Chapter 16

Robb POV

Daenerys looks startlingly out of place here. I lent her an old fur jacket of Sansa's to protect her from the recent snowfalls plaguing the North of Westeros, but the delicate silk of her dress underneath, her elegantly braided hair and her exotic Targaryen beauty look odd among the snowy fir trees lining Winterfell Avenue, setting her apart from my rosy-cheeked, rough-and-ready mother and sisters. A dragon among wolves, if I am to be poetic.

Perhaps inviting her to meet my family so soon after we met, so soon after we fought, is another terrible mistake on my part. I feel as if the real reason for what happened yesterday is that we're beginning to realise that Daenerys's intelligence, her incredible skill at understanding others, her empathy, is rising above my straightforward, honour-centred mind. I can't help but think that perhaps she should use her talents to help solve her own problems, instead of giving everything she has to ally with someone like me, who has nothing to do with her or her family. Plus, my father was one of the key players in bringing down Aerys Targaryen's firm, and I dread to think what he would say if he knew the feelings I have for Aerys's daughter. But she might similarly wonder what her brother would say if he knew about me. If she cared enough about a boy she just met to wonder such things.

Jon is already sitting on the steps leading down from the porch, his feet tapping impatiently against the splintery wood, a cigarette in his mouth. He's the only one in our family to smoke, a habit I've always assumed he picked up from his security job. The guards in the North tend to mix frequently with the Wildlings, which is the colloquial nickname we give to the culture of rowdiness and political radicalism that exists just outside the city. Jon insists the Wildlings are just like us, but have been driven from their homes by an inadequate system, or something like that. I'm still doubtful, considering all we ever seem to hear of them is news reports of violence, and protests, and battles with the law, and overuse of the phrase "threat to society".

"Robb!" Jon greets me, slightly less sombrely than the last time we spoke, in the car on the first day back of school. He gestures in Daenerys's direction: "And this is?"

"Daenerys Targaryen. She's in my Biology class. We're doing a whale anatomy project together." Daenerys nods along, her face uncovering none of my lies. Jon tenses a little at the Targaryen name, but relaxes at the mention of our "project" together. As if science classes can relieve all bad blood between families.

"Daenerys! So lovely to meet you! Robb's told me all about you!" My mother's warm voice calls from the doorway, and I suddenly become glad that I decided to lie to Jon about why Daenerys is here. Daenerys smiles appreciatively at my mother and Jon and, upon entering the kitchen, personably greets each of my assembled four siblings in turn. As she helps my mother lay the table for an early dinner, I can easily envision her coming to Winterfell Avenue regularly, and almost becoming, in a strange way, a seventh Stark sibling.

Dinner runs pretty smoothly, if you ignore my mother's perpetual silent hostility towards Jon, Rickon playing with his mashed potatoes (much to my mother's dismay and Arya's amusement) and Sansa's endless list of questions about the brand of Daenerys's silk halter-neck, and her dragon necklace, and her black pumps (which are apparently "so cute"). I suppose Sansa never has had the sister she so desperately wants, since Arya prefers play fighting with Bran than going to the mall, but I can see Daenerys's cheeks turn red as she realises that she made most of her clothes herself, or received them second-hand, or bought them cheaply at the charity shop in Pentos.

When the table's cleared and everyone gradually migrates to different corners of the house, Jon and I wash the dishes, the sink being a prime place for observing Daenerys as she entices my mother with the great enigma that is whale anatomy. Daenerys told me on the bus ride here that she used to sketch marine life in the Narrow River when she was in junior school, so luckily she can at least try to bluff her way through a biological discussion.

"Why is she really here?" Jon whispers as we scrub off Rickon's cartoon character-emblazoned bowl. For a moment, the suggestive tone in his voice reminds me of Theon Greyjoy.

"Shush!" I hiss at him, frantically looking back at my mother. "You'll find out in a bit." Jon nods, the shadow of a smirk on his face.

"So whale blubber's been used for a variety of purposes, all through the centuries, so Robb and I thought we just had to have a slide in the presentation for cultural background," Daenerys trills enthusiastically, and I smile admiringly at her acting skills, feigning a passion for a subject she knows and cares so little about. But seeing her start to become close with my mother…I can see her becoming a family friend of the Starks, which isn't really what I intended. I would love for her to come to the North often, and to be a friend to my mother and siblings, but I can imagine that erasing anything that's just between the two of us. Any part of the unique bond we're developing trying to unravel the secrets of my father's death together, and anything that might potentially become something more – and it's that something more that I know I'd really miss if Daenerys was a friend to all of us, instead of just me.

"Hey Daenerys, I got the computer set up for the presentation, in my room, just up here," I say, gesturing up the narrow stairwell that snakes its way up from one corner of the kitchen. I glance in my mother's direction. "Can Jon come up too, Mum? To help with technology and stuff."

My mother smiles and nods, but she doesn't look in Jon's direction, and there's a certain coldness in her eyes that I've only ever seen when she's thinking about him. Jon. The only Stark child in the house who doesn't share her blood.

We're halfway up the stairs, and all three of us are silent. We just share mutual glances, and however much of a soap opera cliché it may sound, the phrase behind our troubled eyes is "we need to talk". While I think none of us are sure what specifically we need to talk about, but we all do know that there's more at stake here than a simple extended family dinner.

As we reach the landing, the pixie-like face surrounded by dark brown hair that I could only recognise as Arya peers around the first door along the corridor. "Heard you guys are having a party in Robb's room. Homework my ass," she teases. I'm about to scold her for her language, but she cuts me off. "Can I come in for a while? Bran and Rickon are playing dens. I tried to tell them that if they were really trying to survive in the wild, they'd hide under a tree or something, not spend two hours making a den, but they won't listen."

"Arya, now really isn't the time. Go read your book or something," I say, and gesture for Jon and Daenerys to move along the corridor.

"But my book's boring! It's a barrage of incorrect gender stereotypes! Please let me hang out with you guys?" Arya pulls a pleading puppy-eye face. I try to refuse her again, but Daenerys steps forward.

'Let her come, Robb," Daenerys says, in calm, persuasive tones. "She can't do any harm." She sidles up to me, and whispers so Arya can't hear: "She reminds me a little of myself when I was twelve."

Arya smiles cheekily when I reluctantly gesture for her to come with us. I'm still not sure if I trust her with the sensitive sort of information we'll be discussing, but Daenerys does have a point. Although I do partly regret my decision when she's still mindlessly rambling even as we approach my bedroom.

"I wanted to go talk to Sansa, but she slammed the door in my face. She was on the phone, and I listened through the door for a while. Apparently she's going to a party on Saturday." Arya pauses, and raises her eyebrows exaggeratedly. "Hosted by a boy."

My ears perk up a little at the last part. "A boy? Do you know who?"

"Nope," Arya replies. But her slight hesitation and the overly innocent tone in her voice suggest otherwise.

"I know you too well, Arya," I smile superiorly at her. She doesn't look at all surprised. "Tell me about it later. We can add it to a long list of things we have to discuss." There's an air of finality in my voice.

I lower myself down nervously onto the edge of my bed, and I notice the surprising feel of unpredictability between the four of us. As if no one quite knows what will be different when we leave this room.