Curly Hair
A/N- Sooooo…….I'm not dead...just severely unmotivated. Turns out I'm not built for writing series with a deadline...Sorry to the person who requested that series for GOT, just take comfort in knowing that that story will continue to haunt me. I wrote this awhile ago and just sorta finished it. I edited it a little but didn’t edit it...if that makes sense. Again requests are open but if I cant write it as a short then please dont hold me too accountable. Please reblog and like but do not copy I worked hard on this. Now please enjoy this very self indulgent piece.
Warnings- none...suspense..idk
Characters- NeutralReader Stark/Snow, Rickon Stark, Jon Snow, Sansa Stark
Your horse shifted in the soft mud, jerking your weight to the left. Clunking of metal and wood drifted across the field. With the faint whistling of the wind through the trees. It felt like your lungs were filled with blood, breaths coming short and quick, the adrenaline already coursing through you. A knot had formed in your stomach, a pinching pang letting you know you were still alive.
Your eyes follow the smoke from the bodies flying up into the sky. It swirled in the most delicate patterns. Reminding you of sitting by Sansa as she embroidered. Reminding you of watching Arya learn to dance. Reminding you of learning to hold a sword in the courtyard with Robb. A hundred life times seemed to have passed since then. All of them filled with blood and screams and smoke. You missed the safe grey walls of Winterfell. The way the Great Hall smelled right before you would rush in. How the courtyard was silent as the dead in the early morning shrouded in fog. Too much time had passed since then. You didn't get the chance to watch your younger siblings grow up. Didn't get to watch Sansa turn into a beautiful gentle lady. Didn't get to watch Arya fight tooth and nail to become a swordmaster. Didn't get to watch Bran learn how to walk again. Didn't get to watch Rickon grow into a regal young man. You would have to grieve all of those lost moments. Moments you would never get to see.
Patches of white littered the grey grass, a delicate dusting of snow from the night before. All the horses shuffled restlessly underneath their men. The horses were the only thing that dared to move. The men and women like statues barely breathing, making their last prayers to whatever Gods they believed in, waiting for the battle to begin. You made eye contact with Jon next to you nodding slightly. It didn't feel like the time to speak, it was as if the air was choking any words.
Looking across the field you saw that Ramsay had appeared at the front line. He dragged forward an older boy, you squinted noticing the mop of curly hair. Kicking your horse forward a few steps, as Jon dismounted to walk further ahead.
The knot in your stomach grew, the pang shooting up to your chest, squeezing your heart as you realized who the boy was.
Rickon.
You were blinded by a glint of the sun from a dagger.
“Please don’t.” You whispered, your knuckles starting to appear like snow.
Then Rickon was running across the field. Kicking up clumps of grass and dirt. You kicked your horse into a run. Tearing up the ground behind you.
The world seemed to go silent. The clanking of armor fading into the distant. The wind falling still. Just the hammering of a heartbeat in your ears. Blood rushing to every limb causing them to shake.
“Come on. Come on. You can do it. Please.” Your words were lost in the stale air, “Please Old Gods and New Gods hear my cries. Save him. Take me. Save him. Let life flow through him. Take me. Take me. Please save him.” You prayed to any Gods that would hear you.
The land closed impossibly slow between you. Time had come to a stand still. You heard the arrow before you saw it. The sharp whistle cutting through the fog.
“Please no.” you breathed before shouting, “Move! Get down!”
Rickon heeded your warning, diving to the side. The arrow just barely missed him as he landed on the ground.
After what seemed like an eternity you reached him.
“Come on! Get up! Quickly!”
He scrambled up grasping onto your outstretched arm, swingin on to the back of the horse. Spinning back towards the tree line, you pushed into a gallop. You passed Jon who stood still on the field, glaring at Ramsay. Bringing your hands up to cup Rickon's, which were wrapped around your middle. His hair tickled your neck as he pressed his face into your shoulder, squeezing you tighter.
The knot unraveled allowing your lungs to take a deep breath. Your muscles relaxed in the saddle. For the first time in a long time you were calm. Peace washed over you like a hug from your mother. The battle faded into the back of your mind, the outcome didn't seem as important anymore. As long as Rickon was safe nothing else mattered.
Sir Davos was calling the soldiers to fight, sending them into the charge. The mounted men parted around Rickon and you as they rushed towards the Bolton army. Once the Northern army was behind you, you slowed to a trot.
Only after going into the treeline a few paces did you stop. Rickon dismounted first. And as soon as your feet were on the ground there were arms wrapped tight around your middle. You grasped into him, afraid he would slip away. Burying your face into his auburn hair you could smell the journey he had been on. Sobs started to wrack through him into your chest, which only made you grip him harder.
“It's okay. It's okay. You're safe. I'm going to protect you. Always. You're safe. You're safe.”
You stood like that for some time, just swaying back and forth gripping onto each other, as you whispered into his hair.
“I'm never going to let you go. Not ever again.”
You thought back to when you left him in Winterfell. How he had cried into your stomach when you left. You had promised him then that you would be back soon. Regret and guilt pooled in you, thinking about what would have happened if you had stayed. How would things have turned out differently for your brothers. If you had stayed at Winterfell maybe it would never have been lost to the Bolton. Maybe you could have convinced Robb to stay and he would still be alive. But you could never know for sure what would have happened if you had only just stayed in Winterfell instead of going off to King's Landing.
~~~
Walking through the gates of Winterfell felt surreal after all this time. It felt cold. Dead. The warmth from the people was gone. The ghosts of the people murdered in the courtyard still wandered. Heat blossomed in your hand, Rickon had grabbed onto it, leaning into your side.
Jon was standing in the corner talking with Sansa. He was covered in filth, while she stood clean. He wavered on his feet, she was grounded. It was a strange contrast to see between them. To see that she held the power and he didn't. Jon's eyes strayed across the yard and landed on you then Rickon. A smile followed by immeasurable relief covered his face. He rushed over with a limp.
“Rickon! Thank the Gods!”
Sansa bound after him, tears shining in her blue eyes. They each embraced him, crying with relief that their youngest brother was still alive.
