Author's Note: Hello again! So I know it's been a hot minute and I haven't updated anything in a long time. Honestly my passion for GoT dwindled for a little while and I was busy with uni and other stuff, but House of the Dragon has inspired me again. I've made I won't abandon this fic by writing many chapters ahead so I don't lose inspo. Please let me know what you think, reviews spur me to write and I'm really excited to see what you think. Some of you might see resemblances to Lyarra in Rosarra, but I picture Rosarra as starting out more ambitious and cut-throat than Lyarra did, and she's a lot more headstrong and sure of herself.

So basically, Rosarra is a girl!Robb. She was raised as heir for ten years until a little brother comes along and ruins it all, which she has some pretty strong feelings about. I wrote Rosarra as a very complicated character, even as a child. I hope you like her, or at least enjoy her, in spite of some glaring flaws! Her romance with Jaime will happen about three/four chapters in.

Enjoy!

The Baseborn Son

Jon Snow

289 AL

It was almost nightfall when Jon's lord father returned from war. Sat upon his bedroom window, he had been peering out of it for hours, waiting for his lord father to return. Life in Winterfell without Ned Stark had proven torturous for his baseborn son, who at just eight years old understood well what his baseborn status meant.

It meant Catelyn Stark hated him for merely existing. It meant that Rosarra looked at him with thinly veiled distrust in her big, blackish blue eyes, as though he was already plotting to steal Winterfell from her.

I don't want it! His head would scream as she spoke to him dismissingly and guardedly once more. All he wanted was his sister to be his friend; a friend who was not a cook's son or a washerman's daughter. Sure, he enjoyed playing with them, but all Jon wanted was his sister's approval.

Yes, life in Winterfell had been very different without his father.

Jon raced down the stairs to the courtyard, a grin splitting his face in half. His father was back! All would be so much better now, and he would make sure Rosarra was kind to him.

In the courtyard, Rosarra was hugging her father, her long red hair tied back in a braid as she flung herself on top of her father. Little Sansa, all of four years old, hung back with their mother, the embodiment of ladylike propriety that Rosarra did not think herself beholden too, as she was her father's heir.

Little Arya, just two and a half years old and curious about everything, asked her father a dozen questions about the war, each one sillier than the last – 'were there dwagons?' 'did you bwing back Gweyjoy's head?' 'can I come with you next time?'

For the first time, Jon noticed the dark-haired boy behind their father. He looked sulky, and his face darkened when he heard Arya's questions.

Their father shook his head and chuckled, placing his eldest daughter on the ground and ruffling Arya's hair. "War is no place for little ladies, Arya," he told her fondly.

"Except for me, when I'm big," Rosarra declared. "I'll be leading armies just like Father."

"Oh, hush now, Rosarra. You'll be doing no such thing. If it comes to it, you'll have a fine husband to lead your armies for you," Lady Stark corrected firmly, as she always did when Rosarra spoke of the less-than ladylike future she wished for herself.

Lady Stark had yet to birth a male heir for House Stark. There had been a boy that died in the cradle, and another that had been born a month too soon. Because of the lack of male heir, Lord Stark had accepted Rosarra as his heir, and taught her the essential lessons of lordship. He included Jon in some of those lessons, though Rosarra made sure he felt unwelcome.

He wondered had Lady Stark put those thoughts in Rosarra's head, that he wanted to take the North from her. They had been as thick as thieves as children, before Rosarra discovered that baseborn children had a history of stealing their trueborn siblings' inheritances. It had stung, it still did, and since then only one of Jon's sisters considered him a friend and a brother, and that was three-year-old Arya – the baby.

Someday she would turn against him too, most likely.

"Whose that?" Rosarra asked, not unkindly, as she gestured towards the dark-haired boy Jon had noticed.

"Come, Theon," Ned urged the young boy, who did as he was bid. The boy – Theon – barely looked at Lord Stark, and seemed to have a permanent scowl fixed on his face. "This is Theon Greyjoy. He will be living with us for… quite some time. He is to be my ward. You are to all be kind to him, and treat him as you would any other friend."

"Friend?" Rosarra repeated, tilting her head to the side as she sized him up. "But you said he was a Greyjoy?"

The Greyjoy glared at her, but was intelligent enough to not attack Lord Stark's eldest daughter in her own keep.

