𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕹𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗

𝕾𝖎𝖝

Rickon had few memories of the accident that had made Bran lose his legs, – not actually; Bran still had them, he just couldn't use them –  but he however remembered that it had happened during late King's Robert visit to Winterfell, when he had asked his father to be his Hand and had obliged him to follow him back to King's Landing. That had been the very last time Rickon had seen him.

Bran had been found laying on a thick layer of grass, at the feet of one of their castle's many turrets: he'd been believed dead at first, but it had soon turned out that he was still breathing. That had been an incredible relief for the entire family, but it had not helped the boy regain control of his legs.

"He's to remain as that", Maester Luwin had explained Rickon, when he had worryingly come to ask him.

Although without standing, Bran still looked a Lord's son and a King's brother: Rickon was little and very hyperactive, that was true, but it didn't take a genius to figure that much out: the older was wearing a very thin yet elegantly elaborated crown, silver with small diamonds emblazoned into its many nucks (Rickon had a similar model secured on his own head, but he had to admit that Bran wore it better), that matched his dark brown hair and grey eyes – so dark they almost looked black. The boy was not particularly bulky, much like Rickon, but he still managed to stand out thanks to his title: he was prince now, and direct heir to Winterfell, should something bad happen to their older brother.

Rickon, though whole, looked much less a prince and more a page, if Maester Luwin's japes could be taken seriously: the boy didn't mind, however, for a page was to become squire and a squire to become knight, and Rickon liked knights. They were fierce and brave and defended their people, much like his eldest brother.

Rickon really missed him, and had originally commanded to be sent south as well, but the only answer his order had received from the eldest had been a light-hearted laugher. "I won't risk my brother's own security like that, ickle Rickon" (apart from his mother, he was the only one who was allowed to call him that), "You are to stay here, safe, and help Bran rule Winterfell. Do you think you can do that?"

Rickon could've done that and much more. I would kill a man if it meant showing you how strong I am, he'd thought, but had never gone beyond that limit.

That had not been among the requests, however, so Rickon hadn't had to do nothing but act a proper prince – which he didn't always do, but tired his best to whenever he was asked to.

"I can see the banner! They're coming! – just some fifty steps away!" suddenly screamed a voice – Ser Rodrik's, Winterfell's castellan.

Bran immediately squeezed Rickon's hand, before letting go of it. No words were spoken, but the message was quite clear: don't move, don't act a fool, remain presentable.

The boy could definitely feel the building tension: the time had come for Winterfell to meet its new to-be Lady.

When he'd received the news, Rickon hadn't been too surprised: he knew his brother would have to wed, sooner or later, and have kids that would be his nephews – the boy had never had nephews, but he assumed that it couldn't be bad.

Surprising, on the other hand, had been being informed of that soon to-be Lady's early arrival: it had been so that his brother could press on south, had explained to Rickon Master Luwin. The ladder had also added that he and Bran must behave well with her, for it was important that her family and they remained friends.