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i. Robb
The maester walks to Robb’s chambers, his steps quiet, as it is quite late at night. Robb is in bed with a fever, and earlier today, Lady Catelyn had informed Luwin of the boy’s terrible cough. He’d prepared a concoction to help Robb sleep and breathe easier. The worst of his fever has passed, and only side effects and a final few bouts linger on.
Luwin knocks on Robb’s door softly, not wanting to disturb him. No answer. He furrows his brow and pushes the door open a crack. The candles are snuffed out but the light from the hallway streams into the room. Luwin can make out hazy outlines; the bedclothes and furs are rumpled and tossed about. And…Robb is not among them.
He sighs and closes the door. He decides to head back to the library, concluding that there’s nothing he can do. If he tells Lady Catelyn or Lord Eddard, they’ll only become worried. He doesn’t want Robb to get into trouble on account of him.
At the end of the hallway, he sees small, muddy footprints. They continue down the stairs and around the corner. Luwin has a notion of whose they might be. He descends the stairs and follows the trail, a tiny smile on his lips.
The kitchen door is open and Luwin can smell fresh lemoncakes. He tiptoes inside, holding back a chuckle; Robb is hunched in the corner, a plate piled high with lemoncakes in front of him. A trail of crumbs meets that of the muddy footprints.
“Fancy meeting you here, little lord.” The ten-year-old lets out a surprised yelp, crumbs flying, and jumps to his feet. He whirls around and meets Luwin’s gaze, his blue eyes wide. “Isn’t it a bit late to be out of your chambers?”
Robb swallows his mouthful of the treat. “I-I’m sorry, Maester Luwin, I was just…” He pouts and slumps his shoulders. “I’ve been cooped up in my room for almost a week now!”
“Your fever is almost gone. Only a couple of more days abed, Robb.” Still, he bends down and picks up the plate, putting it on the counter closest to him. “I wouldn’t suggest eating more. You wouldn’t want a stomach ache on top of that fever, would you?”
Robb shakes his head. His skin is still pale and his forehead is hot when Luwin touches it. His steps are stronger, though, and he does not have chills anymore. “I suppose not.” His eyes are watery and wide, his face the very picture of horror. “Don’t tell my parents, please! I don’t want to get in trouble.”
Luwin smiles fondly at Robb. “I won’t tell them. It will be our little secret.” Robb brightens considerably and grins from ear to ear. The maester finds the lad’s hand and tugs gently. “Come on, then. Let’s get you to bed.”
ii. Jon
Luwin loses his place on the page when he hears a sharp knocking at the door. He sighs and ignores it, picking up where he left off. The best root to use for remedy of the pox is-
“Maester Luwin!” The knocking persists. The old man recognizes the voice to be that of Jon Snow. He usually isn’t this outspoken, but everybody has off days. “Let me in, please! It’s an emergency!”
Luwin opens the door and stares down at the young boy. He is small for an eight-year-old, and the maester is sure that his curly hair adds at least two inches to his height. He looks more and more like Ned Stark with each passing day and he will eventually be as tall as him. Until then, Luwin has to crane his neck and look down upon the lad.
“What’s the matter?” he asks Jon, furrowing his brow. “Is anyone hurt?” If someone was injured, he thinks that more people would have come to his door. It is still a possibility.
Jon shakes his head and slips into Luwin’s rookery, slamming the door behind them. “You have to let me hide here!” Grunting from the weight, he bars the door, his thin arms trembling. He runs and hides behind the old man’s desk, bringing his knees up to his chest.
“Jon, what on earth has gotten into you?” Luwin dog-ears the corner of his current page and closes the book. Some dust escapes, making him cough into his sleeve. He wonders if Lady Catelyn had said something to the boy, but dismisses the thought. If anything had happened between them, Jon would be close to tears, and he would choose Robb’s company over Luwin’s.
“We have guests coming over,” Jon pants, still out of breath from barring the door. He must have ran here, also. Despite his slight frame, he is never usually exhausted from the heavy wood. There is quite a distance between Jon’s chambers and Luwin’s rookery.
“Yes, I know. The Karstarks are due to arrive tomorrow. What of it?” Everyone has known about the Karstarks’ visit for awhile now. Jon is a well-behaved and courteous child, and has been a perfect lad whenever they have guests over. Why should this time be any different?