"Yes. But the war is over now. And Theon has come to learn how to be a lord, just like you, Rosarra."

"A lord?" Theon repeated in shock. "But you're a girl."

"Who is going to be a lord someday. And a lady, too." Rosarra's face pinched in confusion as she considered it herself before she became all too perplexed by her musings and shook her head. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I'm good at lordly things. I can use a sword."

"My sister Asha fights," Theon said. "She's really good. Almost as good as me."

"Bet I'm better," Rosarra claimed cockily.

"You are not."

"Am too!" she insisted, smirking at Greyjoy before she turned to her father.

Jon glanced at his father and saw that he was looking at his daughter fondly. As cold as she was to Jon, Rosarra collected friends as easily as little Arya collected bruises. Sadly, Jon noted that his sister would make sure Theon Greyjoy – Greyjoy! – felt more welcome at Winterfell than he did.

"Rosarra, why don't you grab two wooden swords and put your claims to test on the training yard, hm?"

Rosarra grinned wickedly and grabbed Theon Greyjoy's hand, dragging him off away with her.

Jon watched them run away longingly.

After Lord Stark spoke with his wife and daughters, he spotted Jon hanging back in the darkness, just by the door. A sad smile on his face, a smile he often wore when he saw Jon alone and excluded, he approached his only son and ruffled his dark hair with his hand.

"Son," his father said fondly.

"Lord father," he greeted, a small smile on his face. "I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad to be back," his father admitted. "Were you… well-treated, while I was away?"

He was had not been beaten or starved, only ignored and derided, and so Jon Snow nodded mutely.

Lord Stark seemed pleased with that. "Good," he said, relieved. "The Greyjoy boy is only three years older than you. You should speak with him. You could make a very good friend."

"But he's Rosarra's friend now," Jon pointed out grimly.

His father's brows furrowed in confusion in that. "You can both be friends with him, surely," his father suggested, slight amusement in his tone.

He doesn't understand, Jon realised. His father never did. Why would anyone want to be friends with the bastard when they could be friends with the pretty heir? The only people wanted to be friends with Jon were the people Rosarra did not want to be friends with.

So, Jon did not respond to that, resigning himself to the fact that his father would never understand, and allowed his father to lead him back inside the keep.

290 AL

Lessons were another area of life in which Rosarra shone.

Well, as long as she was not being distracted by Theon Greyjoy.

She was Luwin's prized pupil. Of course, Jon was not his most important student, and the maester focused more on the heirs to the North and the Iron Islands, but Jon tried his best to keep up. He was cleverer than Theon, who spent every lesson trying to distract Rosarra and make her giggle.

While his sister did sometimes give in to Theon's childishness, she also took her lessons seriously. She learned quickly, and loved to learn as well. Her days were split between burying her head in a book and racing her beloved stallion around the godswood with Greyjoy. Never with Jon.

No, Rosarra never even asked him to come, unless their father made her invite him.

The Stark and Greyjoy heirs had become the best of friends in the last year. Jon never saw Rosarra without finding Theon trailing close behind. As such, the hostage son of a traitor became more integrated into the Stark family than Jon himself, who shared Lord Stark's blood!

"Maester," Rosarra interrupted the maester's reading about the Dance of the Dragons and Jon's thoughts. The maester peered up from the book at his sister. "In the North, is it true that a brother always comes before an older daughter?"

"Yes," Maester Luwin answered, nodding, and placed the book on the table. "Aegon the Dragonbane was many years younger than his sister Rhaenyra, and most lords of the Seven Kingdoms viewed him as the rightful successor, as is the case in the North. Your grandfather, Lord Rickard, had an older sister Berena, and inherited before her. We practice male-preference primogeniture in the North, as does most of the Seven Kingdoms."

Unhappy with this answer, Rosarra crossed her arms and huffs. "That's so stupid."

"And why is that, Rosarra?" Luwin asked her amusedly, indulging her.

"Because women and men both have brains, don't we? I know men are stronger. When we are older, Jon and Theon will be stronger than me, but they won't be cleverer. And men go off to wars and die all the time. Women live longer."

"You ought to speak with the maesters on this," Luwin jested. "You present a fine debate."

"They won't listen though," she said sulkily.

