Fic: A Heavy Heart to Carry, one shot
Word count: 2,320
Warnings: sexuality, cursing, slight dom/sub, spoilers until SoS
Summary: They don’t talk about their feelings or imagine a future with each other. They’re just two men with the same dream, each of them missing pieces of themselves. AU. Jon and Theon go to war for Robb. For asoiafkinkmeme.
AN: I missed these two.
The first time is rushed, uncertain and more terrifying than any battle he has ridden into, but Jon doesn’t stop to think about what his actions mean. Theon’s mouth is soft and perfect against his. It feels better than what he’s imagined, alone in his tent with his hand fisting his cock, but it can’t happen fast enough, not when he has imagined this exact moment for so long. Jon has waited and denied himself longer than he cares to admit and on this particular day he can’t stand the thought of not kissing him, of not pressing his hips against Theon’s and hearing the whine in the older boy’s voice.
On this particular day his life is changed forever.
Robb is the one to give him the news. The King’s squire fetches him from the training yard where he’s been sparring for the better part of the day, covered in sweat and aching from the effort.
“I am not fit to be seen before His Grace,” Jon says, indicating his attire.
Olyvar Frey, that’s the squire’s name, he remembers, hesitantly replies, “His Grace instructed that you were to be brought to him immediately, that it was of great importance.”
He sees no reason to argue with Robb’s own instructions, and Jon follows as the Frey boy leads him to the rooms the King has been using. As they draw near he notices one of the Westerling girls, the oldest one, descending the stairs with a basket of used linen bandages.
Olyvar holds the door open and Jon nods to him, entering alone.
Robb is dressed in just a tunic and breeches and it appears that his bandages have just been changed, explaining the presence of the Westerling girl. He holds a letter but his hand covers the wax seal, Jon cannot make out the sigil of the sender, just the agonized expression on his brother’s face.
A hundred questions spring to his lips but he remains silent, waiting as possibilities overcome him.
“Bran has been kidnapped,” Robb says, his hand crumpling the parchment, his knuckles white. “He went riding with Jojen and Meera Reed, Lord Howland’s children. Guards were with them but a group of wildings overtook their party. Bran, Jojen, and Meera were taken.”
“Where was his wolf?” Jon asks, feeling dazed.
“It does not say,” Robb says, shaking his head.
He hands Jon the letter and he reads it three times, unable to comprehend the truth. Bran had only been awake for a short while before they’d left Winterfell, their father had still been alive, so many things hadn’t yet happened. Jon finds no peace in Ser Rodrik’s words.
Robb stands from the bed and looks around him, his expression a mixture of fury and despair.
Helplessness, Jon thinks.
“How can I call myself King when I can’t even protect my own brother?”
The question weighs on them both, with nothing but accusatory silence to meet it. Jon clenches his sword hand and meets his brother’s eyes.
“The sooner we win this war, the sooner we can go back for him.”
Robb nods and closes his eyes for one long moment. In this bedchamber they are just Jon and Robb, two brothers who fear they have lost something precious. When Robb opens his eyes the moment is broken and the King in the North is in his brother’s place.
“We depart tomorrow. Tell Olyvar to make preparations to leave the Craig.”
Jon’s tongue pushes past Theon’s lips, tasting, seeking. He pulls off the padded jerkin he wore in the training yard and removes his tunic as Theon strips to just his breeches. They kiss again and this time Jon can feel Theon’s bare skin against his own, can skim the hard planes of his chest with his hands.
They stretch out on the bed, Jon’s hips rutting against Theon’s while he tugs Theon’s lower lip between his teeth. Theon cups the front of Jon’s breeches with his hand, rubbing his cock through the fabric, making him fist the linens in his hands. Jon tugs at the laces of his breeches and pushes them past his hips, his cock weeping at the tip, aching to be touched.
He works Theon’s pants off, ignoring the hot coil of desire in his belly, both of them breathing hard as they kiss and kiss. Theon is finally naked and Jon takes both their cocks in his hand, strokes them together. Jon gets lost in the long line of Theon’s neck as he closes his eyes and sighs.
