hour for this conversation, so I'll just be blunt." He gave each boy a meaningful glance "Both of you are truly terrible at keeping secrets."

Neither had been expecting that, it seemed, if the confused look they passed between each other was anything to go by.

"Terrible?" Theon blurted out. Any trace of the fear or caution from a moment ago was forgotten that quickly at the slight to his capabilities. "We lasted a-month-and-a-damn-half without you knowing." He sat back a bit and crossed his arms, looking far too pleased with himself, and Ned was all too happy to tear down that facade.

"Theon," he began. "Sansa caught you two in your room not a week ago when you left the door open. Bran saw you kissing at the archery posts the day after that, and Arya has heavily implied that she threw rocks at you in the Godswood without you noticing." Theon just humphed in defeat, but Robb's eyes had gone as wide as saucers, his jaw slackened so much it threatened to fall off. His face was so red at this point Ned could have mistaken him for a strawberry.

"You KNEW?!" he all but squeaked and received a nod in response.

"I'm sorry, son, but those love-bites never looked like training wounds."

"And... and... we aren't- I mean, you aren't going to-"

"You've done nothing wrong." He had to amend that. "Well, maybe you've traumatized your brothers a bit. But Sansa seems to find this whole thing quite romantic. What did she call it again? Forbidden love?" He was teasing at this point, and Robb had his head buried in his hands, groaning in mortification. Better than tears, I suppose, thought Ned, satisfaction pulling a grin to his face. "So no, no damage. Although I do expect an apology to Rickon come morning."

"Rickon?!"

"Mm," he hummed in confirmation. "Jon, too. Poor lad hasn't had a full night's sleep for... you said it's been a month?"

"And a half," Theon clarified.

"You're not helping," came Robb's hand-muffled voice. Ned supposed he was right, though. Robb could be teased in the morning, after all (and judging by the faint laughter from behind the adjacent wall, they would be well-teased), and Ned, with a yawn, quickly grew aware of just how late in the night it was.

He stood up and moved the chair back to its proper place, then looked back to the two on the bed.

"We'll have a more serious talk on the morrow, boys. When all of us have had some time to think about what to say. I expect to see you, Robb, at breakfast bright and early. And Theon... fix your pants before you go to bed, yeah?" The latter reddened at that. Ned stifled another chuckle as he left, in far better spirits than he ever could have hoped for the situation.

Just as always, Ned decided he would thank Catelyn for it.