Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“We should turn back,” Gared muttered. His orange vest reflected the fading light of the sun as it dipped behind the tree line. The chill of evening set in like bony fingers raking down his spine. It was always cold in Kingsland, especially at nightfall. Gared tightened his coat around his thin frame. “I’m telling you, Will skipped Night’s Watch duty. He’s probably at home right now playing Donkey Kong.”

Waymar Royce, the new kid in a matching orange vest, scoffed. “Giving up already?” His flashlight beam danced across the trees, which were skeletal and black against the darkening sky. “You chicken?”

Gared didn’t rise to the bait. “Nope. Just not stupid."

The woods outside Kingsland weren’t the kind of place someone wandered around at night unless they wanted to become the stuff of ghost stories. There were rumors, the kind that got whispered in school hallways and around campfires—stories of pale creeps moving through the trees, of people disappearing without a trace, of eyes that glowed like frozen fire. And it all got worse after that new lab was built.

Waymar, fresh out of Philly’s suburbs, didn’t understand. “You’re not from here,” Gared said. “You don’t get it.”

Waymar smirked. “I get that you’re a pussy.”

Gared’s grip tightened on his flashlight. “I hope you remember saying that when we’re both on a milk carton.”

But Waymar kept walking, and Gared didn’t want to head back through the dark woods alone. As the tree canopy above thickened, the woods around them grew more gnarled and tangled. The earth beneath them softened, damp with layers of moss and decay, steps sinking ever more into the sodden ground. Then Gared saw it. A dark crevice in the side of the mountain shrouded in vines. Stories of Old Man Targaryen and the miners he killed raced through his imagination. Some say those miners still lurked in the cave seeking their revenge.

“We should go back.” Gared stopped in his tracks.

Waymar kept walking. “Come on. Will could be in there.”

With a gulp, Gared followed. Soon they were close enough to step through the cave entrance. The chill of darkness and the smell of mildew surrounded them. Waymar swept his flashlight beam across the jagged stone walls. “Hello! Hello!” His words echoed through the cavern. The light caught on something. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Waymar reached down, pulling a dusty backpack from the rocky floor.

Gared’s stomach sank. “Shit.” What are you doing in here, Will?

Waymar unzipped the bag and pulled out a crumpled Playboy magazine with a busty blonde on the cover, followed by a bag of weed. Waymar let out a breathy laugh. “Looks like Will was having quite the party.”

Gared ignored him. He grabbed his walkie-talkie and pressed the button. “Mormont, this is Gared. We—” Static. He pressed again. Nothing. “We should leave,” Gared said.

“Relax.” Waymar chuckled. “Those walkies never work.”

The flashlights flickered. Darkness swallowed them.

Gared’s breath hitched. He could hear Waymar’s sharp inhale. “Gared?”

“Still here.”

Then—a sound. Something heavy dragging across stone. Gared’s pulse pounded in his ears.

“Will?” Waymar called out, his voice wavering. “That you?”

Silence.

Then—a pair of glowing ice-blue eyes pierced the dark. Gared froze.

Something moved. Waymar’s flashlight snapped back to life—to reveal a figure that was tall, pale, unnatural. And then the light went out again. Waymar screamed.

#

Jon Snow sat in the beige vinyl seat of the Stark family minivan, his face pressed against the window. He blasted Nirvana’s Nevermind album on his Walkman so he didn’t have to listen to Sansa and Arya arguing in the back seat or his dad’s sappy comments about childhood memories in the dead-end town of Kingsland outside. Through Jon’s headphones, Kurt Cobain shouted, “Stay Away” in his scratchy vocals over distorted angry guitar tones—a good fit for how Jon currently felt. As the minivan passed an abandoned steel mill on the side of the road, Jon indeed wanted to stay away. He wanted his stepmom, Catelyn, to turn the minivan around and drive back north to where his family belonged, New York City. Even Robb had decided to stay, wanting to stick it out at Columbia University with his new girlfriend—despite Catelyn’s pleading. But Jon, just a few months shy of 18, had no choice. The bandage on his dad’s neck was a reminder to all in the car that he got shot recently by the Bolton mob. So Ned Stark decided to take a new, safer job as a sheriff in the small, sleepy town of Kingsland. And the rest of the family was stuck here now.

As the minivan rolled up to Kingsland Secondary, Catelyn shouted from the driver’s seat, “Walkmans off, boys! Put that Gameboy away, Arya. Sansa, enough with the lipliner. Let’s go!”

