Secret Santa for Dusty15 (Jon Snow, GoT) 3/3, Completed

[VividBubbles!]

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, @Dusty15!! 

So I wanted to have this done for you by Christmas, but I ran out of time so instead I'll be posting it in parts. Right now it's about 11:50pm my time, so whoops if I'm a little late in your time zone! I should have the rest of it finished by New Year's.

Also, I just have to say that writing this has kind of been nerve-wracking because I absolutely adore your writing, and whenever I write for secret santa I always read other fics that are in the fandom I'm writing in to give me ideas. And it just so happens that somehow this forum is significantly lacking GoT and Jon Snow fics (tbh, it makes no sense it's the best show ever and he's gorgeous and constantly cold) which meant that many of the fics that I read for inspiration were written by you.  So yeah, thanks for the inspiration and I hope this lives up to your expectations!

Set a few months before Season 1 began. To anyone who hasn't watched the show (which is what I'm basing this on besides a few minor details) there's no major spoilers, but it might be a bit confusing if you have no idea who these characters are and their relationships to one another because I don't really explain much of that. Anywho, hope you enjoy!

(Left: Bran Stark, Middle: Jon Snow, Right: Robb Stark)

***

“Aren’t you hungry, Jon?”
 
“...Jon?...”
 
“Jon!”
 
Jon’s head snaps up from where it had been resting on his palm as he’d stared deeply into his bowl of stew, his dark grey eyes meeting the bright blue of his half-brother’s which were narrowed a bit in irritation. This wasn’t the first time that day that Robb had needed to call Jon’s name multiple times to get him to respond.
 
“Oh, stop brooding, you’re acting more of a girl than Sansa.” Robb huffs a laugh, sending Jon a smirk that makes the elder Stark’s eyes glint with humor.
 
“Honestly, Snow, I should think you’d be used to losing by now. No need to mope about like a little girl.”
 
Theon’s smirk is meaner than Robb’s, arrogant and spiteful. He dips his spoon into his bowl of stew, fishing out a chunk of meat which he chews openly. The sight makes Jon’s own stew seem even less appetizing.
 
“I’m not moping, Greyjoy,” Jon snaps, his eyebrows pinching together in a decidedly moping expression.
 
Theon throws his head back, letting out a loud chortle which echoes throughout the mostly empty hall. He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, bastard,” he says. “You’re not moping. Perhaps sulking is a better word then?”
 
Jon’s eyes narrow but before he can say anything Robb lets out a poorly suppressed snigger. Both Jon and Theon turn to look at him, their brows simultaneously furrowing in confusion.
 
“Apologies, lads,” Robb says, his humored smile contained behind a gloved hand. “It’s just that you two can be so alike sometimes and yet neither of you can see it. Don't you remember our last hunt, Theon? After you were acting more of a girl than Jon is now just because he brought back the largest stag.”
 
“I was not!” Theon’s tone is full of indignation, and Jon has to fight to bite back a grin.
 
“You were! Don’t you remember—”
 
“Hh’HRRUSSCHH’uhh!!... huh… uh’GgNxtCHh!”
 
The first sneeze sneaks up on him, leaving him barely enough time to turn his head into the crook of his elbow to catch it. The second gives him more warning but it's just as strong if not stronger than the first and suppressing it causes an unpleasant spike of pressure that travels through his sinuses. The strength of them catch him off guard, and he has to give his head a slight shake to clear out the cloudiness that had settled in.
 
For a moment, both Robb and Theon simply stare at him, the sneezes seemingly catching them off guard as well. Then, Theon’s expression morphs from one of surprise to disgust.
 
“What’s wrong with you, Snow?” He sneers. “Not catching cold, are you? Has the poor bastard caught a little chill?”
 
“Oh, shut it, Greyjoy,” Robb gives Theon a slight shove before turning back to Jon. “Gods’ blessings, Jon.”
 
Jon nods in thanks, giving a deep sniff to rid his nose of the congestion that had formed as a result of his sneezes. He’s grateful to Robb for changing the subject because, to be honest, Theon’s likely right. He’d felt off the day before in a way that had made everything seem like it had taken so much more energy than normal, and he’d gone to bed completely exhausted. Today he’d woken up with a pressure behind his cheeks and forehead that, as the day wore on, was slowly transforming into a dull ache, and although his throat wasn’t sore, there was a tickle that had him clearing his throat fairly regularly.
 
