Chapter Text
Every small town is the same. The welcome wagon can swear up and down they’re not like the others, that they’re a tight-knit community and everyone’s so nice, but it’s all lies. Everyone’s got their enemies and everyone’s got their friends and you don’t know who’s aligned with who until it’s too late. And sometimes those loyalties change.
For reference, this town in question didn’t get a stoplight until a few years ago. In fact, it was the main hinge on Robert Baratheon’s mayoral re-election campaign. However, the people didn’t give a shit who was mayor, they just wanted the local carryout to sell alcohol. Much to the dismay of Pastor Stannis, brother to the would-be mayor, Robert’s team quietly started spreading the word that a vote for Robert was a vote for beer. People quite literally celebrated in the streets when the town brokered the deal but mourned the fact of no alcohol sales on Sunday.
While the town was big enough for a zip code and post office, empty storefronts were a common sight. The Martell’s Mexican restaurant and Tyrell salon were all they had left unless you counted the VFW. And if you were wondering what religious options were on the small town menu, you could choose from the Kingsland United Methodist, the First Baptist Church, or the Church of the Nazarene. If neither of those suited your fancy, find the one with the shortest service and go every Sunday unless you want your neighbors questioning your morals; Bible study is optional but recommended.
Only one thing meant more to the residents of Kingsland than religion or the availability of alcohol… Friday Night Football. And no game mattered more than the annual homecoming game.
Nearly everybody important gathered in the rundown gravel parking lot behind Miss Tyrell’s beauty parlor, helping to arrange the floats and people standing around. Important people like Mayor Baratheon and the head football Coach Jaime Lannister, all the way down to the freshman members of the student council. An impressive number of people to walk a couple of blocks to the field which was usually how the homecoming parade went.
Every truck and trailer in the town crowded the space, the rusty flatbeds decorated sparsely but not without care and effort. And those who failed to arrange for one marched behind homemade signs covered in glitter and dollar store paint. And the marching band, in their black and red uniforms, milled around and filled the quickly chilling air with the sounds of their tuning.
A gorgeous scene capturing the heart of rural America under the saturated hues of autumn leaves and a generous sun. Rockefeller himself couldn't have painted a better, more telling picture of the Midwestern spirit.
Gathered around the yellow bus that brought all the boys from the school, stood Robb Stark and his cousin, Jon Snow. The Stark boy nervously pulled at his worn gloves, trying in his best effort to forget about the rival team waiting for them at the field. The Riverrun Sharks always had a fierce team and presented the biggest challenge to the Knights, they crushed Kingsland for as long as Robb could remember, but the last in a long line of legacy players graduated last year. If he could keep his head on straight, they had a chance of winning the game.
Wishful thinking on his part. Robb's nervousness only multiplied when he caught sight of Margaery Tyrell stepping out of her sporty red car to join the other girls on the homecoming court float. She forfeited her usual cheer uniform to wear a blouse and pencil skirt like the rest of the girls but she still looked striking. Something he found harder and harder to ignore.
While everyone looked at Margaery, Robb's eyes were the only ones that lingered. The other people gathered in the lot quickly averted their eyes in dismissal of her outfit for various reasons; the neckline of her blouse hung too low, her hair and heels were too high, her skirt too short even though she wore a nice pair of sheer black tights under it. This was to be expected from the two-time Kingsland Snowflake Queen, but people still thought it distasteful.
Robb's forlorn look didn’t go missed by Jon, who knew of his cousin’s secret crush. If he kept looking at her like that, others were sure to notice. Specifically Joffrey Baratheon, who already tormented the Stark clan by dating the eldest girl, Sansa. The son of the mayor and Cersei Lannister, whose father owned a successful distillery and half the town, saw it as payback for Robb being selected as quarterback. A position the Baratheon boy thought he deserved despite not showing much leadership in the team.
When he threw a fit about it to Cersei, she confronted her brother. Poor Jaime had to deal with scathing looks and remarks for months afterward but he stood by his decision. Robb worked hard, dedicated time to the sport and encouraged the new members of the team. Alongside the stern and somewhat unethical guidance of Coach Lannister, the team was undefeated that season. The perfect accomplishment to round out Robb's senior year.
But some people would do anything to sabotage the shining future of one because of supposed unfair treatment.
“You keep staring at her like that, everyone’s gonna know,” Jon warned, knowing Robb didn’t need the embarrassment of having his crush found out by the whole team right before the game.
Jon also said it to himself as a reminder that he needed to stop staring too unless he wanted his own interests aired out. He couldn’t help but steal glances at the senior class representatives as they tried to arrange themselves in the bed of an old truck, the tell-tale white-blonde hair of Miss Daenerys Targaryen easy to spot among the more mundane colors. She should’ve been on the float with the court but she didn’t make the top five on the ballot.
He heard her talking in the halls about how it didn’t matter to her but the disappointment in her voice was clear. Dany didn’t have many friends though she was the nicest person Jon had ever come across.
When he was still together with Arianne Martell, her brothers asked Jon to help out on the Targaryen farm for a couple of weeks in the fields; decent under the table work for some pocket money. From the moment he met Dany he liked her, as a friend and then more when he and Arianne broke up. So Jon found excuses to keep helping until Dany’s mother got suspicious and told him to get lost.
He expected Rhaella’s reaction, most people did the same. Jon’s parentage was a subject of gossip and debate, the answer known only to his mother Lyanna and the stoic Starks, but he heard the stories all the same; some deadbeat from the town over, someone currently locked up in the state prison, a military man who either cheated on her or died overseas. Either way, his name put a bad taste in people’s mouths. They feared Lyanna’s method of raising him wouldn’t cancel out whatever treacherous genes came from his unknown outsider of a father. And she refused to speak of him around Jon.