“Fuck, Snow,” Theon says, bringing his hand next to Jon’s.
It’s wrong and perverse but a part of Jon loves having this power over Theon, the older boy who lorded himself over Jon for years. He bites Theon’s shoulder, excitement spiking through him when Theon gasps at the sensation, his eyes fluttering closed.
Theon slides down Jon’s body, pushing Jon flat on his back and holding onto Jon’s hips with tight desperation. Jon’s cock is painfully hard and the first brush of Theon’s mouth on him feels searing. He wants to hold Theon in place and rock into him over and over, but Jon tries to remain still, tension mounting at the base of his spine.
“Gods, yes,” Jon says, pulling at Theon’s hair.
Theon hollows his cheeks and the heady feeling of arousal is so strong Jon can hardly stand it. No yet, he thinks, sitting up and pulling away, desperately pressing his mouth to Theon’s.
“Like this,” Theon says, rolling onto his stomach, watching Jon over his shoulder.
Jon leans forward and kisses him, reaching around to fist Theon’s cock in his hand, stroking it slowly while Theon whimpers in his mouth. He wants to tease Theon some more, wants to kiss Theon’s neck and jerk him off until he nearly comes, but Jon reaches between them and slips a finger inside of Theon instead.
Theon breathes in sharply and Jon has to wait for him to relax. Slowly, Jon slips another finger inside of him, spreading him open while he nips at Theon’s ear. Jon presses the head of his cock to Theon’s opening and gradually works his way inside, holding his breath while Theon adjusts around him. It’s tighter than anything Jon has ever felt and he is tense as a bowstring, taunt and so close to coming before they’ve even started.
Not yet. Jon eases himself inside, gradually rocks his hips until he brushes against the spot that makes Theon groan, the vibrations of his voice tingling through Jon’s chest.
“Want me to fuck you like that?” Jon whispers, thrusting harder now, his hand at the base of Theon’s cock.
Theon doesn’t speak; he rocks against him until they're both panting, so close that their hips fall out of a rhythm. Jon strokes Theon’s cock until he spends, coming all over the linens while Jon feels his world shrink to the heady rush of his peak. His whole body tenses and he forgets where he is, forgets what’s happening around him, forgets his own name.
Afterwards they lay on the bed, neither of them speaking. For a few moments Jon is at peace.
The return to Riverrun is quick, with the majority of Robb’s forces ready for activity, even if they are just traveling. Lord Westerling and his sons accompany them as captives, but Robb has them treated especially well.
“Your daughter took care of my wounds when I was injured,” Robb says. “House Stark will not forget that.”
That response seems to sit well with the Westerlings despite their status as hostages. Jon finds few opportunities to speak with Robb during the journey, there are many demands for the King’s time, but something in his brother has changed. He sees it in the way Robb frowns after war councils, the way he looks at Jon but doesn’t completely see him. News of Bran’s kidnapping has spread throughout the Northmen but they haven’t discussed it since Robb received the letter from Ser Rodrik at Winterfell.
Two days after they have been at Riverrun Jon finds out what has so occupied his brother’s thoughts. He is summoned to Robb’s solar at Riverrun, facing Robb, Lady Catelyn and Lord Edmure when he arrives.
“Your Grace,” Jon says, thrown off by the presence of Lady Catelyn and her brother. Robb inclines his head toward the empty seat beside him while a cupbearer brings them wine.
“My line of succession is in a delicate situation,” Robb begins.
Unable to help himself, Jon glances at Lady Catelyn, who has barely looked at him since he entered the room. Her expression is closed off. Resigned. Unlike his sister, Lord Edmure is watching him with interest.
“You mean Bran,” Jon replies.
“Bran may yet be returned to us, and as of now Rickon is safe, but Sansa is held by the Lannisters and we’ve had no word of Arya’s whereabouts.”