Tuning out the new conversation that Robb and Theon had started—apparently, they had heard rumors that the daughter of a shop owner in Wintertown had developed an interest in Theon but they weren't sure which one—Jon couldn’t help but be irritated with himself. It always felt like he was the weak one, unwanted and undeserving of the kindness that his Lord father had shown him, and whenever he was ill the feeling only got more intense.
 
“I hope it's Betsy. I'd love to bury my face in her—”
 
Jon is brought out of his thoughts and Theon is cut off by the sound of rapid footsteps outside the hall. Shouting soon follows.
 
“Give it back, Arya!” The voice belongs to Sansa, and by the sound of it she’s on the verge of tears.
 
“No!”
 
All three men roll their eyes at the familiar sounds.
 
“Always at it, those two,” Robb sighs, standing from the table. Jon and Theon follow his lead and the men make their way out of the hall in search of the two skirmishing girls.
 
“You ought to learn to control your sisters, Robb,” Theon jokes. “Women are supposed to be seen, not heard.”
 
Jon’s eyes narrow at his comment but Robb responds with a chuckle.
 
“You go ahead and tell Arya that, Theon,” he says. “I would love to see how she’d take that comment. You reckon she’d sew sheep shit into your mattress like she does when she’s angry with Sansa?”
 
Theon’s nose wrinkles in thought at the idea before transforming into another one of his usual smirks.
 
“You know what, Stark,” he responds, clapping both Robb and Jon on their shoulders, “I don’t think I will. I have better things to do than break up a fight between two squabbling girls. You two have fun though.”
 
“Coward!” Robb shouts after Theon’s retreating form.
 
***
 
It only takes them a few minutes to find the girls in the courtyard. Arya is wearing trousers that she’d stolen from Bran along with a dirtied undershirt. Her arm is outstretched over a puddle of melted snow and mud, and in her hand, she clutches a piece of fabric that flutters in the wind. The fabric is dark blue and patterned with what looks to be dozens of intricately embroidered white flowers. They’re swirling and delicate and beautiful. They must have taken Sansa days of needlework to complete.
 
The girls stand about a horse’s length apart and face one another. They’re both so caught up in their argument that they don’t notice the presence of their brother and half-brother until Robb announces himself with a shout.
 
“Girls!”
 
Both girls immediately go quiet, their heads whipping around to face their older brother, but the silence only lasts a moment.
 
“She won’t give it back, Robb, and Mother said that she’s not allowed—”
 
“She said she was going to tell Mother on me even though I didn’t—”
 
Jon’s head throbs at the cacophony, and Robb pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance before bringing a hand up to silence them. Luckily, it works.
 
“I. Don’t. Care.” Robb turns to Arya, his hand outstretched. “Give it here.”
 
“But—”
 
“Arya,” he says, voice cool and commanding, a tone he’d learned from their father. “Give it here.”
 
Arya turns her eyes on Jon in an obvious plea for help. He shakes his head and looks pointedly at Robb. He can tell that she gets the message as her face falls in disappointment.
 
“Fine,” she mumbles, finally relinquishing the fabric which Robb hands back to Sansa.
 
“Sansa, you’ll come with me—”
 
“But I didn’t do anything wrong!” The redhead interrupts, mouth pinched in displeasure.
 
Robb continues coolly. “And Arya, you’ll go with Jon.”
 
Arya nods, clearly pleased with this arrangement.
 
“C’mon.” Jon motions to her. “We’ll talk about this in the Godswood.”
 
***

[Watercolor Daydreams]

ANOTHER JON SNOW FIC????  

This was fantastic. Can't believe there's 3 installments

[Dusty15]

Um WHAT! Holy crap I'm so excited!! This is FABULOUS, @VividBubbles! and you've got the character's voices and personalities down perfectly! It's making me super nostalgic for season 1 when the Starks were all together <3 I can't believe there's more

[VividBubbles!]

Watercolor Daydreams: Yep, three parts! Glad you're enjoying it!

Dusty15: Thank you!! And I completely agree. Writing this made me really nostalgic for season 1. I kept getting stuck looking at pics from that season because I was mesmerized by how much all the characters have changed (well, at least the ones that haven't died ).

Here's Part 2!

***

Freshly fallen snow crunches underfoot as the pair of half-siblings enter the Godswood. This place is not as frequented as the courtyard and so the snow is not downtrodden and muddied here. Wind has blown the snow into banks in a seemingly random pattern, covering ditches and upraised roots along the path and making it fairly treacherous for unaccustomed visitors, of which Jon and Arya were not.
 