“What’s your mom doing here?” Robb questioned as Jon turned around to look.
“I don’t know.”
In all his years playing football, she came to very few games and never stayed long if she did chance an outing. For the same reasons she always dropped him off but never stayed to mingle with the other parents, people didn't care much for her presence. They talked to her in simpering, pitiful tones and it drove her nuts. And perhaps, deep down, she thought distancing herself from her son would protect him from her reputation. It didn't, of course, but she could at least try... for him.
There was only one upside to Lyanna's aloof nature. The boys of the team declared her the hot mom and anytime she appeared, in person or conversation, lewd remarks were bound to follow and Homecoming was no exception.
“Damn, Snow, you shoulda warned me your mom was coming, I woulda cleaned up,” one of the junior players spoke.
“Shut up,” Jon bristled.
Lyanna strode up to the boys, her black curls piled up and wearing a school sweatshirt from when she attended.
“Mom, what are you doing here?”
“I can’t watch you at your last homecoming game?”
“Hi Miss Snow,” the boys greeted, their voices overlapping.
“Hi boys. Y’all ready to play some ball?”
“They will be when they start focusing,” Coach Lannister’s voice cut in, his tone making it clear he didn't appreciate her talking to the team.
Golden boy Lannister had been a football star in his day, the same day as Lyanna. Folks with more common sense would consider him a bad role model for the young men he coached but he knew the game in and out and had certainly cleaned up his ways since early adulthood. As long as the team won games, everyone was happy and Principal Thorne would continue to shred the complaints from concerned citizens.
“Jaime, nice to see you. I didn't mean to be a distraction.”
“I was just playing, Lyanna, you're not a distraction. What brings you here?”
“Oh, just wishing Jon good luck. It’s a big game and he’s gonna need it.”
"I need some luck too, Miss Snow!" an underclassman jeered.
"Hey, cut it out," Coach responded.
A sharp whistle cut through the air and the marching band fell into organized lines.
“Alright boys, form up!” Coach Lannister commanded, leaving mother and son to supervise his team.
A chorus of "Bye, Miss Snow" followed as the team moved like a well-coordinated herd of livestock.
"When were you going to tell me I was the hot mom?" she questioned with an arched brow.
"Really mom?"
“Kidding. I’ll see you at the field, okay?”
Jon nodded.
“Love you, baby.” She pressed a kiss to her son’s cheek.
“Love you too, mom.”
As Lyanna walked away and Jon rejoined his team, he heard low whistles.
“Dude, you look just like your mom,” a brave soul teased.
“Watch it,” he warned.
The football team lined up, shoving each other playfully as the marching band kicked up the fight song. Dany craned her neck to see over the cab of the truck she sat behind. She caught a glimpse of the raven curls and jersey number she sought, her heart stuttering. God help her, she was in deep.
“Is something wrong, Dany?”
She turned her head to whoever asked the question. Quentyn Martell, class treasurer (he was the only one who ran), looked at her with a questioning gaze. His mother was close with hers and so their families had always been friends. So friendly, in fact, that the two mothers kept trying to set up their children. Duping them into ‘dates’ and shoving them together at any opportune moment. The meddling drove Dany insane and it seemed Quentyn never picked up on the fact she wasn’t interested.
“Huh? Oh, no. I’m just trying to get Marg’s attention.”
“Oh,” came Quentyn’s unconvinced reply.
“It’s not important though, I just wanted to wish her good luck. You know, for homecoming court and everything.”
Dany hated lying, especially to a friend. But if anyone found out about her little crush on Jon, word would get back to her mother and Rhaella already made her stance on the boy clear. Dany loved her mother dearly, respected her even more, but she had Jon’s character all wrong.
He was sweet and respectful and a hard worker. Nothing like the rumors made him out to be. And Dany wasn’t as naive as people thought she was, she had her fair share of suitors to know when a boy showed his true nature.
She sat in silence as they traveled the few blocks to the rinky-dink field, a place she spent many a Friday night. Her father used to drag her to watch Viserys play in the Saturday morning games of the junior league, swaddled against the weather and perched in his lap, Dany would listen as he told her about the different plays and positions though she still couldn’t comprehend much of the game.
It became their way of bonding. Friday night they watched the Knights play, then the college teams on Saturday, and whatever NFL team they liked best of the ones playing on Sunday. Even Rhaella got in on the action as they crammed themselves on the couch or the floor to cheer and complain at the events playing out on the screen.
As the players stalked around the field, Dany scanned for her new favorite number again. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the white seven on his back. With Robb having to walk with the Homecoming Court, Jon led the stretches, his voice carrying over the other noise of the field. She stopped for a second, long enough for him to turn around and notice her. Jon gave her a small wave and she returned the gesture, waiting for just a second longer to see his lopsided smirk, a laid-back expression she adored.
All of the parade participants rushed toward the already packed bleachers so they wouldn’t miss the crowning of Homecoming Queen. And when those were full, they lined up along the chain-link fence keeping the fans from the asphalt track, where the cheerleaders milled and stretched.
Dany found a spot so she could watch for Marg but her eyes still wandered to the team occupying the field near the endzone. She needed to stop acting so damn silly. Or at least a little less obvious. Marg told her once that Dany’s thoughts played out on her face like a big movie theater screen.
Marg was Dany’s longest friend. Long enough to have overexposed photos of them playing dress-up as children and of stupid faces in their Sunday’s best. High school should’ve torn them apart, Marg going to the popular cheerleaders and Dany reduced to the book worms. One soaring to the height of lunchroom popularity while the other disappeared into the forgotten souls forced to spend their free time in obscure places of the school. They prevailed, somehow, much to the dismay of Rhaella.