“It’s not the Karstarks I’m worried about,” Jon whispers, pulling his knees closer to him.
“You shouldn’t be. Besides, Lady Alys is close to your age. I’m sure you’ll be able to play with her.”
Jon gestures for Luwin to come closer. With a great effort and creaking joints, the maester manages to sit down next to the lad. “Lady Stark is going to make something very bad happen.”
“Jon,” Luwin warns, “Lady Stark is a very kind woman-”
“She wants her handmaiden to cut my hair!”
Luwin just about doubles over laughing. “Everything will be fine, Jon.” He takes Jon to Lady Stark’s chambers before he gets in trouble for running away, chuckling all the way.
iii. Sansa
“May I come in, Maester?” Sansa’s voice chirps, as polite as ever. She is the perfect little lady, this one. The spitting image of Lady Catelyn: fiery hair, ocean blue eyes and high cheekbones. She is six years old and has already learnt her place in Winterfell.
“The door is open, my dear,” Luwin replies, closing his dusty book. Sansa skips inside, a grin on her face. “Good morrow, my lady. How are you fairing?”
“I’m quite well, thank you.” She hops into Luwin’s lap and he wraps an arm around her waist. “And yourself?”
“I’m doing very well, thank you, dear.” He thinks of all the Stark children as part of his family. Little Arya even slipped up a couple of times and called him ‘grandfather’. He does not mind, though. He is not allowed to have a family of his own, so the Starks and Theon are as close as he will get.
“Shouldn’t you be at needlepoint lessons, my dear?”
“I finished them already, Maester!” She looks up at him and smiles widely. “You can come to my chambers to see it. I made a pretty pair of mittens. Robb wants to have a snowball fight tomorrow, but I don’t want to get my hands all cold and wet.”
Luwin gives her cheek a fond pinch. “I’m sure they’re lovely. I would love to see them.”
Sansa picks up the book, her fingers tracing the letters on the cover. “What are you doing reading about Aegon the Conqueror? I thought you already knew everything about him.”
“Not everything, I’m afraid. Most, yes, but it cannot hurt to brush up. Reading is good for you.”
She seems shyer now as she places the book back on the desk. “Maester, can I ask you something? It may sound silly.” She shrinks into herself, her shoulders hunching forward. She hides behind a curtain of red locks.
“You may ask me anything you want to. I will not judge.”
“Or laugh?”
He strokes her hair. “Or laugh.”
She lets out a deep breath and wrings her hands. “I was wondering if you had a book about…magic.” She says the word in a whisper, as if she is afraid something bad will happen if she utters it too loudly. “It interests me.”
“Where is the shame in that? Magic is very interesting.” Luwin himself does not believe in it, but it is still intriguing.
“My brothers made fun of me for it.”
“And why would they do that? Why, when Robb was your age, he wanted to be Queen Nymeria.” Sansa giggles, her shyness evaporating. “And Jon wanted to be a dragon tamer. Imagine that.” She giggles more, her cheeks turning a pretty light pink.
“Maester Luwin?”
“Yes?”
“I-I want to be a wizard. One who travels the land and helps people and gets her name written in the history books.”
He smiles softly. “Your name will be written in the books no matter what you do, I can promise you that.”
iv. Arya
Jory Cassel carries the girl into Luwin’s rookery, an exasperated expression on his face. “Maester, would you be so kind as to…patch up the little lady over here?” He deposits Arya onto one of the seats in the room, helping her get into a comfortable position.
“I’m not a lady,” she protests, shoving Jory’s shoulder.
“Right,” Jory snorts, mussing up her hair. “I’ll leave you to it, Maester.” With a small bow, he turns and heads for the door.
“What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?” Luwin questions with a smile on his face once they are alone. He gathers his supplies and sits across from Arya. He pulls out a jar and begins to disinfect the wound, apologizing when she hisses with pain.
“I joined Robb, Jon and Theon for practice today,” she explains.
“Shouldn’t you have been at needlepoint?”
“Swordfighting is much more fun.” She points to the injury on her knee- the one Luwin is currently cleaning. “I got that after Theon knocked me to the ground. It didn’t hurt, and I know he didn’t mean to do it.” She rolls up her sleeve and shows him the bruises on her elbow. “Jon always aims for the elbows and wrists.”
The maester quirks an eyebrow up at her. “Anything from Robb?”