Arya picks a fallen tree branch as they enter, tearing the limbs off and swinging it in a way reminiscent of a swordsman showing off. For a while, the only sounds are their footsteps and the wind.
 
“She started it, you know.” It’s Arya who finally decides to break the silence.
 
Jon shakes his head, heaving a sigh which seems to have the unfortunate effect of aggravating the tickle that has taken root within his nose. He’s able to ignore it for now but just barely.
 
“You know it doesn’t matter who started it, Arya. What matters is how you react. And besides, Sansa’s your sister and you shouldn’t treat her like that.”
 
“I wish she wasn’t.” She spins her branch, bringing it down in a slashing gesture. He knows that she doesn’t mean it, but her flippancy makes Jon stop. He lays a hand on her shoulder and bends down to meet her gaze.
 
“You shouldn’t say that.” His voice isn’t terse or angry, but instead filled with sincerity and an almost sadness. “You should be grateful for the family you have, even when you’re angry at them.”
 
“I know,” Arya says, and Jon can tell by the way she huffs and glances at her feet that she doesn’t, not truly, but he also knows that this is something that he can’t teach her. It’s a lesson she has to learn on her own.
 
Jon straightens and gives her a pat on her shoulder. They continue on for a bit in relative silence, punctuated by small sniffs from Jon as the tickle in his nose flares up again. His breath hitches a few times before he’s able to knuckle his nose back under control.
 
Again, it’s Arya who breaks the silence once more. “You know, you really do sound a lot like Father. More than even Robb does sometimes.”
 
There’s an unknown emotion shining in her eyes, but Jon is too busy with his nose to even register what she’s just said. He brings his arm up to shield his face and turns away from his half-sister.
 
“Huhh… hHH’EhNGgSChTt-uhh! Uh’gNnxTtSHh’huu!"
 
“Blessings!”
 
Jon nods his thanks before returning to the crook of his arm for a final, wrenching sneeze.
 
“Hhh-HH’EhTtCHSHh’huu!!”
 
He gives a deep sniff in an attempt to clear some of the resulting congestion as well as quell what’s left over of the offending itch. He’s surprised when Arya begins to giggle.
 
“What’s so funny?” he asks, brow furrowed in confusion.
 
“Nothing!” She tries to hide her smile behind her hand. “It’s just…” she hesitates, still grinning, “your name is Snow. And you’ve caught a cold!”
 
For a second all Jon can do is stare at her until finally what she’s said has registered.
 
“I have not!” He says, cheeks coloring in embarrassment but also trying and failing to suppress a grin.
 
He gives Arya a playful shove, and she responds by whacking him none too gently on his arm.
 
“How dishonorable!” He cries in mock-offense. “I am unarmed, my Lady!”
 
She laughs and bends down to pick up another fallen branch, slightly larger than her own, and tosses it to him.
 
“Then defend yourself, good Ser!” she shouts back.
 
They mock-duel with their tree branch swords, slashing and blocking and stabbing. Jon does as many fancy maneuvers as he can remember being taught and Arya tries to copy them with varied success. He lets her get in a hit or two, and they’ve worked up a decent amount of sweat when Jon decides to end the spar with a strong, quick smack to the upper half of Arya’s branch that makes her drop it. He’s breathing harder than he should be after a sparring match with a little girl, but he pushes this out of his mind.
 
“Jooonnn,” she whines, bending down to retrieve her ‘sword’.
 
He shrugs in response, but is unable to completely repress a small smirk. “Perhaps this will teach you to not pick a fight with someone who has years more experience than you.”
 
Jon knows as soon as the words leave his mouth that this advice that Arya will not heed. He tosses his branch back into the woods. A strong gust of wind makes them both shiver and his nose run, and it reminds him that Arya’s still only in her thin undershirt and a pair of stolen trousers.
 
“Besides,” he adds as he strips off his cloak to wrap around the younger girl—she whines at him but doesn’t try to give it back which tells him that he’s made the right decision, even though he’s now trying to suppress more shivers of his own, “it’ll be getting dark soon. It’s time to head back.”
 
On their way back, Jon stays mostly silent while Arya chats idly about whatever comes to mind—her lessons with Septa Mordane, a dirty joke she’d heard from Theon, a game she’d played with Bran. As she talks Jon’s sniffs get more and more frequent, and all the rubbing at his nose has turned the edges of his nostrils a cherry hue.
 