Like the other women in her family, Marg teased her hair and wore what most would consider too much makeup, but she was tame compared to the bouffants and blue eyeshadow preferred by her aged grandmother. And she still dressed modestly by some measure- though, she still liked to flaunt at times.
Overhead, the student council advisor’s voice droned through the seriously outdated loudspeakers. Dany held a soft focus as the girls marched along the fifty-yard line, their heels sticking in the soft grass not yet disturbed by the scrabbling of cleats. When they all stood in a line along the front of the field, the announcer prepared to read the names everyone waited for. And the chilled autumn air stood still with anticipation. All for one moment of glory too soon faded.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, this year’s Kingsland Homecoming King and Queen are…”
A stupid part of Dany’s brain wished to hear her name, in some odd twist of fate that would leave everyone talking for a month at least. How scandalous would it be? What outrage would be sparked? Dany dared to let her mind wander in the silence.
“Robb Brandon Stark and Margaery Anne Tyrell!”
Applause and a few excited cheers, false sympathies from the other girls as they flashed their forced smiles and eyed the glittery tiara with envious glares. Dany didn’t let her face fall into the same scheme. This was Marg’s moment, her best friend.
Dany made a proud whoop as she brought her hands together, letting Marg’s wide smile encourage her own. Her friend looked so pretty with the tacky crown atop her voluminous curls no doubt done by her grandmother who had a penchant for outdated styles.
Marg found Dany in the mass of excited people and gave her a small wave and shrug, as though her win was a no-brainer. The moment was short-lived for as soon as the photographer from the county paper snapped the picture, everyone was ushered off the field in preparation for the game.
The chilly Friday night turned downright frosty halfway through the second quarter but the fans were well prepared. Out came the blankets in the school colors, some with the mascot printed on them, and other Kingsland High School cold weather paraphernalia. The marching band huddled together for greater warmth and down along the side of the stands rested the homecoming court, where Dany found a place to sit and her share of an oversized quilt to hunker into. She and Marg watched the field with considerable interest, with the cheerleader of the two explaining certain aspects of the game to her friend. Both of them searched the field for their favorite numbers.
Being the most experienced and dedicated players on the field, Jon and Robb rarely left it. Robb’s voice carried as he called the play and the fans held their breath as the center snapped the ball. Murmurs went up as it soared through the air, only to be caught in the hands of the opposing team. The player broke free and ran for the end zone much to the dismay of the Kingsland fans. Another touchdown for their enemy of the day.
The scoreboard flickered as the score changed, the number nineteen half obscured by dead bulbs under the peeling letters of the word VISITOR, which for that night referred to the Riverrun Sharks. They got the extra point too, making it twenty to fourteen with a minute left in the quarter. A real nail biter.
On the field, the team huddled in a sea of red around their quarterback.
“Listen guys, we got this. Their offense is strong but their defense is weak.” With a glance toward the other team’s huddle, he leaned closer, “Their QB’s arrogant and looking for a challenge, he’ll hug that ball until the last minute so make sure you’re up everyone’s asses. But if we get a flag, Coach’ll make Monday’s practice our own personal hell. When we get it, keep it light and make sure nobody gets near that goal line. Get ‘em down any way you know how. But-”
“Don’t get a flag, we know,” Jon stated with a sardonic smile toward his cousin.
The huddle dismissed but Robb pulled Jon back, “Eight’s got a weak knee.”
“How can you tell?”
“I just can,” Robb gritted as he fixed his glove with his teeth, “You know what to do?”
“Always.”
They lined up along the fifty-yard line, creating the defensive grouping.
Jon loved this. The adrenaline, the challenge. He never thought of himself as a competitive person, never caring much for awards or recognition, but football brought it out of him.
He started playing in the junior league because every boy did. If you could run and catch a ball half decent, you played football. And basketball and baseball too, if you proved good at those skills too, which both Jon and Robb were. All those practices provided excellent excuses to get out of the house on the rare occasion the Snows were at odds.
But even before then, football was a constant in the Stark family unit. He grew up watching his uncles roughhouse on Thanksgiving, he and Robb imitating their masculine play with unsure steps and lunges. Lyanna entertained their boyish dreams of touchdowns and tackles until they were big enough to play with men, shattering their illusions of strength.
The opposing QB said the magic words to start the game and Jon, from his place just behind the line of scrimmage, watched as a player in blue escaped the scramble and headed for the endzone. Eight .
Jon wasted no time, rushing to cover. Eight cut in front of him, they were somewhere near the thirty-yard line. Then the ball was in the air, coming for them and Jon knew what he had to do.
Back in the home stands, Marg nudged Dany and made a not-so-subtle nod toward the field. Dany snapped her head too quickly, eyes scanning the sea of red to spot the number seven and watching intently as Jon replaced his mouth guard and helmet. Her shoulders sunk in a hidden swoon, heart rising against her collarbones.
“Careful,” Marg giggled, “You’ll break your neck and your heart.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Shut it,” she muttered.
She was just as guilty as Dany, making eyes and inappropriate comments about Robb’s ass all night. Even as he shuffled along the sidelines, pretty face obscured by the red helmet, she watched.
Her flirtation with Robb started out as harmless fun. They had chemistry together- eighth period that was and God decided to make them lab partners. An unfortunate thing for their teacher as neither of them were shy, however, Robb had a better grasp on the lessons and spent most of the time trying to explain things to Margaery.
He was so genuine and nice, no one had a bad thing to say about him. Well, no one that mattered anyway. And unlike Marg, half the school wasn’t knowledgeable of his sexual history. It existed, she heard through the grapevine of three ex-girlfriends- two Jeynes and a Talisa, all from other schools and all perfectly respectable girls from perfectly respectable families.