As Jon put his yellow Sony Walkman in his backpack, he glanced to his side at Bran, who was dressed like he just stepped out of The Crow. His half-brother was gothed up to the max with dyed black hair, black eyeliner, black lipstick, black clothes, and an ankh hanging off his neck. Jon swallowed, hoping Bran didn’t get an atomic wedgie his first day of school. He wasn’t sure if the hillbillies here would appreciate his brother’s artsy, dark side.

“Where’s my eyeliner?” Sansa searched around in her makeup bag. Sansa glared at Arya. “Were you looking through my things again?”

Arya slid her Yankees baseball cap on backwards. “Like I want your girly shit?”

“Language,” Catelyn said in stern tones.

Arya rolled her eyes. “Bran probably took the eyeliner, anyways.”  

Sansa leaned over the seat. “Bran! Give my eyeliner back, you dweeb!”

Bran, smiling darkly, opened the door to the van. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sis.”

“Kids, wait,” Ned Stark said from the front passenger seat.

The kids paused to look at him.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned toward them, the new golden sheriff’s star on his chest shining bright. “I know it wasn’t your choice to come here. And I know things are different here than what you’re used to. But you’ll all get used to it. Soon you’ll even love it. I promise. Just be on your best behavior, okay? Promise you’ll stay out of trouble?”

Bran nodded.

A thin, weary smile tugged at Sansa’s burgundy-painted lips.

“Whatever,” Arya muttered.

“You bet, Dad,” Jon said.

The four Stark kids filed out of the minivan. As it drove away, Arya mimicked Jon from behind, “You bet, Dad!”

“Whatever. You look like a dude,” Jon retorted. 

“I’m just dressed like you.”

“Exactly.”

They shared a laugh together.

Sansa sighed. “Today’s gonna suck.”

Jon cleared his throat. “Look. If we just stick together as we find our lockers, everything will be—” Something cold and wet hit his cheek. He brushed it off and looked at his fingertip. What the hell? It was a snowflake. In September?

“This town’s weird,” Jon said. But when he was met with silence, he saw that his siblings were no longer standing near him. They had left him behind. He groaned and made his way toward the high school’s entrance. The crowd of new faces around him was different than what he was used to in the big city. There was zero variety here. Everyone dressed almost exactly the same in flannel, along with ripped or high-waisted jeans. Like they all saw the same music video on VH1 and coordinated their look.

Inside the front hallway near the office, there was a crimson crest with the school’s golden lion mascot on it. Jon pumped a mock fist. “Go lions.” By the trophy case was a group photo of smiling students from the Class of 1994. The class size looked small. Maybe about 100 kids. In the school where Jon was from, the graduating class was over 600. But in Kingsland they had to combine the middle school and high school together in one building because the town was so small. Jon liked the larger, more anonymous feel of his school back North. With such a small class, it seemed more claustrophobic. Like he’d be bumping into the same people all the time. But this was his senior year. Just one more year and he could get out of this armpit of a town.

Jon pulled out the slip of paper in his pocket with his locker number, ‘998.’ He began the search through the sea of students and gunmetal grey lockers. He passed a poster that said, “AIDS is deadly. Don’t pass the spike!” There was a red circle with a line through it, crossing out someone holding an IV needle. Jon cringed. How bad is the heroin problem in this podunk town that they had to put up an awareness poster?

In the next hallway, there was red graffiti on the wall. “Winter is coming.” A white-haired, bearded man with a fuzzy black coat was on a ladder, scrubbing off the letters with a soapy sponge. Next to that graffiti were shiny, lime green letters in different handwriting. “Winter is a bummer.”

“This town’s a bummer,” Jon muttered.

“You got that right,” said a girl from next to him.

He turned to see a silver-haired girl eying him with a look of mischief in her violet eyes. Jon could only stare. He had never seen a girl with silver hair and violet eyes before. The girl straightened the collar of her jacket. “This town’s weirder than you can imagine.”

Before he could think of a response, she walked away.

Jon shook himself. Boy, I just stood there like an idiot. Oh well. She probably has a boyfriend anyways. And yet as he walked through the halls of Kingsland High, he felt like he was floating on air.

However, when he found his locker, the floating feeling vanished and he crashed back to Earth. A janitor was attempting to shove an overweight boy into the adjacent locker. Jon’s eyebrows went skyward. Was this for real?

Next to the janitor was a buttery-haired kid in a crimson and gold letterman jacket. He was laughing his head off. “Fat boy can’t even fit. Shove him harder, Hound.”

Before Jon knew what he was doing, the following words left his mouth, “Leave him alone.” Oh, now I can speak. Of course.

