InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "One's mama to you."

Jon Snow (blackestsnow) wrote in valarlogs,
@ 2013-04-28 16:09:00

Entry tags:

!complete, jon snow, margaery tyrell

RP: Unwanted
Who: Margaery Tyrell, Jon Snow and NPC Catelyn Stark
When: 28 April 2013
Where: Margaery Tyrell's, then Winterfell
Rating: Low
Warnings: Swearing and emotional abuse.
Status: Complete

Slamming the Rabbit's door shut - Jon was beyond caring at that point about noise ordinances and good neighborly conduct at (checking his mobile for the time) 1:47am - he shuffled up the walkway, hastily packed rucksack slung over right shoulder, jacket and keys clutched tightly in his left fist. A bullet to the entrance. No stopping to smell the roses tonight, thanks fucking much. Since saying goodbye to Robb earlier that evening, very little had warranted appreciation.

Once on the stoop, Jon pommeled the doorbell with the heel of his free hand, its melodic chimes mockingly chipper adjacent to a sickeningly pissy mood. Impatience and an urge to kick something, anything - Catelyn Stark's pointy nose, for starters - meant Jon waited less time than it took to inhale before before pounding against the front door with his fisted jacket and keys.

Rat tat tat tat tat thunk.

No reply.

'Come on, Margaery,' he huffed, toes tapping inside his PBS Televisions. Even if the entire household were asleep, surely incessant knocking, chiming and the half dozen texts Jon had already shot off during the hour it'd taken him to collect his belongings and sluff on out the gates of Stark Manor would yield some response from within the darkened abode. And yet, for what felt like hours to the emotional heart was mere seconds to the logical mind.

Jon knocked a second time.

It did only take Margaery a few moments to get to the door. She’d been awake by the second or third text and able to make out that something had happened with Catelyn Stark and Jon was on his way over. She’d slipped on her robe and slippers and had already put a pot filled with tea in her room, just in case.

Although he didn’t expressly say in any of the texts, Margaery assumed Catelyn must have found out about Jon dating Robb. Margaery’s hatred of the woman only increased at the thought; intolerance of any kind was abhorrent in her eyes but this was an issue much closer to Margaery than others.

Opening the door, hoping Obi-Wan and Loras hadn’t been disturbed, she ushered Jon in before simply embracing him. They’d take his things into her room in a moment but right now, she decided he needed a hug.

Part of being best mates meant that often times Margaery knew Jon better than he knew himself. The opposite was true, as well.

A grumpy retort to an otherwise passable joke meant Jon's blood sugar was getting dangerously low and nothing could be funny until bellies were overfull and satiated. Warning signs Margaery was expert at deducing, just as Jon knew her headaches usually meant one of two things. An emergency caffeine drip needed to be administered stat! Or a good walk was in order if Margaery’s schooling was to blame, bent over too long at her studies yet again and in need of stretching to pacify angry joints and muscles. Easy fixes not necessarily noticeable to those stuck in the moment but perfect opportunities for either to fulfill scared best mate duties.

Tonight, as those gentle, loving arms encircled him - absolutely the last thing he thought he wanted, far too amped, far too blindingly pissed off to be constricted - Jon's fury bubbled over. Rising up from a frantic heartbeat to sting behind dry eyes, all the force of his emotions rattling a maze of sinuses, pressing for an escape route and being denied at ears, eyes and nose. Until eventually Jon could no longer hold back a deep, audible exhalation. A shaking sigh through the mouth, burdened with apology and raw discomfort.

Dropping his belongings, Jon wound his arms around Margaery and clung to her as if she were the only stable axis in his otherwise topsy turvy universe.

For half a moment back at the Manor while Catelyn stood guard, stiff arms crossed and foot practically tapping impatiently as Jon emptied his room quickly and quietly, he’d considered driving to Robb's instead. Throwing himself into his boyfriend's embrace and offloading everything. The whole sordid affair. From the unusual circumstances of his birth and early childhood through to that evening when Catelyn Stark had finally slammed the door and yanked out the rotten tooth which had been plaguing her for decades.

That story was long though. Too much to stomach when what Jon needed was immediate understanding. Someone like Margaery who already had a cup of tea waiting because she knew Jon inside and out. A person requiring no further explanation beyond a handful of grunts and the occasional word huffed out through tight vocal cords. Patient and sturdy, not another spark to add to the inferno.