Marg's family was respectable in their own right. Her mother was a fourth-generation business owner and her father was manager of the local bank branch, not to mention the plethora of semi-successful cousins and two older brothers. But money, cosmetology, and family are the perfect ingredients for gossip and Marg heard her fair share of what the town had to say about her family.
Robb either didn't care or he was painfully oblivious, but he still asked her out and she assumed they would go to homecoming together but he hadn’t asked yet.
So, Marg bit the bullet and asked him after they posed for their homecoming court picture.
“Suppose now all we have to do is find dates,” she said in a joking manner.
Realization dawned on him with such satisfying grace, jealousy fluttered in Margaery’s chest.
“Oh, Christ, Marg, I’ve been so worried about this game I forgot.”
“That’s alright,” she assured him and took the silly-looking king’s crown from him, “Just be sure to pick me up at six. Now, go win this game for me.”
She wanted to kiss him right then and there, something they hadn’t done yet but with all the people watching the last thing she needed was more rumors. And she feared the real reason why he hadn’t asked her.
As the opposing center snapped the ball, they looked to the field again, watching the Kingsland defensive line spread with the other team’s offense. Dany spotted her favorite number again, shadowing the frantically moving number eight like a silent menace.
Above the struggle in the middle of the field, a shape soared and the passer was subsequently brought down. Its target became clear when the pair Dany watched moved in tandem to catch it. In a smooth, almost undetectable movement, Jon’s leg caught his opponents, bringing the two of them down. The ball bounced inches from them and a messy clash ensued, drawing the attention of the striped shirted refs.
Dany didn’t realize she gripped Marg’s arm until her friend’s freezing hand covered hers.
Both boys stood and, from their body language, started arguing. It was deliberate , Dany realized.
“Christ, they’re playing dirty.”
Marg smirked, “We got the ball back didn’t we?”
A yellow flag landed on the field and the Kingsland stands erupted into groans and complaints. After a short deliberation with unhelpful interjections from disgruntled fathers in the stands, the announcer translated the ref’s hand signals.
“Penalty disregarded, Knights ball.”
“That was a close one, Snow,” Coach Lannister said when he came back on the sidelines.
“I’ll be more careful next time, Coach.”
“You better,” Joffrey added unhelpfully.
“Why do you care so much, Baratheon?” Robb questioned.
With the clock being so low, Coach Lannister subbed in a couple of underclassmen who proved capable enough to hold a ball.
“I’ve got a lot riding on this game,” he stated with a stupid smirk.
Robb and Jon turned their attention to the field to survey the abilities of the young players.
“Don’t you want to know why?”
“Not really,” Jon deadpanned.
“Sansa promised to put out if we win,” Joffrey boasted as the buzzer for the end of the half rang and he skipped off with the rest of the team.
“Is it bad that I want to throw this game just to fuck with him?” Robb asked his cousin, trying to contain the rage bubbling up inside him.
Protectiveness was a common trait in all Starks, and none more so than Robb, though he tried to stay level-headed about it.
“As fun as that would be, staying undefeated wins out.”
“Hm, you’re right.”
The marching bands conquered the field in the teams’ absence and more people started to roam around. Sansa came to sit with Dany and Marg, chatting excitedly about the game and other things.
“Why do you care so much if we win?” Marg questioned her young friend.
The eldest Stark girl blushed, tucking her head away, “Well, I- Joff said, if we won tonight, we could… well, you know…”
“Sansa,” Marg gasped.
“What?” she shied, cheeks turning as red as her uniform.
“I really don’t know what you see in him,” Dany said with a shake of her head.
Sansa blinked, smile wavering a little. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t know either.
Joffrey approached her at the end of last school year and was persistent in his pursuit. He was good-looking, charming, and came from a good family. Every day of the summer he came to the Stark homestead to pick her up and take her to his house. And she was glad to be away from her family and in the presence of the suave, considerably more cosmopolitan Lannisters. Even Cersei liked Sansa, calling her ‘little dove’ with the utmost affection.
He had yet to spend any time with the Starks and judging by her family’s reactions when she told them, it was for the best. Every member made their distaste known one way or another, Jon and Robb being the most vocal aside from her parents.
Sansa ignored their complaints because Joffrey was her first… everything. Her heart fluttered when he smiled at her and she felt happy when they were together. He liked her despite the embarrassing, hick family she came from and treated her as more than just a country bumpkin. She felt pretty with him, like her unruly auburn hair and freckles were something of beauty instead of curses from God, that was enough right?
"He's borrowing his Granddaddy's vintage sports car tomorrow," she sighed in an offhand way, desperate to change the subject. If she thought about it too much, the cracks would show.
Margaery understood Sansa’s logic when it came to boys and Joffrey. She went through the same things. Lots of boys picked her up in fancy cars and promised their affection with pretty words and shiny gifts. They were especially fond of naive girls with headstrong notions about love and life.
On the field, the band finished their show, signaling the nearing end of halftime.
“Well now that the line’s dying down, I’m gonna grab something from concessions. Y’all want anything?”
“Hot chocolate, please,” Marg said with a bit of drama, rubbing her hands together.
“Definitely,” Dany answered before bounding off down the gravel path.
Once she was gone, Marg turned to Sansa with a seriousness that turned her face into a spitting image of her grandmother preparing to tell a long-winded cautionary tale.
“Sansa, I want you to be careful around Joffrey,” she warned.
“Why?”
“I know it doesn’t seem like it but Joffrey’s intentions aren’t good.”
Sansa rolled her eyes, a famous gigantic movement, “You sound like my mom.”
“We both want what’s best for you.”