The janitor turned to face Jon. His was an ugly, bearded face, half covered with burn scars. The man didn’t look angry or crazy. Just tired.

The blonde boy grinned at Jon, oblivious to the look of shame on the face of the overweight kid, who was halfway in a locker. “You’re new,” Blonde Boy said. “So let me explain how things work around here. My dad is the mayor. My mom is the principal. And my family runs this town. So, why don’t you go mind your own business, if you know what’s good for you.”

Jon narrowed his eyes at the janitor, who was still holding the overweight boy by the scruff of his Super Mario Bros t-shirt. “Why are you shoving a kid into a locker?” Jon asked.

The janitor grunted, let go of the overweight kid, and pulled a flask out of his pocket. 

“Hey, Hound,” Blonde Boy snapped. “What are you doing? I told you to put him in there.”

“Bloody hell. I’m too sober for this shit.” The man named Hound took a swig of his flask and walked away.

“Fine.” Blonde Boy snorted. “I’ll do it myself. Get in, Sam.”

“Come on, Joffrey,” Sam said. “I’m gonna miss class. And it’s the first day of school. You have the whole rest of the year to shove me in lockers.”

“Get in, tubby,” Joffrey insisted.

A crowd was beginning to gather in the hallway. “Yeah! Get in, Tubby!” Some boy in a jean jacket and a Metallica t-shirt shouted.

Jon scanned the crowd and saw Sansa, her pale face even paler than usual. But she didn’t say a word. No one spoke up to help poor Sam. There were only shouts of encouragement for Joffrey. What was wrong with these people?

“Enough.” Jon glanced at the clock. The minute hand was three minutes away from 9 a.m. “We all need to get to class before the bell rings.” He didn’t want to start his first day with a tardy slip.

“Get lost!” Joffrey shoved Jon, who stumbled back in surprise.

Jon’s face burned hot. “Don’t touch me.”

“What are you gonna do about it, new kid?” Joffrey sneered. Then Joffrey shoved him again. Jon didn’t resist this time—he moved with it. Shifted his weight just enough to catch Joffrey’s wrist and step to the side. In one fluid motion, he twisted Joffrey’s arm outward, forcing his elbow into a painful lock.

“What the—?! Let go, you—”

Jon didn’t let go. Instead, he used Joffrey’s own momentum against him, pivoting sharply and shoving him forward. Joffrey slammed into the locker with a loud metallic crash.

Thank you, Taekwondo class! Jon stepped back as Joffrey stumbled, his face red with rage, his hand rubbing his arm. Much to Jon’s shock and embarrassment, Joffrey cried loudly. “It hurts! It hurts!”

“What is going on?!” A woman’s stern voice broke through the crowd. Jon turned to see a lady with a buttery blonde pixie cut and a crimson pantsuit running up to them, the lanyard on her neck swinging. She glared daggers at Jon. “What are you doing to my son?”

The bell buzzed above. And yet the crowd of students remained gawking.

“Ma’am,” Jon said calmly, hoping he could use logic and reason to get through this situation, “your son was attacking this boy.” He jerked his head at Sam, who was now no longer in the locker but staring at his sneakers in embarrassment.

The woman scoffed. “I’m the principal. I think I know who the problem kids are.”

“Ma’am,” Jon tried again. “Your son was shoving—or attempting to shove—Sam here into a locker.”

“Is that true, Samwell Tarly?” the woman challenged.

Sam laughed nervously, eyes still on his shoes. “Uh, no. Joffrey was just helping me open my new locker. Yeah. That’s it.”

 The woman surveyed the crowd. “And did any of you see Joffrey doing anything wrong?”

The crowd quietly whispered their ‘no ma’ams’ and dispersed in response.

“I didn’t think so.” She returned her glaring green eyes to Jon. “You two are in trouble.”

“Me too?” Sam gasped.

“Big trouble. The both of you.”

Jon’s thoughts began to spiral. It was only his first day of school in this new town, and he was already going to disappoint his father and his stepmother—who wasn’t very fond of him anyway. And apparently Joffrey’s dad was the mayor. Jon suddenly wondered if this would affect his father’s new job. Would his father no longer get to be the sheriff and be sent back to New York City, where he had apparently pissed off the wrong people? Jon felt heavy under the weight of his swirling thoughts. His first day at Kingsland High was shaping up to be a major bummer. Just like the coming winter. 

Chapter Text

Sansa hurried away from the hallway to her world history class before anyone could connect her to Jon Snow. Her skin flushed hot, no doubt burning as red as her hair. What was my idiot brother thinking? Picking a fight on the first day of school? And with the son of the principal. Of the mayor! She was embarrassed enough to melt into the floor and never come out. In her school up North, she had tried her hardest to fit in with the popular kids. But there must’ve been something about her that made them treat her like a wallflower. Maybe she was just too boring? Not edgy enough? Just fading into the background, like white paint?

