He wouldn’t know, Rana didn’t like him much. He remembered the day she arrived, cold and blustery even at the start of summer, gracefully dismounting from her snowy grey pony. He and Robb had been told by their father what would be expected of them both as sons of a Warden, that they were to be polite but not pushy, kind but not overly affectionate and to always remember that they were representing House Stark with their actions. Jon had been excited for a new guest among Winterfell’s walls after Theon’s unwelcome arrival. Things had been rather lonely after Robb had latched onto the Greyjoy like a leech. He’d chased after them both at first but after Theon’s sharp, “Why are you following us bastard?” and Robb just shrugged in response; Jon had resigned to spending most of his days with his wooden sword and straw target. It hadn’t helped that Sansa’s once friendly greetings had started to resolve into a strained greeting to her “half-brother”. He’d attempted to go tell father but just the thought of Lady Catelyn had made him leave it. Not like he cared much for an Ironborn anyway, it was Robb that was the idiot being drawn in by a fool such as Theon. That’s what father would have said. Sansa’s distance still prickled over his skin when he thought about it. But that excitement had ended as soon as he could imagine it, when he’d first seen her eyes. Icy and pale, they stripped him to the bone. Jon had flinched, cheeks red and eyes taking a sudden interest in the courtyard’s cobblestones. He swore he saw her smile. He felt more comfortable under Lady Stark’s gaze, at least Jon could make sense of her clear blue eyes, Rana’s were just plain strange. Not that Robb would have believed me, he wouldn’t hear a bad word about her. He still won’t now.
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