The Stark opened her mouth the respond but Marg cut her off, “Look, I don’t care if you sleep with him, that’s really none of my business and I’ve got no right to judge you for it. But I want to be absolutely sure you’re comfortable with going that far-”
“Why do you care so much?”
“You’re Robb’s sister, and my friend, I just want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”
“God, Marg, just because you wanna fuck my brother doesn’t mean you can give me unsolicited life advice!”
The people around glanced at the pair, eyes shining with curiosity.
“I don’t know what you heard, but Robb and I are just friends.”
“Whatever. Alla was right, you are such a slut.”
“What? No, Sansa, please don't-”
“Just leave me alone.”
She went to join the cheerleaders warming back up on the track, auburn ponytail bouncing. Marg stared after her, helpless as the whispers started and her eyes burned. She blinked furiously to will the feeling away but it clung to her nose and throat stubbornly. Not even a deep breath could dislodge it.
Normally, she could take it, could block out the hissing whispers as though they were nothing more than the ambient noise of the room. But from Sansa? The little girl she mentored in mini and junior league cheer. The girl who called her sister even if it was only a joke. How many times had she braided or straightened that metallic hair? Only to be slapped in the face the minute Marg looked out for her like a sister would.
Someone entered her sight, a familiar face with kind grey eyes and framed in black curls.
“Congratulations, Margaery, you look lovely as always.”
“Thanks, Miss Snow,” she sniffled, trying to ignore the closing of her throat and the several more eyes her new friend drew.
“Are you alright, honey?”
Marg just shook her head, standing from the stupidly decorated float and heading for the back of the stands. The huge door on the press box was open, displaying where the track equipment was stored for the off-season.
The tears flowed hot down her numb cheeks and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to keep the choked sobs quiet. Lyanna followed her, placing a comforting hand on the Tyrell girl’s shoulder. People were already looking, why not give them a show.
“Whoa, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Marg lied as she wiped under her eyes, “Sansa’s just spreading my business everywhere.”
“That sounds like my niece. And this business wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with my nephew would it?”
“That obvious, huh?”
“Well, I may have heard it from my son who heard it straight from the horse’s mouth. Don’t tell Jon I told you, though, he’s a man of few words. So, what about Robb’s got you so worked up?”
Marg took a deep, shuddering breath, “I know he likes me and I like him but, well, everyone thinks he could do better than half the town’s sloppy seconds.”
“Half the town? Who's fool enough to believe that?"
“Everyone, apparently!” she cried with a mirthless laugh and threw her hands up in the air.
A frigid gust of air danced around them and Marg hugged her quilt tighter, tucking her chin into the cowled edge. Lyanna sighed, remembering her struggles with the same thing. Of course, that was years ago but watching Margaery’s tears brought her experience back in unwelcome waves. The times she screamed her truth to the sky because it was the only thing willing to hear and times she cried in the far corner of the locker room because it was the only place to hide.
“From one town slut to another, I say let them talk. That way you can laugh at them someday.”
“Town slut? But you never-”
“You clearly haven’t heard everything about me then.” The smile on Lyanna’s face was shrouded in mystery and humor.
Marg couldn’t help it, she threw her arms around the Stark woman.
“Thank you,” she murmured into her clothed shoulder.
“Anytime, hon. Now, keep your chin up, or else your tiara will fall. And don’t let Sansa get to you, she’ll outgrow that bitterness soon enough… I hope.”
Marg, despite her red face and hiccups, smiled her dazzling, charming smile.
“Oh my God!” someone shrieked in pure horror.
They left their safe spot behind the stands to see bodies pressed against the chain-link fence and railing of the bleachers. Dany stood at the back of the action, bouncing from foot to foot and trying to see. She spotted them and motioned hurriedly.
“It’s a fight,” she said, nodding toward the field.
A flurry of red uniforms, striped referee shirts, and both coaches tumbled across the grass near the endzone. The bodies moved en masse to see, heads tilting and leaning closer.
They finally managed to pry the boys apart and the stomachs of all three women sank at the sight of the white number on the grass-stained jersey. Seven .
The styrofoam cup of hot chocolate fell from Dany’s hand to coat the stones at their feet, her jaw trembling as her hand came up to cover her mouth. She wasn’t able to stop the horrified noise that left her and Margaery quickly tucked her friend against her chest.
“God damnit,” Lyanna swore, pushing through the bodies blocking the gate to the field.
The team left the safe haven of the locker rooms for the unknown future of their personal coliseum. Under the harsh, too bright lights, a narrow stage awaited their performance of a brutish dance for enthralled fathers and nervous mothers- little paper slips with names and numbers, heights and weights, crushed in their palms. Unbothered by the expectations, the Kingsland Knights made their way to the endzone to get their heart rates back up and their heads in the game.
Jon and Robb were, unfortunately, forced to hear Joffrey’s endless bragging as they clamored back onto the field.
“Yeah, Grandpa’s letting me take the corvette tomorrow. He even said I could stay up at the estate if the Stark girl doesn’t lose her nerve.”
“You think she’s actually going to go through with it?”
“Of course. She’s young and eager. And best friends with Margaery Tyrell.”
Robb didn't care to winder how Joffrey found out, he wasn't being subtle anymore, the only thought in his mind was- "I'm going to kill him."
“You can’t,” Jon reminded.
“What if I just hit him really hard and he stops breathing?”
“That’s still murder.”
“Well I have to do something to get him to stop, it’s driving me up a damn wall.”
Robb wasn’t known to have a short temper, quite the opposite actually, not even his siblings saw him lose his cool but Joffrey tested the limits with his careless talk of Sansa. And Margaery
“Hey, Stark, do you think Margy taught her any tricks at those famous cheerleader sleepovers.”
“That’s fucking sick, Baratheon,” Robb retorted, keeping his eyes trained on his cleats and where they headed.