She rushed into her class, sat in the first open desk she saw, and whipped her eyes up at the clock. It was five minutes past. She was late for her first class of the year thanks to Jon—freaking—Snow. But after a few gasping breaths, she realized the teacher’s desk was empty. Her racing breath started to slow. I’m okay. I got away with it.

She pulled the compact case for her foundation out of her purse and looked at herself in the mirror to see if her hair got messed up. Her intended look was inspired by Tatyana Ali from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Long hair styled with a blow-dryer and round brush. Bubble bangs. Unlike Tatyana, however, her bubble bangs got sideswept when she ran to class. She directed them back in front of her face, raking her fingers like a comb. Yet she liked her clothes. She wore a black cami over a white, slightly clingy ribbed tee. And her makeup didn’t end up running. She had a bold look with burgundy lipstick, plucked eyebrows, and creamy blue eyeshadow that brought out her deep blue eyes. It was just too bad Bran (most likely) stole her eyeliner. Without it, her eyes didn’t pop like she wanted.

“Check out the new girl,” said one of the boys in the back.

Oh no. They’re making fun of me.

“Yeah. She’s a babe.”

A babe? Her skin flushed again, though this time for a different reason. She angled her mirror to see that the guys talking about her were in crimson and gold letterman jackets. Both were square-jawed, tall, muscular, all-American types. One with scruffy dark hair looked like Tom Cruise. And the guy with blonde bangs swept over his face was a clone of Brad Pitt.

An involuntary smile lit up Sansa’s face. I’m actually getting noticed. And by hunks too. Maybe at a small town high school it was easier to stand out from the crowd. Especially if you were new.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the butterscotch-haired boy from the hallway fight stomped into the class. She remembered his name. Joffrey. Joffrey’s face was red. He trudged toward the back, where the other kids in letterman jackets were sitting. However, there wasn’t a seat for him. He jerked his head at a skinny, acne-covered boy with shiny metal braces. “Move it, Metal Mouth.”

Metal Mouth complied, scurrying sideways to another seat, fast as a fiddler crab.

When Joffrey sat down, he punched the desk, and the two hunks sat for a few seconds in awkward silence. But then Tom Cruise’s doppelganger slapped Joffrey on the shoulder. “Hey, heard about the fight.”

Joffrey’s face turned so red it was almost purple.

“—And that you kicked that new boy’s ass,” Tom Cruise’s doppelganger quickly added.

“Yeah,” said Brad Pitt’s look-alike. “You showed him what’s what.”

Joffrey’s color began to return to normal. “Yeah. That’s right. I did.”

“And check out, New Girl,” Tom Cruise’s doppelganger said.

Joffrey glanced at Sansa and smiled, making eye contact with her in the compact mirror. Realizing that he saw her staring at him, she clamped the foundation case shut. Ignoring any more of the snickering and whispers of the kids in the back, she pulled her binder out of her backpack. Sansa flipped to the world history section she made, read the information about the class in her syllabus, and then decided to get a head start on her notes on a piece of loose-leaf paper. On the top four lines, she wrote the following:

Sansa Stark

World History

Tyrion Lannister

September 6, 1994

And then she waited, making flower doodles in the margins.

At fifteen minutes past, a man with dwarfism came stumbling through the door, brown paper bag in one hand, rolled-up newspaper in the other, and stinking of liquor.

“Ah, the imp has arrived,” Joffrey said from the back. His friends chuckled.

Imp? Sansa thought. What an awful thing to say.

The man swatted his hand through the air as if batting a fly, sat behind the teacher’s desk, and took a swig of whatever bottle was inside the brown bag. And then he sat. And he drank. And he sat some more. And drank some more. The kids started talking among themselves and throwing wadded-up paper balls at each other. Sansa’s notes remained blank. She didn’t want to seem like a dork on the first day, but she also wasn’t sure if she was missing something that all the other kids knew. So she raised a begrudging hand.

“Yes, New Girl,” said the teacher.

“Um, what are we supposed to be doing?”

“Not my problem,” said the teacher.

Sansa’s eyebrows narrowed. “What is it exactly that you do?” Since he didn’t seem like he did much of anything. She bit her lip, instantly regretting her words. But Tyrion Lannister didn’t seem bothered. If anything, he looked amused by her question.