Luwin eyed her suspiciously. "Is this about the new babe? Rosarra – "

"No," Rosarra declared immediately, a scowl etched on her face. "It is not. Mother can't have boy children. All of them are weak. This child will be a girl, or it won't survive like the others."

"You don't wish that on the babe, do you?" Luwin asked her cautiously, watching her closely for her answer.

Rosarra's lips pinched together. Theon glanced at her suspiciously as well. And, despite the thought never popping into his mind before Luwin asked the question, Jon wondered if Rosarra truly would wish a boy child dead so he would not take her place as heir.

"No," Rosarra insisted, glancing between her maester and the two boys. She stared at the floor, knocking her ankles together and seeming oddly shy. "Of course not," she all but whispered.

Through means of spectacular irony, Jory Cassel burst through the door at that moment to summon Maester Luwin. Lady Stark had gone into labour.

The maester rushed out of the room to go to Lady Stark's aid.

Greyjoy stood up quickly. "Free at last!" he declared, but even his boisterousness could not cheer up Rosarra, who stayed sitting glumly on the chair. "Let's go riding, Rose."

"I think I'm going to go to the godswood," she announced, standing up at last.

Wrinkling his nose, Theon asked in disgust, "And do what?"

"Pray, you idiot," Rosarra told him with a short laugh. "You can come if you want."

Theon chuckled at that. "Not a chance. I'm going to the training yard."

"You do that," Rosarra said to him, and the Greyjoy boy gave a mocking bow before he ran off.

As soon as he was gone, Rosarra's face became glum again. His sister usually wore a constant smile, which was sometimes kind and innocent and sometimes wicked and teasing. But now, her smile had been replaced with a scowl, as her thoughts seemed to overcome her.

He wanted to comfort her, but did not know how to, or even if he should. Would she want that? Or did she see him as below her? Would she think that he wanted to hurt her if he tried to comfort her? Honestly, Jon did not know what went through her head, as Rosarra thought him capable of treachery and betrayal; two things he would never be capable of.

"Rosarra," he spoke unsurely. His sister turned to look at him. She looked… small. "Would you… like me to come with you? To the godswood. We could pray for your lady mother and the babe."

She scoffed disbelievingly at that. "You want to pray for my mother?"

Jon hardened at that, and stiffened defensively. "I do. And for the child, my brother or sister."

Rosarra looked surprised at that. He was glad to see the shame cross her face. Though she turned away from him for a moment, she nodded her head, "I'd like if you came, then," she told him, and they walked to the godswood together in silence.

Kneeling before the heart tree, Jon heard naught but the whistling of the tree and bristling of leaves and branches. The quiet noises were somehow loud in the godswood, as though the gods were speaking to them – or so his lord father claimed, and Jon believed everything his father said.

"I hope it's not a boy," Rosarra spoke after almost an hour of silent praying. Jon glanced over to look at her. "I pray for it, even. I love my sisters, but a brother… would take everything from me. I'd just be another girl."

I love my sisters, but a brother… Jon hated and pitied her for that.

"What's so wrong with that?"

"I thought I would get to be one of the lucky few girls who grow up and grow old in their home, who get to rule over their lands and be important. A girl who is not an heiress gets sold off like a broodmare. I'm too clever to be a broodmare."

"You wouldn't just be a broodmare," Jon told her kindly. "Maester Luwin says lords' wives do loads of important things, like accounts, organise feasts, share their husbands' duties."

"You don't get it," Rosarra said frustratedly. "Those duties are going to be mine. If Mother has a boy, he takes that all away. I don't want to be a wife. I want to stay in Winterfell and rule Father's lands, like I've been raised to do."

Jon went silent after that, and they did not speak again until Theon ran over to them, red-faced and breathless from sprinting.

"The baby – born – a boy." He took a deep breath. "Your lady mother had the baby. It's a boy. Brandon."

He turned to look at his sister, who had not even turned her head to acknowledge Greyjoy.

But it was clear from the scowl on her face that she too had heard the words.

After an hour of waiting for his sister to speak, Jon could not wait any longer, far too eager to meet his youngest brother.

Little Bran was in the nursery, surrounded by Sansa, Arya and his father. Jon walked in quietly. When his father heard him, he turned around, grinned, and urged him to come meet his little brother. Sansa frowned but greeted him politely, ever the little lady, while Arya chattered enthusiastically about her new baby brother.