Arya grins and lifts her dress higher, exposing the skin of her belly. It is all red from the abuse it suffered. “Robb thwacks more than jabs.” She is proud and smug about her injuries. She will be quite the fighter when she is older.
“I see you’ve already discovered all of their secrets.” He wraps her knee in a bandage and secures it in place with a small pin. “And how do you fight, little one?”
“I work on the defense. If you wait for them to come to you, they will tire out more easily.” Her words are confident- she is very sure of herself. For only seven years old, she is outspoken and courageous. Luwin admires that in her.
“What happens if you fight someone who also works on the defense?” He enjoys questioning her- Arya’s answers are always quick and to the point. And if you don’t agree with her, well, she’ll talk until you do.
“Then they can go fight someone else!” They both share a laugh. “Really, it’s all about flicks of the wrist.” She demonstrates and almost hits Luwin in the process as he reaches for her elbow.
“And what do your parents think of all of this?” He’s afraid he already knows the answer. He would love to see Arya become a knight like she always wanted. Unfortunately, that’s not what is expected of her.
“Father seems to be alright with it. He lets me practice with the boys, at least.” An impish smirk plays on her lips. “And my mother, well…what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
v. Bran
Luwin tiptoes to the young lad’s chambers, the small pouch of gold dragons heavy in his hand. He does not want to wake the boy, lest he ruin the fun for him. Bran just lost his first tooth and he couldn’t stop smiling since. It is one of the front teeth, and his grinning shows off the gap. Lord Stark had slipped Luwin some coin to put under Bran’s pillow in exchange for the tooth Bran had planted there.
Bran sleeps soundly, his mouth parted and his chest rising and falling with each breath. Luwin’s steps become even slower and more careful the closer he approaches the bed. He clutches the pouch tightly so the money inside does not jingle. He can only imagine Bran’s disappointment if he is not faced with the fairy Luwin and Lady Catelyn had told him about.
With cautious hands, Luwin lifts one of the pillows. He takes the one furthest away from Bran so there is less of a chance of waking him. He slips the pouch under it and pats the pillow down. He sighs deeply, relief washing over him. Now that that’s done with-
Oh no. The tooth. Wincing, he realizes that Bran must have put it under the pillow he rests his head upon. The maester reaches out and feels underneath the pillow for the tooth. He prays to the gods that Bran doesn’t wake up-
“Are you the Tooth Fairy?” the lad’s voice demands. Luwin resists the urge to curse. “If you were, you wouldn’t take so long answering.” He lifts his hand and puts it on Luwin’s arm. The maester knows that Bran is frowning, even if he cannot see him in the dark. “Maester Luwin,” he groans, disappointed.
“How do you know it’s me?”
“I’d recognize those sleeves anywhere!” Bran huffs out an exasperated breath. “So the Tooth Fairy isn’t real? You were her all along?”
“I’m sorry, Bran. I didn’t mean for you to find out.”
“That really doesn’t help things, Maester.”
The old man cringes. “I know.”
Bran feels around the bed and wraps his hands around the pouch of gold dragons. “Do I still get money?” He bounces the pouch, making the coins sing.
“Of course. I wouldn’t be so cruel as to take that away from you.”
“Three gold dragons,” he counts. “Wait until Arya hears about this! She only got two!”
“Bran?”
“Yes, Maester?”
“Don’t tell anyone that I’m the Tooth Fairy.”
Bran considers this for a moment, then lets out a high-pitched laugh. “On one condition.”
Luwin’s worrying now. “Yes?”
“Up my payment up to four dragons and you have a deal.”
vi. Rickon
Rickon is distracted today. Granted, he has the normal attention span of a three-year-old boy- a very short attention span. However, usually he at least tries to focus. The worst he’ll do is fidget in his seat and change positions every few minutes. But today, he cannot even digest a sentence Luwin says without asking him to repeat it.
“What’s wrong, little one? Something is on your mind.” Luwin figures that missing one lesson will not hurt. Rickon is already very good with his writing and mathematics.
“It snowing,” Rickon explains, “but we’re inside.” His knee bounces up and down quickly, impatiently. “I want to go out.”
“You have none of your winter clothes. You’ll catch a cold.” His protest is feeble and meek. As Luwin looks out the window, he has the itch to go outside, as well. It has been awhile since he has seen snow, and even longer since he has gone out to enjoy it.
