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Theon never fell.
Okay, that wasn’t quite true. Not even remotely true, actually. He fell quite a bit; no fault of his own, of course. It was the ice, or the snowboard, or those damn skiers always in his way. Really, skiers should just get the hell out of the park and leave it to the real professionals.
Which was precisely what he was thinking right before he had the grossest, most painful, ligament-annihilating, agonizingly humiliating yard sale of his entire life. We’re talking snowboard gone, bindings obliterated, hat and goggles (no helmet, he wasn’t a wimp) sailing through the air, mittens somehow vanishing into the well-tracked snow of the park. People around him were probably stopping and staring, most likely laughing, but Theon did not even hear them. He was too busy thinking about how embarrassing this all was–only annoying skiers ever yard saled–and wondering what that weird feeling in his head was as the blue sky spun above him. Was the sky supposed to spin? He couldn’t remember.
Whatever. It wasn’t his fault, of course. It was those damn ski school kids blocking the way. He hoped the doctor was at least cute.
–
Theon didn’t pass out, but it was a near thing. He stayed fairly awake long enough for the snowmobile to come retrieve him and his scattered accoutrements from the slope. He closed his eyes for a little while, hoping beyond hope that the Drowned God had spared his new gopro in the fall, but never falling asleep. He could hear the snowmobile running behind his head, feel it bouncing over the piste below him. When finally they arrived at the ski patrol building, Theon’s head was swimming.
When he cracked open his eyes, a gray ceiling was staring back at him. After a moment, a man’s face entered his view, and Theon had to blink several times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He hoped his hair looked good.
“So, which run were you on? ‘Lollypop’ or ‘Gutcruncher’?”
Theon groaned. “The park,” he said, although because he was having a hard time moving his mouth, it sounded more like “ha hark.”
“Hm. Typical,” said the man. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Theon stared up at him for a moment. He couldn’t really make out anything else in his line of sight because the man was practically glowing with a holy halo around his head–although that may have been the concussion–and Theon was too distracted by his face to hear what he was saying. The man had the most perfect beard Theon had ever seen, matched by auburn curls adorning his head, and between those two aspects were the clearest blue eyes in the whole of Westeros. It all sat on top of a bright red ski patrol jacket, and let me say, red hair and red clothes had never gone so well together. And the best part? He looked about Theon’s age.
“-ir? Sir? Can you hear me?”
He had a nice accent, too. Northern and gruff. Theon quickly decided he liked that.
“Here’s his wallet,” a woman said, “it was in the snow where he fell.”
So that had gone flying, too.
“Hm. Theon Greyjoy, is that your name?” the man asked, reading Theon’s drivers license.
For some reason–probably the concussion again–Theon’s brain and his mouth weren’t exactly working in tandem, or maybe they were working together a little too well, so when the thought popped into his head, Theon’s mouth decided the rest of the room should hear it too.
“Oh yeah baby, say my name again.”
A woman next to them started laughing hysterically, but Theon was more focused on the way the man’s pale face turned aggressively red at the speed of a toddler bombing it down the black diamond. Probably one of the toddlers that caused Theon’s crash.
“Shut it, Dacey,” the man was saying, not too loudly, but his voice was wobbling a little bit, like he couldn’t decide whether to be amused or embarrassed.
“Theon,” he said when he had recovered his wits and Theon had decided that his brain-to-mouth thing wasn’t so bad after all if it made this cute guy blush like that, “I’m Robb Stark, and I am a doctor, in case you were worried–”
“Oh, I’m not worried at all.”
The man–Robb–blushed again. Theon smiled.
“Do you have a headache, Theon?”
“Like crazy.”
“Alright. Can you follow my finger?”
With a surprising amount of effort, Theon did so. Robb Stark put him through a few more random tests–naming the months backward, sitting up on his own, that kind of thing–and noted things down on his clipboard.
“Theon, can you tell me what happened?” he finally asked again.
“I made out with the slope. You aren’t jealous, are you?”
Robb blushed a third time, this one much more furious, while Dacey cackled in the background. But this time, as he looked down to hide the redness from his patient, his face was breaking out into a smile. Theon could tell Robb was trying to hide it, but he spotted it nonetheless. He felt a little giddy inside, and he didn’t think it was the concussion this time.
After that, Theon told him the whole sordid tale: he had tried out a new jump over at the halfpipe and had failed tremendously. He wouldn’t be surprised if there were chunks of his magnificent black hair still out there. His head and the ground had had a very intimate meeting.
“Were you wearing a helmet?”
Theon shook his head. The motion caused a flash of pain to light up his skull. Robb looked him up and down very disapprovingly and wrote something on his clipboard.
“You should fix that next time,” he said.
“You’ll have to make me,” said Theon, putting on his best come-hither face, and Robb actually turned around and put a hand over his mouth to stop himself laughing too loudly. “Your funeral,” he said at last, face burning but smiling beneath his beard, so Theon considered it a victory.
“Alright then,” he told him, “it looks like you have a mild concussion, but no other bodily injuries. I’m prescribing you Tylenol and bedrest–I had better not see you back out there today–for at least a day, preferably two. After that, light exercise, but nothing crazy. Go home and lay down, Theon. I promise your head will thank you.”
“I think it’ll be thanking you.”
Robb smiled again, this time much more naturally, not trying to hide it at all. He wrote him a quick prescription, which Theon took gladly, and was preparing to send him out the door when suddenly Theon remembered: “Wait, Doc! I can’t drive myself home, can I?”
“No, you absolutely cannot,” Robb said, “do you have any other way to get home?”
Theon did–he could get an Uber, or call Kyra to drive him–but internally he was smiling slyly, a plan forming.
“No, no I do not,” he said, “maybe one of you could give me a lift?”
Robb looked over to Dacey, but she was already grabbing her skis.
“It’s my turn to patrol the slopes!” she said gleefully, “good luck, Robb!”
“Damn her,” Robb said under his breath, “alright, I can drive you home when my shift ends in half an hour. Do you live far?”
“Nope. Wintertown. Where do you live?”
Robb almost answered, but Theon saw him catch himself.
“We aren’t quite there yet, Theon.”
Yet, he said. Another victory for Team Theon.
–
Theon got out of the car regretfully. Robb was very helpful; he brought Theon’s things into the house for him, and placed his snowboard on its rack with the appropriate reverence, despite probably being a skier himself–damn skiers–before finally getting Theon settled on the couch with some painkillers and water and instructions to “not do anything, including think too hard.”
Theon would probably have a hard time with that, now that today’s events were in his memory.
“Here’s your prescription,” Robb told him, handing him the sheet of paper, “it’ll tell you how often to take the Tylenol, and how much. Have you got a season’s pass?”
Theon glanced at him, thrown by the sudden change of topic. “Yes?”
“I’m warning you,” Robb told him, “if I see you out on that slope tomorrow, or the next day, or the next, I will personally come to this house and put your season’s pass in the fireplace. Understand?”
Theon couldn’t stop himself from grinning. So that fiery hair indicated a little personality, too.
“Yes, sir.” he said loyally.
“Good.” And with that, Robb Stark walked out of Theon’s life.
Or at least until Theon turned over the prescription. Let’s go out and buy helmets together, it said. And right below that? A phone number.
Theon had to take extra painkillers that night. What could he say? This victory deserved a little jumping up and down and cheering.