It’s his offending appendage that makes them slow and finally stop. The tickle is on the verge of agonizing. His eyes flutter shut and he brings his fist up to scrub at the irritation but the action somehow only seems to make it worse.
 
“Ehh… hh’IhgNKTch-uhh!... huh… eh’PTtCHshh-uu!… hh… uhh’nn… HH!!... uh-HUh!... HIHH’IHh?!”
 
Jon’s mouth hangs open, breath coming in stuttering inhales and scarlet nostrils flaring as he waits for the unwilling sneeze. When Arya notices, she can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous expression on her half-brother’s face.
 
“Oh, I hate when they get stuck! Do you want me to help?” She doesn’t wait for a response, and instead reaches up and pinches the bulb of his nose hard before pulling downward.
 
Jon is so shocked that for a moment he doesn’t realize that his breath has stopped hitching. He gives a tentative sniff and finds that the tickle, while still present, has dulled considerably to a distant buzzing.
 
“You’re welcome!” Arya says with a self-satisfied smirk.
 
They exit the Godswood at the southern gate. Arya returns his cloak to him with a quick “Thank you!” before running off to change before supper. Jon supposes he should get ready as well, although truth be told he does not have much of an appetite. He doesn’t not want to attend though, as that would most likely bring the subject of his health more into question.
 
As he climbs the steps to his room in the Great Keep, he once again knuckles the septum of his nose in irritation. He knows his nostrils have to be an embarrassingly angry shade of pink by now with all the abuse they’ve suffered within the last few hours. He stops on the stairs, mouth dropping open as his inhales begin to staccato.
 
“Hh’ihh… heHH?... hhH!... ...HUHh??!-uhh…”
 
The itch teases him once again, leaving him on the precipice. He can feel his agonized nostrils twitch beneath a gloved hand, and just as he feels he might finally get relief, the tickle begins to calm and dulls once again. Jon doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or cheated, but he gives his traitorous nose one last scrub before continuing up to his room.
 
Once he reaches his chambers, he’s grateful and relieved to find that his hearth has already been lit and all he has to do is add a few logs and kindling to stoke the flame. He goes to his drawers and pulls out a much-needed handkerchief, blowing strongly into its folds in an attempt to clear out a day’s worth of congestion and irritation. That’s when it happens again.
 
“Hh’ihh…”
 
His mouth drops open as his breath begins to catch.
 
“hh’uHh!... ...h’uhh-HH?...”
 
His eyes flutter shut as he feels his nostrils shivering beneath the piece of fabric tented over them.
 
“uHH… ...hHH!!... hh’EHH?!!... -uhhnn.”
 
His inhales grow deeper, tears clouding the edge of his vision, the tickle teasing him towards the edge…
 
And then—nothing.
 
Jon lets out a small groan in displeasure, blowing his nose once again to attempt to clear out an irritation. It surprises him when the strong blow leads to a short fit of coughing. He’s relieved that the coughs sound dry and irritated, not deep or full of congestion, but is annoyed at how they grate at his throat. He wishes for a cup of hot water with honey or some warm spiced mead or wine.
 
He strips off his cloak, boots, and outer-clothes, fully intending to change into fresh, clean clothes for supper but, in a series of events that he’s unsure of how they transpired, he finds himself burrowed underneath his furs. He’s asleep within seconds.

***

[Dusty15]

Oh man, I'm meltingggggg

The bit with Arya grabbing his nose was totally hilarious (though I cringed on his behalf!). I love their relationship and I so hope they get some time together on the show again!

[VividBubbles!]

I finished the last part a bit early so I decided that I'd post it earlier than I'd originally planned. So, without further ado, here's the final installment, Part 3.

***

Knock...knockknock...KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK!
 
As Jon blinks the sleep from his eyes, he doesn’t register the knocking at his door until it becomes more insistent.
 
He stumbles out of bed, shivering as his feet hit the stone floor. He notices that the fire in his hearth is still a robust flame and vaguely registers that he shouldn’t be as cold as he is, but the continued knocking at his door pushes this thought out of his mind. He realizes that he’s still in his under-clothes as he’s pulling open his door so he’s relieved that on the other side it’s only Robb. In the redhead’s hands is a tray laden with a variety of objects, only a few of which Jon’s sleep-addled brain is able to identify at first glance.
 