"No need to be noble, we all know you're screwing the slut."
"Shut the hell up," Robb burst, taking a few heated steps forward before Jon interfered and forced him back.
“Don’t. The team needs you.”
"I can't let him get away with it," he gritted, eyes flashing toward the smug-looking Baratheon.
"I know-"
"Then what-"
"I'll handle it," Jon said with a harsh finality.
Robb blinked at him, “No, we need you too. The defense will fall apart without you.”
“Theon can sub in.”
Both of them glanced at the Greyjoy in question, who idly fiddled with his helmet.
“Theon’s second string for a reason, he’s too arrogant.”
“Then let’s give him a chance to prove himself, huh?”
“I hate you, you know that right.” Robb shook his head, trying to channel his father's stoic, sternness but failing as the corner of his mouth twitched.
“You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”
“Oh, did I strike a nerve, Stark?” Joffrey taunted from his safe distance away.
Robb set his mouth into a line and gave a terse nod to his cousin, “Make it count.”
“Baratheon’s just excited because this’ll be the first action he gets that’s not his mom,” Jon said, watching Joffrey’s face contort as the team dissolved into snickers.
“Is Stark too much of a goody-goody, he’s got to send his bastard cousin to do his dirty work?”
“You forget, Sansa’s my family too. And if you keep running your mouth, I'll put an end to it.”
Robb stood in front of their lines, leading them through a set of jumping jacks, the rest of the team counting with them. Joffrey and Jon’s confrontation lost in the babble.
“Threaten me again and I'll tell my father,” Joffrey replied in his nasal tone.
Jon's mouth quirked, “Stop talking about my family and I'll stop threatening you.”
"You're not a Stark, you're a Snow. I'm sure they don't feel the same about you. Your own father couldn’t even stick around."
They switched to high knees and Jon delivered what he hoped would be the final blow, "Do you think Sansa will still want to sleep with you when I tell her you're a virgin with a small dick?"
Surprisingly, that was enough to set Joffrey off. He slammed his hands into Jon’s chest, the action making a dull thud against his shoulder pads as Joffrey called Jon a ‘big talker’ and threatened a whole lot of bodily harm.
“Do it, pussy,” Jon taunted, the final nail in the coffin.
Joffrey’s whiny voice was lost on Jon’s ears as he slipped into reactive mode. Of all the crazy stories his mother told him about running around with her brothers back in the day, he remembered one thing- let them swing at you three times before you do, then it counts as self-defense. Whether or not this was true, stood to be seen and Jon had a feeling he would find out real soon.
So Jon watched as Joffrey swung a wild fist and dodged. Two . Another came and missed. Three . Jon dove for Baratheon’s middle, the two of them colliding with the compact dirt of the field, not even the grass softened their landing. He did his best to keep Joffrey down but he writhed like a bat out of hell and Jon only managed to land one punch however it was a solid one.
Shouts and cheers from their teammates and coaches fell on deaf ears, Jon wasn’t letting up no matter how Joffrey screeched.
Finally, the spoiled little brat worked his arm free and lobbed a fist at the side of Jon’s head, knocking him away. Another landed square on his mouth and he tasted the blood. Then Coach Lannister hauled him off, shouting and raving as Jon tried to dive back in.
With a fist curled in the front of Jon's jersey, Coach said, “That’s enough, Snow, keep going and you’ll have more trouble.”
Jon stumbled back, trying to find his footing with a rattled brain, and wiped the back of his hand under his swelling nose, gritting his teeth at the pain.
“Both of you, off the field, now! You’re out for the rest of the game,” Coach Lannister ordered.
“But- but he started it,” Joffrey cried as one of the refs helped him up.
“Keep talking, Baratheon,” Jon threatened, making for the underclassman but Coach yanked him back.
Jon spit, a glob of saliva and blood landing in the grass at Joffrey’s feet. The brat jumped back and Jon barked out a laugh.
“Excuse me, ma’am, you can’t be on the field,” one of the helpers stated.
Everyone looked to see Lyanna Stark charging up the field, the blonde head of Cersei Lannister not far behind.
“Like hell, that’s my son,” she snarled, pushing past their half-hearted attempts to stop her.
“Jon Benjamin Snow!”
The cool, startling shock of terror settled over Jon. His mom usually left at halftime, he counted on her to follow through. He cursed under his breath.
“I heard that,” she responded dryly before turning to Coach, “Jaime, I’m so sorry about this.”
“Me too. We’ll talk later,” he dismissed and motioned toward the EMTs sitting by the concessions.
Lyanna grit her teeth and tightened her grip on Jon’s arm, hauling her troublesome child away as Cersei broke into hysterics.
"Hey Greyjoy, don't do anything stupid," he called out.
"Shut your goddamn mouth," Lyanna growled as the emergency responders swarmed Jon, “You are in so much trouble when we get home."
They removed his jersey and shoulder pads, leaving him to shiver on the back end of the EMS. Lyanna stood to the side, arms crossed over her chest and her famous eyes of disappointment staring him down. His lip stopped bleeding but it hurt like a bitch as the bruises started to form.
“Good thing I’m too big for you to spank,” he quipped, gauging his mother’s reaction to such a statement.
“Really? You crack jokes right now?”
“Sorry,” he conceded.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“That-” he winced as the anti-bacterial ointment hit his knuckles.
“You look terrible,” a familiar head of white-blonde hair spoke.
Once she wriggled her way out of Marg's arms Dany practically bolted to the far corner of their poor excuse of a sports complex. She knew he was fine, she watched him walk away relatively unharmed, but a dark part of her mind wouldn't rest until she saw him up close.