“Only for a few minutes,” Rickon tries to reason. He puts on a pout and gives Luwin wide puppy dog eyes. Luwin sighs; he can’t say no to that face.
“Come along, then.” Rickon takes his hand happily and follows him out of the rookery, skipping with every step. “Don’t tell your mother about this.”
“Never!” They share a mischievous grin.
It is not too cold outside, with the sun shining bright. The snow falls steadily and Rickon attempts to catch as many snowflakes as he can on his tongue. Luwin stays off to the side and lets the boy have his fun.
“Maester! Come play with me!” Rickon dances in the snow, twirling and spinning around.
Luwin smiles. “I would love to, little lord. But my bones are too old for this.” Rickon frowns but continues to roll around in the snow, and eventually, the smile returns. The maester sits down on the bench at the side of the courtyard, burying his hands in his loose sleeves.
“Maester!” Rickon calls. Luwin looks up just in time to see a snowball heading in his direction. He gasps and moves to the side, but the snowball manages to hit him in the shoulder.
“Little lord!” Luwin chastises mockingly. “You’re gonna regret that!” With a sudden burst of energy, the old man gets up and forms a perfect snowball. He chases Rickon around the courtyard, who shrieks and giggles with delight.
“I thought you were too old!” Rickon teases, sticking his tongue out at him.
“Never too old!” Luwin replies gruffly. He throws the snowball and both of them laugh when it hits the boy in the belly. “See? My aim is still fine. I can rival Theon Greyjoy with accuracy.”
Rickon beams and holds his arms out, wanting to be picked up. His cheeks are rosy, his dimples showing, and snowflakes melt in his auburn Tully hair. “You’re much more fun than Theon Greyjoy, Maester.”
+i. Theon
Luwin’s steps are slow as he goes into the library. Today has been a long day. Lord Stark and his army came back from the Iron Islands yesterday. Luwin spent all day taking care of wounded soldiers and he wants nothing more than to read a good book, then fall into a blissful oblivion.
He picks up a book about the Blackfyre Rebellion, something he already knows much about. He is too exhausted and lethargic to search for an actual stimulating book. He sits down at one of the couches and begins to read. His eyes threaten to droop shut, but he vows to at least read a chapter before he falls asleep.
“M-may I sit here?” a tiny voice asks. Luwin jumps and looks around before spotting a shy, dark-haired boy. Theon Greyjoy. Luwin hadn’t even noticed him.
“Of course, lad.” The maester moves over and pats the space beside him. Theon gives him a small, timid smile and pulls himself up onto the seat. “What are you reading?”
Theon sits cross-legged and splays the book in his lap, a cover on each knee. “Something about boats. I didn’t even bother to look at the title.” He blushes a little. “The ships made me think of home, that’s all.”
Luwin takes a peek at the cover. It is one of the many books the library has about the history of the Iron Islands. “A fine book, indeed.” Reading about Pyke over the course of the years has proved to be interesting. Luwin enjoys reading about the pirates and krakens and explorations.
He feels bad for Theon. He is a quiet lad, and anyone can see the grief behind his stormy green-grey eyes. He is only ten, and already ripped away from his family. Luwin hopes that one day, Theon will think of Winterfell as a home.
“How are you liking Winterfell?”
Theon shrugs. “It’s alright, I suppose. Cold.” He huddles deeper into his cloak to prove his point. “I made friends with Robb and Jon.”
“That’s good!” Luwin encourages, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry…about everything. Things will get better, I can promise you that. The Starks are wonderful people.”
Theon looks as if he wants to say a snarky remark, but he bites his tongue. “Thank you,” he grits out instead. “I-I suppose it could be worse. I shouldn’t be so quick to judge.” He goes back to reading his book and Luwin does not want to disturb him. Luwin continues reading about the Blackfyre Rebellion, though he forgets every word he reads as he passes onto a new one.
He is just about asleep when he feels Theon’s hand on his arm. “Maester?”
“Hmm?” He rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Yes, Theon?” The boy is out of his seat, the book somewhere back on the shelf. “You’re a fast reader,” he mutters, more to himself.
Theon scuffs the ground with the toe of his boot, his hair falling in front of his face. “C-can I join you here again tomorrow? I-I like talking to you.”
Luwin smiles warmly. “Of course, Theon.”