“Plan on letting me in, Snow?” Robb cocks an eyebrow with his question, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.
 
“O-oh,” Jon stutters, realizing he’s been staring. His voice is deep and rasping, thick with sleep and illness. He clears his throat. “Uh, right. Sorry.”
 
He heads back into his room, and Robb bustles in after him, shutting the door after he enters to keep the heat of the fire contained which Jon is grateful for. As he sits on the edge of his bed, he brings a hand up to his nose to once again rub at the appendage which twinges with the same dull irritation as before he’d fallen asleep. He winces at the squelching sound that results and gives a tentative sniff, finding that the runny, liquid congestion that had plagued him before had not only become more ample but also thicker as he’d slept.
 
Jon watches dumbly as Robb busies himself with clearing a few candles from his bedside table to make room for the tray that he now registers as carrying a bowl filled with some sort of steaming broth, a few cups which are also steaming, a jar containing an unknown substance, and a small, wooden box. Once he’s finished, Robb turns his attention back to Jon.
 
“Arya says you’re ill,” he says matter-of-factly.
 
“I’mb f—”
 
“And by the looks,” Robb interrupts, “and sounds of you, she’s telling the truth.”
 
“Robb, hondestly, I’mb finde.” Jon’s cheeks color and Robb chuckles at the sound of his voice.
 
“I think maybe you should blow your nose, Jon,” he says cheekily.
 
Jon glowers as he stalks over to the drawer where he stores his handkerchiefs. He gets rid of as much of the congestion as he can, blowing until all his nose will produce is a loud honking sound, then makes his way back to his bed, where Robb has pulled up a chair and begun to reorganize the contents of the tray he’d been carrying. Before he can say anything, Robb has already started talking.
 
“I brought you venison broth and mulled wine,” he says, pointing each out on the tray. “Some warm water too, if you didn’t want the wine. There’s some lemon juice and honey for the water—Gage wouldn’t let me have a whole lemon so it’s just a bit—and a salve that Maester Luwin said would help clear congestion.”
 
"I also stole a few honey drops,” he adds, opening the box which contains several pieces of hardened honey and a collection of herbs. “I always like those when I’m ill. And I didn’t want to worry Maester Luwin, so I didn’t ask, but I also took a bit of the herbal mixture he used to make tea for Sansa when she had that fever last year.”
 
He reaches out, placing the back of his hand on Jon’s forehead, and Jon is so shocked by the action and overwhelmed by what Robb has been saying that he doesn’t even flinch away.
 
“Hmm,” Robb hums, then smiles sheepishly as he pulls his hand away. “I think you feel a bit warm, but I have to admit I don’t have much practice at this.”
 
He pauses and Jon is finally able to get his wits about him. He considers refusing the gesture, not wanting Robb to see him as weak or dependent as well as envious that his perfect half-brother never seems to be either. The look on Robb’s face, however, eyes alight with genuine concern, keeps him from doing so. He sighs in defeat, pulling his blankets over the lower half of his body as he leans back against the head of his bed, pillows cushioned against his lower back.
 
“You don’t have to mother me, Robb. I’m not a child.”
 
“I know,” Robb answers. “But you’re my brother and I’m concerned about you. I’d like to do what I can to help,” he pauses, moving as if to stand, “unless you’d rather I leave?”
 
“No, Robb, you’re—well I, uh.” Jon stumbles over his words as guilt blossoms in his gut. He takes a breath. “No, Robb, you can stay if you’d like. I would, um,” he clears his throat. “I would be grateful really.”
 
Robb leans back and smiles, and the knot of guilt that had settled in Jon’s stomach begins to untangle.
 
“Would you prefer the water or the wine?”
 
Jon considers the question for a moment before choosing the wine. The cup that Robb hands him is pleasantly warm, and Jon has to remind himself that he’s meant to be drinking from it, not just leeching the heat off of it. But as soon as the spicy scent of the wine hits his already aggravated nostrils, his nose alerts him that it has a different plan.
 
As his breaths begin to staccato and his eyes begin to tear and flutter shut, he is vaguely aware of the wine being removed from his grasp and instead replaced with a piece of fabric that he’s fairly certain is a handkerchief.
 
“Huhh…  hh!... ...heHH!... uhh-HH?... ...hHH!!... hh’EHH?!!... -uhhh.”
 
And once again the tickle teases him towards the very edge just to leave him unsatisfied. He’s wiping at the resulting dampness with his handkerchief when he hears Robb let out a quiet chuckle.
 