She looked around before coming closer, sitting on the back of the ambulance with him. An EMT handed her an alcohol wipe and she tenderly wiped the split skin around his eyebrow. Lyanna couldn’t help the ache in her heart, it wasn’t so long ago she did the same to his scraped knees and elbows. God, they grew up too fast.
“I would hug you but I smell terrible too,” he joked, face lightening despite the dark coloring it took on.
“You know I don’t care-”
Lyanna raised an eyebrow at the young Targaryen, “Dany, honey, do your parents know you’re over here?”
The last thing she needed at that moment was another angry mother, especially Rhaella Targaryen.
“They didn’t come tonight, Mom wasn’t feeling well.”
At least, that’s what Rhaella said but Dany knew they didn’t like crowds or cold. Or watching their daughter fade into the crowd as everyone else got to shine.
“Alright,” Lyanna sighed and sat on the other side of Jon.
Jon put his arm around Dany’s shoulders, the beige shock blanket shrouding them as the game started back on the field. The EMTs decided they were finished and went back to watching the game but Dany wasn’t. She picked up a roll of discarded gauze and took his hand.
“You should be out there,” Dany said quietly, “Why the hell would you go punching Joffrey Baratheon of all people?”
“I was thinking Joffrey should learn to shut his mouth,” Jon huffed as she gently wrapped his red knuckles.
Lyanna scoffed, “As true as that is, it doesn’t mean you can just start fights anytime you want.”
“I didn’t start it though,” he protested, “I waited until he got three hits in, at least.”
“Thank God for small mercies,” Lyanna muttered, rubbing her temples.
“It could be worse, they could be carrying me out on a stretcher.”
“Shut it,” she bit.
“I’m really sorry, mom,” he apologized for the hundredth time.
Jon knew his mom hated drawing attention to themselves.
“I just- I can’t protect you from this. They’ll say-”
“I was acting like my dad?”
“No, you’re acting like me,” she threw a small smile to her son.
He caught her expression and smiled to himself, cringing as his lip split again.
“Now, can we leave?”
“Coach’ll want me to stay for the rest of the game. And I’ll have to ride the bus back so you can head home if you want.”
“No, I think I’ll stay and watch the hope for an undefeated season crumble.”
As she said it, the home stands erupted into cheers and the Kingsland fight song filled the air. They glanced at the ancient scoreboard, the number twenty under the peeling letters of HOME blinked at them. Mother and son made impressed noises, even Dany chuckled as she finished wrapping his other hand and gave it a little squeeze.
“How do you do that so well?” Lyanna questioned the girl.
“I was a Girl Scout for a while. And my father and brothers aren’t the most graceful people, especially around the barn and fields so I’ve had plenty of practice.”
Jon pressed a kiss to her hair, “Thank you.”
Dany blushed and tucked her head closer to his shoulder.
“Lyanna!” a shrill cry cut through the excitement.
They all sat upright to see Cersei Baratheon charging toward them, a haphazardly bandaged Joffrey in tow. She was dressed to show with high black riding boots over her expensive, bedazzled skinny jeans and red puffer vest over the long-sleeved black shirt she wore. Her short choppy bob remained unmoved under a helmet of hairspray.
“Cersei,” Lyanna greeted dryly, standing to get between the vicious woman and her son.
“Cut the niceties,” Cersei snapped, looking around Lyanna to stab a finger at Jon, “Your mutt just brutally attacked my son.”
The fuck did she just say?
“My what ?”
“Don’t play cute, your bastard is nothing but a menace. He should be expelled for even thinking of hurting my Joff.”
“They’re boys , Cersei, it’s what they do. And the way I hear it, your son started it. Being raised by such an exemplary mother, such as yourself, I would expect better from the mayor’s son.”
Cersei made a haughty noise, “Well, it doesn’t matter what you think because I already spoke with Principal Thorne and disciplinary action will be taken. We expect a formal, written apology by this time next week or things will only get worse.”
Jon shot to his feet, “You can’t do that.”
Dany stood with him, slipping her hand into his and glaring defiantly at Cersei. The little gesture wasn’t missed by the critical eyes of the mayor’s wife who stored the delicious tidbit in the back of her mind.
Lyanna glared at her son, her eyes warning that things weren’t looking good for him either.
“Is that a threat?”
Cersei shrugged, “If you choose to take it that way.”
“You should know that I don’t take kindly to being threatened, Mrs. Baratheon, and if you continue to do so things are going to get messy real quick.”
“We’ll see,” Cersei said, giving Lyanna a once over before stalking away with her miserable-looking son.
Lyanna let out a frustrated sound, “That crazy bitch thinks she’s the only one willing to protect her children. Well, I’ve been doing it a hell of a lot longer and I’ve been doing it on my own.”
“Mom, what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know, baby, but I’ll figure it out.”
After the excitement at the top of the second half, the boys of the Kingsland Varsity Football Team were ready to play aggressive and hard. And the fans were right there with them. Despite their hunger for a fight being satisfied earlier, they hung on the edge of their benches with every pass and call, managing to drown out the obnoxious cheerleaders on occasion. Back and forth, back and forth, the possession and lead went until the last minutes of the last quarter. Thirty-four to thirty-three, Sharks game.
It was down to the wire and the Knights had the ball. Robb stood behind his center, sweating not only out of exertion but nervousness. He glanced toward the home stands, the faces of the people blurred by the overwhelming lights.
Robb breathed and crouched down behind his center, “Red eighty, red eighty, set, hut.”
The ball came to rest in his low-hanging hands, which he quickly brought up and shuffled back from the line. His eyes searched above the glinting helmets for an open teammate to throw it to. All possible targets were swallowed up by blue shadows.