Someone who'd already seen Jon cry, in case there was no avoiding the unsightly expression.

'I need a place to kip,' he admitted at last, cheek resting atop a head of soft brown locks. ‘Catelyn’s turned me out.’

It was true; Jon and Margaery did know each other better than anybody else and had always been there for the other when one needed help or simple quiet comfort. She was just grateful now that they lived in the same city. Instead of just a phone call she was able to offer her assistance in a more substantial way.

Hearing that sigh escape from Jon she knew he was finally releasing some pent up anger and emotion that he had been nurturing. When his arms encircled her and he clung, her own arms tightened around him in response, offering whatever strength he needed to take, as well as her unspoken reassurance.

Margaery needed no explanation; she would listen if he needed to talk or explain but was just as content to just be there if that was all he needed. There was no pushing, no pressure, nothing beyond acceptance and love. As it would always be when he required her support.

‘You can stay here as long as you want to, Jon,’ she told him, one of her hands stroking his hair softly. She kept her opinion of Catelyn to herself. Jon most likely knew anyway and it wouldn’t help his situation by mentioning it.

‘There’s tea in my room,’ she said, quietly and simply.

Jon nodded, disentangling himself to collect rucksack, jacket and keys, following Margaery to bed and sweet, sweet mindless sleep.

~~~

She had never cared for him.

A lean build beneath a beautiful face, shroud in black oily curls with soft eyes, dark as the night and more inviting. Tenor deeply melodic, his voice emanated from back of throat, tongue curling words in an accent and tone just as strong as Eddard’s. The more he grew, the more he resembled a Stark. Tough as spring seeds surviving ageless seasons with all the humility required to thrive in the harsh woods of winter. Even in name, he was more of the North than she would ever be married to its Lord and Warden.

Jon Snow.

A boy not of her loins yet placed in the same bassinet lined with wolf and reindeer pelts as her trueborn children. Suckling the same milk skins, playing in the same pools, training in the yard and taught by a Maester of the Citadel. A Stark son in all but name.

Even as a baby his wails had been unfamiliar.

A terribly fussy bairn cursed by colic and while he cried and sputtered, The Lady Catelyn Stark did nothing to sooth away the discomfort. Cradling her own gumming prodigies to healthy breasts by roaring hearths and leaving the foreign reject to be bounced up and down stone corridors out of earshot. Poorly pacified by a wetnurse with little attachment to the child beyond indentured duty, Catelyn kept the reminder of her husband's indiscretions as far from sight and mind as the keep of Winterfell allowed, treated him as nothing more than a pebble in her shoe. A hideous boil to be lanced and drained lest it infect the whole of her family.

Wee little Jon Snow, the Lord Bastard in the North.

Why did he have to cry so? When her own son was so precious, so good. Swaddling held no effect over the snotty nosed babe. Tighter and tighter she instructed, until septon and maester ushered the need for concern; whereas suffocating the boy would cease his cries, his death would hardly please her lord husband.

Eddard Stark. A man who lived by honor as most did by grain and water. In all except this one maner. A hateful boy whose only crime was having the misfortune to be born.

And he was everywhere. Playing games with her children, calling them brother and sister, sitting at the end of the feast table in the great hall eating the food prepared by her household scullery. Learning quickly, swinging sword against her children, infecting her heart with disgust and a lifetime of scorn.

There was a time when the Lady Stark could have accepted him as her own.

Once, when boys being boys had led to serious scraps over the cobblestones. No more than three or four and with knees and palms bloodied Jon had gone running to Catelyn. He didn’t know any better, simply modeling his behaviour after watching the other lads under duress. Swooped up in the caring arms of a gentle mother to clean away pebbles and grit, kiss the bandages and wipe tears from their cheeks.

But Catelyn had jumped, shivering distastefully to discover the child pulling at her skirts had hair of black instead of red.

'Go back outside, Jon,' she instructed sternly. 'Go wait outside and I’ll send a maester.'

She never could stand to hear him cry.

So Jon did as bid. Raw hands and knees held carefully as he padded back the way he’d come through corridors trying not to leave behind a trail of blood. To disappear outside without trace and sit by himself in the stables. Salty streaks drying upon his cheeks, untouched by a mother’s comfort.

~~~

When Jon woke suddenly in the night, his dark lashes were damp with tears. Margaery washed away every single one.