"… but Father says I won't get to play with him for long, long time. Not until he's big like me. Until then, I make funny faces. I practice. Like this," Arya showed him one of her funny faces, and Jon grinned at her.

"You'll be the best big sister, Arya," Jon told her, then noticed Sansa's frown. "And you too, Sansa," Jon added hastily, but Sansa merely gave a 'hmpf'.

The newest Stark had inherited his mother's colouring, like all his trueborn siblings save Arya. Whenever Jon got a small glimpse of baby Bran's pupils, they were a beautiful, bright blue, like Sansa's and Lady Stark's. Jon felt the same as he did when Sansa and Arya were born. He would be a good big brother to Bran, as he was to Arya.

As he would be to Sansa, if she let him.

"Jon, where's your sister?" Lord Stark asked him eventually.

"We were in the godswood. She didn't want to come," Jon told him quietly.

Lord Stark frowned. "I see. Sansa, will you tell Jory to go get Rosy? He's just outside the door."

Sansa nodded chirpily and skipped outside the door to give Jory the order.

A half an hour passed, filled with play and talk about baby Bran and how Lady Stark was doing, before Jory arrived with a frowning Rosarra.

"Come over and see your baby brother, Rosy," Lord Stark told her kindly, outstretching an arm to her. Rosarra shook her head and stared at the floor, pouting. "Rosarra, you know what your mother says about pouting," their father reprimanded sternly, but softly.

"That it's unbecoming for a young lady," Rosarra recited word from word, sounding almost like Lady Stark. "I'm just a lady now, aren't I, Father? I'm no one special."

"Oh, come here," Lord Stark said, and sat down on the armchair as he gestured for Rosarra to come over to him. Jon saw Rosarra rush over to him, tears gleaming in her dark blue eyes as she climbed onto her father's lap. "I do not ever, ever," he said, accentuating the evers with tickles that made Rosarra giggle, "want to hear you calling yourself not-special, do you hear me, Rosy? You are a Stark of Winterfell. You are my daughter and cleverest little girl in the whole North."

"In the whole Seven Kingdoms," Rosarra corrected wetly.

Lord Stark barked a laugh. "Don't get cocky now, sweetling," he warned her, and Rosarra smiled a small smile. "Your future might be different now. You may not be my heir." He heard Rosarra choke on a sob at that. "But you are still my eldest daughter and still very special."

"I want to keep learning my lord's lessons," Rosarra begged him. When she saw Lord Stark's conflicted expression, her eyes became teary again and she pleaded, "Please, Father. I really like them and if I am to be married off, then I'll be the cleverest bride."

Uncertainly, Lord Stark sighed. "Alright. But your mother will want you to focus more on your needlework and dancing."

Rosarra nodded mutely.

"Now," their father said finally, "do you want to meet your little brother?"

Jon could see her reluctance, and what seemed like resentment etched on her face, but she nodded her head nonetheless and allowed their father to lead her over to the cradle.

Unlike Jon, Arya and Sansa, she did not fuss over him, or coo, or try to touch him. Jon had seen how excited she was at Sansa's birth and Arya's. She had begged to hold them, and he remembered Lady Stark commenting that she would make a fine mother someday. Jon had thought so too. Even now, Rosarra was constantly playing with and minding her little sisters, acting like a little mother to them at the age of ten.

The way she acted with baby Bran did not resemble that Rosarra at all.

"Do you want to hold him?" Lord Stark cautiously asked.

Rosarra continued to stare at the babe, eyes narrowed and gleaming with too much bitterness for a ten-year-old.

"No," she replied, and stepped away from the cradle. "We should let him sleep. Will I put the girls to bed, Father?"

If she was bothered by the stark displeasure on her father's face, Rosarra didn't show it. Lord Stark nodded and turned back around to the new babe, as Rosarra took both her sisters' hands and began to walk out of the room. Before she left, though, she turned around to Jon and gave him a smile.

"Would you come with me, Jon?"

He beamed at her and was immediately about to say yes until he realised, he should probably ask his lord father first. His father was already looking at him and gave him a small smile and a firm nod, and Jon followed his sisters eagerly.

It was all going to get better, he knew, as his sister smiled at him again.