He raised his brown paper bag as if toasting her. “What do I do, young lady? I drink. And I know things.” He took another swig. “That is what I do.”

Sansa put her hand down. She didn’t want to get an F because this man didn’t feel like teaching. But she also didn’t want to push her luck and get herself labeled as the class dork for the rest of the year.

Luckily, a blonde girl in a loose purple cardigan raised her hand. “Mr. Lannister, do you know why winter is coming earlier each year? And just to Kingsland and nowhere else? They keep talking about it on the news.”

Mr. Lannister set his brown bag down and his eyes drifted to the ceiling, as if he were insulted that he was actually being made to do work. “Climate change, wights, children of the forest, plant witches, dragons, Appalachian folklore, or CIA experiments. Take your pick. I don’t care.”

 Sansa’s eyes went wide. He really must’ve been drunk to come up with a spiel like that.

“Can you teach us world history now?” said Metal Mouth. Some of the other kids groaned and threw their paper balls at him.  

Tyrion Lannister laughed. “Do you want to hear actual world history, or just the government approved fairytales in your textbooks?”

Metal Mouth put down a shaky hand, clearly not knowing how to answer such a thing.

“Very well.” Tyrion Lannister leaned forward in his seat. “I’ll make this quick. A wise man once said that the true history of the world is the history of great conversations in elegant rooms."

“Who said this?” asked another kid.

“Me. Just now,” Tyrion said. “And because most of you in this podunk town will never converse in elegant rooms, you will never be part of world history, so you don’t need to worry about it. Drink and be merry. Lesson over.” He unrolled his newspaper and proceeded to ignore the class.

 Sansa groaned and pulled her world history textbook out of her backpack. If this horrid little man wouldn’t teach them, she could at least teach herself.

“Hey,” said Joffrey.

She looked up, surprised to see him sitting on the corner of her desk.

Instinctively, she wanted to push him off. Instead, she pursed her lips, not wanting to piss off one of the popular kids.

“What’s your name?” Joffrey asked.

Her tongue grew thick in her mouth. She didn’t find this butter-haired twerp as cute as his friends. But she was also not used to popular kids paying attention to her.

Joffrey’s eyebrows raised in question when she didn’t answer.

She cleared her throat. “Um, Sansa. The name’s Sansa. Yeah. Sansa.”

Joffrey smiled wide on his boyish face, looking more like a middle schooler than a junior in high school. “Well, Sansa, me and some friends are gonna cut class and go to Kingsroad Skater Park after this. Wanna come?”

“Won’t we get in trouble?” Sansa blurted out. Then she clenched her jaw. Smooth move, Ex-Lax. Way to dork it up.

Joffrey chuckled, putting his hand over hers. Her hand stung at his touch, but she didn’t dare move it.

“I can do whatever I want,” he said. “My parents own this town. And if you’re with me, you can do whatever you want too.” He tightened his grubby little fingers around hers. She didn’t like this kid, not one bit. But he was her ticket in with the popular crowd. If she didn’t take this opportunity, it might never come back.

“Sure.” She grinned. “I’d love to come.”

“Cool,” he said. “Meet me in the hallway after class.”

After an hour of taking notes from her textbook in the noisy classroom, the bell rang. Her heart thumped against her chest. She had never skipped class before. She was excited.

“Sansa Stark.” The teacher put down his newspaper. “Can we speak for a minute?”

Am I in trouble? She worried. Was I rude to the teacher earlier?

She glanced at Joffrey, who shrugged. “I’ll be in the hallway.”

Once all the kids disappeared, Tyrion Lannister steepled his fingers and looked up at her from his desk. “Some advice, Ms. Stark?”

“Sure,” she said uncertainly.

“Don’t get involved with my nephew. He’s a repulsive little worm.”

“Is everyone in this town related?”

“More than you know,” he chuckled.

Ew. She had to ask, “Why would you say something like that about your nephew? And why do you care anyways?” Especially for a man who doesn’t like doing anything.

He absently brushed his fingers against the newspaper. “I have a tender spot in my heart for my fellow outcasts. I look out for them.”

“Well, I’m not an outcast,” Sansa snapped. “And I don’t need you to look out for me.”

“You’re a strong woman.” He smirked. “I respect that. But be careful. This town is not ready for such things. We’re a bit behind, I’m afraid.”

“The school has a woman in charge.”

“A woman who happens to be married to the mayor,” Tyrion Lannister amended. “Be wary of the Lannisters and their games. My advice? Get out of this town as soon as you can.”

Sansa tightened her grip around the straps of her backpack. “Thanks for the advice. Can I go now?”

He shook his head and took another swig of his drink. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”