He backed away from the line farther, any more and he risked losing the yards they fought so hard to gain. Finally, someone opened up. Robb set his body into the position to launch the ball, it wasn’t a good throw- not terrible but certainly not his best. He watched it land in the receptive hands of a teammate before sidestepping a particularly large lineman.
It was brought down at the twenty-yard line. Three downs and twenty yards to go, one more shot to win .
They reset along the thick white line spray-painted on the grass, disturbed by the movement of cleats, and settled into the same positions. Robb cast his eyes up, a silent prayer, then to the side. Pressed up against the chain-link fence was Margaery Tyrell, she beamed and cupped her hands around her mouth to shout a general encouragement.
“Red eighty, red eighty, set, hut.”
Once again the ball found its way into his waiting hands and he sprung up-right, feet dancing back from the struggle on the scrimmage line. Theon Greyjoy was the only one unprotected but he wouldn’t be for long. Robb twisted his upper body with a little tilt, like a catapult his body worked through the familiar mechanics to launch the ball, his wrist bending just the right way to put the perfect spin on it. It’s in God’s hands now , he thought with a quick glance to the scoreboard. Thirty seconds.
He looked back to where Theon had been to watch his red form bolt. A group of Kingsland players took care of the Shark tailing him and he was home free. As soon as his foot landed in the endzone, a burst of sound filled the air; the fight song, screaming and groaning fans, shouting teammates.
Robb was embraced by his teammates on the sidelines as they set up for the extra point kick.
As the oblong ball soared through the goalposts, the clock dwindled down until a harsh buzzer sounded. It was all over. And Kingsland was still undefeated. Somehow.
After every game came the swarm. Parents, siblings, extended family in for the weekend, and children who were big football fans all gathered around the sweaty, euphoric players. Congratulations and praise filled the air with exasperated responses. Margaery witnessed this ritual so many times, it was almost second nature to walk past it but her family insisted on fussing over her again even though they already did so at the beginning of the game. Hence how she ended up with an arm full of flowers and a host of family members escorting her out of the park.
As they walked, they passed by the Starks. Robb laughing as his younger siblings gushed about how amazing the game was.
Margaery watched the Starks bustle around each other as they passed and lowered her eyes so perhaps Robb wouldn’t notice her.
He did, however, and ignored the complaints of his mother as he abandoned his family. There was something he needed to do.
“Margaery,” he called.
She stopped dead in her tracks, looking at him in bewilderment, “What’s up?”
“I owe you something.”
“And what would that be?”
He smiled a crooked smile and brought his hands to her face, “This.”
And he kissed her.
It wasn’t how Margaery imagined her first kiss with Robb, he smelled of sweat and dirt and still wore his bulky shoulder pads, but her heart soared all the same. For a shining moment, she wasn't the girl with a long list of ex-lovers or the rumored town whore, but one worthy of the attention
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she warned, eyes taking in the astonished stares of those around them.
“Maybe not but I have no regrets, zero, none.”
Marg giggled, cheeks burning as he beamed at her like she was the sun after a harsh rain.
“I’ll pick you up at six.” he promised, taking a few buoyant steps toward the locker rooms
“And you better not be late,” she hollered after him, beaming like it was her birthday.
She may very well be the luckiest girl in the world. For the moment she wasn't the girl with a long list of ex-lovers or the rumored town whore, despite the Kingsland citizens who thought so standing just feet away, but a girl worthy of Golden Boy Robb Stark.
While the night reached extraordinary highs for some, it was headed for a disastrous low for others.
In a forgotten corner near the visitors' stands, Lyanna and Jon stood with Dany still tucked under his arm, waiting on Coach Lannister so they could learn the outcome of the halftime fight. It was one of the odd occasions where they were both silent. Jon was always quiet, as he found early on that if he stayed quiet kids usually left him alone. But around Lyanna, he could talk for hours.
He found the same comfort in Dany and perhaps that was why he liked her so much. She allowed him to be open, free of judgment and always listening.
He looked at her, tucked under his arm. After the fight, Dany refused to leave his side even though she risked getting chewed out by her mother if anyone told. She met his eyes and wrapped her arms defensively against his middle.
Finally, Coach Lannister freed himself from whatever duties needed attending to.
“For starters, it looks a lot worse for you than it does for Joffrey. If you ever pull that shit again, I won’t be so nice.” He began, a seriousness in his voice that was hard to believe came from Jaime Lannister.
“Got it,” Jon answered.
“Good. Now, if you keep everything in check, you’ll be able to play next week and only have to serve one or two detentions.”
“What about your sister?” Lyanna challenged.
He sighed and shook his head. Though he would never admit it, Jaime had a soft spot for the Snows. He went to school with Lyanna and crushed on her here and there. He was too arrogant and self-centered to care when her accident happened, even joined in Cersei’s admonishing of her reckless behavior, and kicked himself for it now. So, Jaime took to silently looking after Jon, casually checking in with him to make sure he kept his grades up and wasn’t getting into trouble. Coaching the boy and keeping him on a straight path was easy, but trying to steer Cersei when she was already down the warpath was an entirely different beast.
“She’s already got Thorne’s ear and if we don’t give her what she wants she could very well get Jon expelled.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Jaime promised, “But I can’t make any promises.”
“Thank you,” Jon spoke.
“I’ll let you know if I find out anything else. Now go home and get some rest, I’ll see you on Monday.”
And with that, the Lannister went to round up the rest of his team for the bus.
“Do you need a ride home, Dany?” Lyanna asked as their somber little group headed across the grass to the parking lot.
“Yes, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, honey.”
Even for an undefeated season, no game ever lived up to the epic highs and lows of the homecoming game. But if the citizens of Kingsland thought they got a show then, they were going to be awfully surprised after the events of the big dance.