“It’s ndot funndy!” Jon whines, sending the redhead a watery glare which only makes the other man laugh harder.
 
“It really is,” he says. “You look completely ridiculous.”
 
Jon scowls.
 
“But I do think I have something that could help.” Robb picks up the jar of salve off the tray. “The last time I used this, I couldn’t stop sneezing.”
 
He twists the lid off the jar and holds it out to Jon. “Just dip your finger and rub some underneath and on your nostrils. It only takes a few minutes to start to work.”
 
He follows Robb’s instructions, dipping an index finger into the darkly colored ointment and rubbing a generous amount underneath and on the edges of his nostrils. It tingles a bit but it also cools and soothes their chapped surface. To replace the silence that sinks in as Jon waits for the salve to begin working, Robb begins to chatter absentmindedly, a habit which he and Arya seem to share.
 
It takes a few moments, but soon Jon’s congestion is loosening and leaking out onto his upper lip despite his attempts to sniff back the stream. He looks around for the handkerchief that he’d just recently been using but can’t seem to find it among the furs. He needs to ask Robb—who hasn’t yet noticed the current struggle Jon’s found himself in—to get him another, but the mess on his face makes him feel like an incompetent child. He resorts to pinching his nostrils shut to stem the flow and combing a hand through his blankets in an effort to locate the lost piece of fabric.
 
The first short, hitching inhale is a surprise that Jon doesn’t see coming, and it makes his throat tighten in panic.
 
 “R’hh-Robb?” he stutters, breath catching dangerously which captures Robb’s attention. The redhead quickly realizes the plight the other man is in and hurries to the drawer that he’d seen Jon get a handkerchief from earlier. Mercifully, they’re easily found and he doesn’t have to go digging through the drawer to find them.
 
As Robb locates the handkerchiefs, Jon’s nose continues to antagonize him. Gone is the feathery, teasing tickle of before; it’s been replaced by what he can only describe as a stabbing insistency that’s on the verge of being painful.
 
Robb can’t help being struck by how utterly miserable Jon looks as he crosses the room back to the other man’s bed. The brunette’s lips are just barely parted to allow in breaths that continue to come in desperate, uneven inhales. The tears that pool in his dark grey eyes, hazy and unfocused, and the wetness that has found its way from the man’s nose onto his upper lip both shimmer in the firelight. His cheeks are a slightly unhealthy-looking shade of rose, but they don’t hold a candle to his nostrils which are an angry, chapped hue of scarlet and shiver threateningly.
 
“hh... hehH!... hUH!!-”
 
Robb makes it just in time, sliding a handkerchief in Jon’s waiting hands just as the man’s face crumples, and he wrenches forward in a sneeze so congested and powerful that the redhead wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that it’d woken everyone in the Great Keep.
 
“HH’UPBSHHTCHH-UHH!!”
 
But it doesn’t end there. Jon’s tormented nose has been left unsatisfied for far too long and now it seems as though it’s making up for lost time.
 
“huh-GnKtTCHh! NngXTSHh-uhh!.. huh.... eh’PbSHhCH-uu!” Each sneeze sends Jon pitching forward, dark curls falling into his face.

“Hh’gnXT! NgGKTch! NgnXxT!” He attempts to stifle the next three which seem to come one after another without a breath in between. They don’t seem to do much to help ease the tickle and only result in flooding his nose with more congestion.

“Huh… uh’PBbtCHh-uu! eh’KshTCHh-uhh!... G-uhh… Gods… hhH... huh-ehPbsSCHh! IhgNTCHh-huu!”

By the end of the fit Robb is almost surprised to find that the other man’s nose is still attached to his face. He cringes in sympathy as Jon blows strongly into the folds of his handkerchief. Then comes a scratching at the door, accompanied by high-pitched whines. Jon is too preoccupied to notice the noises, but Robb stands and walks over to the door.

The white direwolf doesn’t wait for an invitation to enter once the door is open. Its red eyes scan the room for its master, and once it’s found him it saunters over to the bed, Robb trailing behind it. It’s obvious that the wolf wants to be as close to its master as possible, but the bed is too small for a man and a direwolf both so instead the wolf sits, leaning its large body against the bed and letting its head rest close to its master’s thigh.