291 AL

When Jon was ten and Rose was one-and-ten, the Umbers had come to visit Winterfell. Jon knew what the visit was about, even at ten. The Umbers were not the first house to visit Winterfell to ask for Rose's hand, but they were the first since Bran's birth. Rose was now being courted as a daughter, not an heir, so lords were now asking for her hand for their firstborn sons.

"I am like every other lady in the North," she had proclaimed dramatically to Jon and Theon as she plomped herself on her bed, arms outstretched very dramatically. "A broodmare, to be sold off to the highest bidder!"

"Well, if it's any consolation, you are the prettiest broodmare I've laid my eyes on," Theon complimented, in a tone tinted with something Jon couldn't name. He had seen men speak to their wives in such a tone occasionally, when away from all ears but the Bastard of Winterfell.

He did not like it.

Rose did not seem to notice. "A pretty broodmare is still a broodmare. The only difference is that the price is higher."

Theon snorted at that.

"You know Lord Stark won't make you marry anyone you don't want to," Jon assured her kindly.

"He said as much, but it's just the principle of the thing. A year ago I was heir to the North, now I am to dress in fine gowns and prance around prettily in the hopes that some lord will deem me worthy enough to be his bride," Rose explained with a dramatic flourish that made the boys chuckle despite the bitterness behind her words.

"Just the same as any other lady in Westeros," Theon pointed out, with a tired expression that clearly showed his boredom with Rose's woes. "Why should you be any different?"

Taken aback by that question, Rose's surprise soon turned to indignation as she scowled at her friend. She had nothing to say to that though, and merely sulked quietly.

"I, for one, am looking forward to the feast," Theon informed them with a smirk. "Lord Stark said we could have two cups of wine at this."

Jon and Rose stared at him blankly.

"I think you are the only one excited by that, Greyjoy," Jon told him dryly.

Theon scoffed. "Just because you both are babies."

Rose had thrown a pillow at him then, hard enough to knock him off the side of her bed.

A few days later, and the Umbers were only a day away. Lady Stark was fretting about the keep, ensuring everything was perfectly organised. Rose had been made to follow her around dutifully, even though Jon knew she hated it. Jon and Theon had been allowed to practice on the yard.

That was until Theon came up with a plan.

"We should get Lady Stark to let Rose come practice."

Jon snorted. "Good luck with that. If Rose's pouting and whinging has not broken her resolve, what makes you think she will listen to you?"

"She'll listen to Maester Luwin," Theon suggested cheekily. Upon seeing the confusion etched on Jon's face, Theon rolled his eyes. "I'm going to tell her the maester wants Rose."

"And when Lady Stark asks the maester what he wanted Rose for?"

Theon shrugged. "She'll likely forget. Come on."

Frowning, Jon reluctantly agreed, but would not take the fall for his friend's foolish plan. "Alright. But you are speaking to Lady Stark. I'll take no blame for this."

Theon scowled at him, "Craven," he accused, making Jon bristle.

Jon followed himself inside the keep nonetheless, to the Great Hall where Rose was shadowing Catelyn as she was dishing out orders to the servants. Jon hated how she spoke to them, as though they were dirt beneath her nose. He knew Rose didn't like it either.

Much to his surprise, he heard Lady Stark's and Rose's raising their voice at one another. Not quite shouting – Lady Stark was much too ladylike for that – but nonetheless they seemed enraged at one another. He shared a look with Theon. Instead of leaving as Jon would have liked, Theon settled himself beneath a table and pulled Jon down with him.

"Why should he sit at the back of the Hall? Is he not Father's son?"

"Not a trueborn son, Rosarra, you know that well," Catelyn Stark had seethed. Jon realised with a start that they were speaking about him. He flushed. "He will not sit at the high table along with my trueborn children. It would be an insult to our guests."

Rose scoffed. "I doubt the Umbers would care. And Jon got along with the Smalljon last time he was here! You just don't like him, you're being unfair – "

"Unfair?" Lady Stark repeated with a scoff of her. "I have allowed that boy to live in this keep, to be raised with my children. I pray to all the gods that your future husband does not someday bring home a baseborn child, lest you see how truly unfair I am being."