Jon knows all of this but he gets the feeling that Robb is making a point, that there is something more than worry over Bran that has brought them to this room.
“For all intents and purposes that leaves Rickon as my heir. He’s only five. It’s a dangerous circumstance for wartime. That is why I have drawn up the documents to legitimize you as Jon Stark and name you as my heir until such a time as I have a son.”
Jon feels all the air in his lungs escape and his hands go numb even though the room isn’t cold at all. He has gone to war for Robb, killed men for him, taken wounds in the name of his King, but he never expected to repaid like this.
“If that is your wish, your Grace.”
Robb nods to him. “It’s settled then. From this day forward you will be Jon Stark, the legitimate son of Lord Eddard Stark and heir to the North.”
They have a large dinner that night. Not a feast, but certainly more extravagant than what would be considered normal for the evening meal. Robb announces the change of Jon's name and all the Lords toast to him, to Robb, to the North.
He is seated next to his brother and Lady Maege Mormont, who smiles at him approvingly. Jon can tell that Lady Catelyn’s uncle Ser Brynden is not pleased by the news, but the man treats him with nothing but politeness, out of respect for Robb, Jon knows.
I will have to prove myself to each of them, he thinks. It may be Robb’s decision, but bastards are considered deceitful and untrustworthy. He has always had to work harder, to be stronger, faster, smarter, all to earn the grudging respect of others. Robb will always love him, Jon knows, but he cannot expect the same loyalty from these men.
The dinner lasts long into the evening, dissolving into pockets of drinking and bawdy songs. Eventually Jon leaves the Great Hall, officially on his way to his rooms but the desire to wander the halls of Riverrun nags at him until he finds himself outside of Theon’s bedchamber.
He hesitates, staring at the wood as if it will open due to his treacherous thoughts. Don’t be stupid, Jon thinks, rapping on the wood with his knuckles.
There is a long pause before Theon opens the door, obviously making him wait. He’s not wearing a tunic or a shirt of any kind and Theon’s sinewy arms crossed over his bare chest are enough to drive him to distraction.
“If it isn’t Prince Jon, here to grace me with his presence,” Theon says, smiling, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes.
Jon scowls, pushing past Theon into the room. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“I’m not stupid, Snow. We both know you’ve always wanted this,” Theon says, shutting the door more loudly than necessary.
Instead of firing back a cutting remark Jon looks at Theon closely, taking in the flush to his skin and the size of his pupils. His breeches are set low on his hips, a thin trail of dark hair slipping below the waistband. Jon has touched Theon’s chest and licked the skin below his navel, has sucked bruises onto Theon’s hipbones. Theon swallows and Jon takes in the line of his throat, the pout to his lips.
“So have you,” Jon says.
Clenching his jaw, Theon doesn’t flinch away. Theon stares at him until Jon feels like his skin has been branded. His breath quickening, Jon steps forward and closes the distance between them in a few short strides. They kiss until Jon is breathless, pressing his body as close to Theon’s as he can, breathing hard while Theon fists his hand in the front of Jon’s doublet and presses his forehead to Jon’s.
“What,” Jon pants. “Did you think that I’d forget about you just because Robb signed some piece of paper?”
It’s too dark for him to see Theon very clearly but he can make out the slight nod of his head. Jon wants to hit him or laugh, he isn’t sure which.
He finds Theon’s hand with his own, threading their fingers together. They don’t talk about their feelings or imagine a future with each other. They’re just two men with the same dream, each of them missing pieces of themselves. Jon squeezes Theon’s hand and hopes that he understands, that he can feel all the things that Jon doesn’t know how to put into words.
You belong, Jon wants to say, but nothing comes out. He can’t speak but Theon is pulling him to the bed anyway.
Jon rolls on his side to face Theon, knowing that normally he would lean forward and kiss him, that he would press Theon’s body beneath his and bite at his shoulder while they fucked, but tonight they just look at each other as the room grows darker and the candle gutters out. He holds Theon’s hand until they fall asleep, his body like an anchor.