Jon smiles at the direwolf’s actions. “Ghost,” he sighs happily, bringing a hand down to intertwine his fingers with the wolf’s soft, snowy fur. Ghost’s presence relaxes him and soon his eyes begin grow heavy. The wolf watches its master attentively until his eyes have closed, and then its own crimson eyes slip shut and it heaves a contented sigh.

Robb finds the whole thing incredibly adorable, and he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. He begins to collect the supplies he’d brought, leaving behind the honey drops and the water. He’s nearly out the door when Jon’s voice makes him pause.

“Robb?” His voice is coated in exhaustion and still tinged a bit with congestion.

“Hmm,” Robb turns, humming in answer.

“I—well,” he hesitates, barely open eyes shining with emotion that Robb doesn’t fully recognize. “Thank you for this. For caring for me.”

Robb smiles softly. “Sleep well, Jon,” he says and then slips out the door, letting it close lightly behind him.

***

I hope you enjoyed your SS gift, Dusty! And to everyone, I hope you've all had a lovely holiday season and you have a wonderful New Year's!

[Dusty15]

On 12/29/2017 at 11:25 PM, VividBubbles! said:

Robb can’t help being struck by how utterly miserable Jon looks as he crosses the room back to the other man’s bed. The brunette’s lips are just barely parted to allow in breaths that continue to come in desperate, uneven inhales. The tears that pool in his dark grey eyes, hazy and unfocused, and the wetness that has found its way from the man’s nose onto his upper lip both shimmer in the firelight. His cheeks are a slightly unhealthy-looking shade of rose, but they don’t hold a candle to his nostrils which are an angry, chapped hue of scarlet and shiver threateningly.

If you're looking for me, I've melted into a giant pile of goo and you can come scrape me up again if you'd like  

I feel SO SPOILED, @VividBubbles!!! This was spectacular and I very much enjoyed it (and can't understand why it doesn't have 10000000 comments because as you said, there's hardly anyone or any show more suited to this Forum than Jon on GoT!!). Thank you so much <3

[Sitruuna]

aaaa I have to agree on the comment about there hardly being anyone or any show more suited here than Jon&GoT

I meant to comment earlier but I didn't have time for it then but this is just
awesome
Poor Jon in chapter two after giving his coat to Arya...
and the third chapter???? pls
I love the interaction between all the siblings and I love Jon's attempt at denying his illness. 
and just
everything

[serpentspass]

I'm a bit late but I thought this was amazing so I'm commenting anyway
 

On 12/30/2017 at 5:25 AM, VividBubbles! said:

“But I do think I have something that could help.” Robb picks up the jar of salve off the tray. “The last time I used this, I couldn’t stop sneezing.”

Robb is my favourite, so this is a nice thing to think about

Anyway, I'm weak for Jon trying to convince his siblings he's not sick, so thank you for this gem of a fic!

[VividBubbles!]

On 12/31/2017 at 11:35 AM, Dusty15 said:

If you're looking for me, I've melted into a giant pile of goo and you can come scrape me up again if you'd like  

I feel SO SPOILED, @VividBubbles!!! This was spectacular and I very much enjoyed it (and can't understand why it doesn't have 10000000 comments because as you said, there's hardly anyone or any show more suited to this Forum than Jon on GoT!!). Thank you so much <3

Aaaahhhh thank you!!  After all the delicious fics you've supplied for the Forum, you definitely deserve to be spoiled, Dusty! Just glad I can help.

On 12/31/2017 at 4:17 PM, Sitruuna said:

aaaa I have to agree on the comment about there hardly being anyone or any show more suited here than Jon&GoT

I meant to comment earlier but I didn't have time for it then but this is just
awesome
Poor Jon in chapter two after giving his coat to Arya...
and the third chapter???? pls
I love the interaction between all the siblings and I love Jon's attempt at denying his illness. 
and just
everything

Right?? I mean, he's angsty, gorgeous, and almost always in a situation in which he could catch a cold.  I mean, just . Thanks so much for your comment!

8 hours ago, serpentspass said:

I'm a bit late but I thought this was amazing so I'm commenting anyway

Robb is my favourite, so this is a nice thing to think about

Anyway, I'm weak for Jon trying to convince his siblings he's not sick, so thank you for this gem of a fic!

I appreciate any and all comments, late or not, so thank you!  And I agree, Robb is a cutie, but my heart will always belong to Jon. Tbh it's just something about angsty boys with fab hair that really gets to me, man.

[Sasgewitz]

Awww! This created such satisfaction in me. Their brotherly love is just to cute. Please make more of these.