"I know what Father… did," he heard Rose say quietly. "I know how babies are born. I understand why you would be angry mother. But why would you be angry with Jon? He has done nothing wrong. It was Father who – "

He heard a slap. Theon jumped at the sound, whacking his head off the table. Luckily, Lady Stark did not take note of them.

There was silence for a few moments. Until he heard Lady Stark speak, "Rosarra…" she said in horror, horrified at herself for what she had done. Lady Stark had never struck any of her children, nor had she ever struck Jon, even.

"You are cruel," they heard Rosarra spit at her mother before running out of the hall.

Jon and Theon stood up quickly to follow her, forgetting about Lady Stark. She looked disgusted with herself, face buried in her hands and seeming close to tears. When she heard them moving, she lowered her hands and looked upon them. Her eyes set on Jon and narrowed, gleaming with unshed tears.

"You," she all but growled. "Get out."

He scowled at her, but as always, he did nothing. He followed Theon out of the Great Hall. They looked for Rose and found her climbing the stairs that led to their bedchambers – well, the Stark children's and Theon's chambers.

"Rose," Theon called for her.

When she turned around, Jon got a look at the large, bright mark on her cheek. There were unshed tears in her eyes. Rose bit her lip to keep from shedding them, but when she saw Jon, she started to sob.

"My mother – " she sobbed, trying to explain, but she only cried harder.

"I know," Theon said, lowering himself to sit next to her on the step. "We heard."

"You shouldn't have," Jon told her, as touched as he was by her efforts. "Not on my account."

"You are my brother," Rose declared, wiping her eyes, though she still sobbed. "I – I could not let her s- say such things. You do not d- deserve it," she hiccupped, making speech very difficult.

Jon beamed at her. It was all he ever wanted, for his family to see his worth as more than just their bastard brother or son. He would do anything for Rose. And for the first time, he realised she would do anything for him.

294 AL

The next four years of his life were spent happily in a trio – the bastard, the hostage and the lady. Theon once remarked that they sounded like a song. When Rose had asked him coyly what the song would be about, Theon claimed the song would describe all the ways the bastard and hostage, as the dishonourable as they were, debauched their good, innocent lady.

Jon had shifted uncomfortably, focusing on the daisies he was pulling from the ground and not at the fourteen-year-old and sixteen-year-old in front of him.

"And what if the good, innocent lady was just as dishonourable those men?" she had asked Theon cautiously.

"Ned Stark's daughter? Never," Theon declared.

"Then Jon is uncapable of any kind of debauchery either," Rose pointed out, smiling smugly. "But Theon Greyjoy on the other hand… the ironborn, the most decrepit of us all."

Only Rose could get away with that, Jon knew. He didn't like the way the hostage looked at her. He had seen lust in Theon's eyes, more often than he liked, when the Greyjoy hostage laid eyes on a pretty girl or a buxom woman. The gleam in Theon's eyes was so similar to that, and yet it lacked any lecherousness.

Mayhaps lust would be preferable, Jon mused grimly, a boy can ignore lust. But whatever lurked behind Greyjoy's eyes was not something that could be ignored.

Greyjoy realised he was staring and covered his faltering with a cough and an easy grin sent Jon's way. "Do you see how she insults me so, Jon?"

"All deserved," Jon replied teasingly, a small smile on his lips.

His ironborn friend shook his head in disagreement and turned back to Rose, who smiled innocently at him. "I will get you for this, Stark."

Rose clambered to her feet dramatically, navigating the layers of her dress awkwardly and laughing to herself. "No, I shall never be your salt wife, Greyjoy!" she declared as she ran away from him, giggling and tripping over her skirts as Greyjoy tore after her.

They ended up rolling on the ground. Jon wanted to leave, but their father had made him promise to never leave them alone, and they weren't being improper, really. Just messing. Theon may see Rose like that, but his sister didn't see Theon like that. Rose couldn't see anyone like that.

"You know you wouldn't be my salt wife," Jon heard Theon say quietly.

"No?" Rose replied, sounding almost wounded.

"You'd never be anything but a rock wife to me," he said, and Rose said nothing to that.

Since Jon was three-and-ten and his sister just a year older, Theon had been bringing them to Winter Town. It had been Rose who had begged him to bring her, and Theon never could deny her anything. Late-night hunts or horse-rides, dancing in the godswood even though Theon hated dancing, a game of Conqueror or some other boring strategy card- or board-game Rose was currently infatuated with…

Jon did not think Theon had ever told her no.

She once dared him to steal mead from the kitchens so they could drink it in their rooms and play games. And, as terrified as Theon was of Lord Stark, he had still done as Rosarra bid. When Jon told Rose how terrified he was, Rosarra had almost cried while apologising to Greyjoy, who said that he would forgive her for a favour.

A kiss.

Though he had looked away, and the kiss was short, Jon knew then that nothing was ever going to be the same. Their trio had fractured, and it was, from then on, just Theon and Rose… and Jon, the tagalong. Jon had started to spend more time with Bran and Arya, who welcomed his company eagerly.

Arya was only seven and Bran only four, but Jon found that he enjoyed spending time with them more than he thought he would. He had never sought them out before. For some reason, despite nobody saying as much to him, he assumed he was not allowed to be around the younger trueborn children without Rose there.

Rose never spent much time with Bran, though. When he thought about it, Jon couldn't remember Rose ever seeking him out, not like she did Arya or Sansa. She would bring Arya horse-riding without their mother's permission, placing their littlest sister in front of her as she rode through the Stark's lands. She told her sisters stories and played games with them. She helped Sansa with her needlework, though Jon believed Sansa's was far better than Rose's now, and played the high harp with her whenever she wished.

(But never did she spend time with Bran. Not once.)

Jon would follow along, but never went to spend time with them on their own.

That was silly, he realised, and now he spent at least an hour everyday with his younger siblings, riding with Arya or playing games with them. Lady Stark stopped to glare at him occasionally, but she was not going to tear her children away from him, not when they adored him so. Jon hoped his lord father would admonish her for that, at least, if he cared not that she ignored and disregarded him every day, treating him like dirt on her shoe.

"Jon," Bran's little voice spoke and broke the silence that had befallen them as they drew pictures together.

"Yes?" Jon answered, doing his best to draw a dragon, and a man on top of it that looked suspiciously like him, though Jon would never admit to it.

"Why does my mother treat you like… like…" Bran did not have the word for it, and eventually changed his question, "Not like us?"

Jon sighed, having expected this question for a long while, as he had with Arya. And yet, he still did not have a good answer for it. "Because Lady Stark, your mother, is not my mother."

"But my father is your father?" Bran asked, head tilted in confusion.

"Yes, he is," Jon affirmed with a nod. "You'll understand more when you're older, Bran, I promise. But I'm still your brother."

"You're the best brother," Bran declared with a smile that almost made Jon melt. The smile dropped from little Bran's face just as quickly as Jon's smile came upon his. "I don't think Rosarra is my sister."

Jon couldn't help the snort that shot out of his nose at that. Bran gave him a cross, admonishing look.

"Don't laugh at me," he chastised firmly.

"I'm sorry," Jon said, unable to hide his smile. "Of course she's your sister, Bran. She's your full-blooded sister. She has the same mother and father as you."

"But she's not like Arya and Sansa," he pointed out.

Jon didn't know what to say to that. How could he explain to Bran the reasons why Rose didn't spend time with him, when Jon didn't fully understand them himself? So, he kept quiet, and Bran continued to speak sadly.

"I don't know why. Because she's a sister to Sansa and Arya. I see her climbing, just like me. The tree in the godswood, that really big one Mother won't let me near!" Bran told him excitedly, as though Rose was some great hero from a song. "I think we could be really good friends."

"I think so too," Jon agreed, and patted Bran's shoulder sympathetically. "It's not your fault, though, you know that? For years when we were younger, Rosarra wasn't very friendly to me. And that wasn't my fault. I know that now. Sometimes, people behave strangely, and there's nothing we can do about it."

Bran pouted. "But I want her to my friend!"

"You have lots of friends," Jon reminded him. "Arya and Sansa, all the other children in Winterfell, me – am I not your best brother?" He grinned at Bran, who grinned back at him shyly. "Don't worry about Rosarra. She's not all that great. Sometimes, she smells really bad. Like a horse," Jon whispered, scrunching his nose for effect.

It worked, and Bran giggled, now in much better form.

"Really? Like a horse?"

Jon nodded, and Bran burst into a fit of giggles once more.

Author's Note: Please let me know what you think. Do you like Rosarra? What do you think of her relationship with Jon?