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The library was unfamiliar territory for him. He bound between the stacks like an outsider, glancing about. In all his years at this school he had never once stepped foot in the library. Not even with the assignment called for it, he avoided it. Not on purpose, per say, but he never felt a reason to go. There was nothing Google couldn’t answer. The library made him uncomfortable because it was clear that he didn’t belong. Amongst the ducked heads, dusty books and stern looking librarians he was nothing but an intruder. Rickon could fit in with almost anyone, probably because he didn’t care much about what other people did or didn’t do, but here, it was clear. He looked around again, and tried to find his lab partner. She was here somewhere, or that’s where the teacher told him he would be able to find her.
“Shireen is a lovely girl, you’ll find her in the library, she goes there after school to study.”
His lab partner hadn’t been in class since as long as he could remember. He had only seen her a handful of times between the times that he ditched and the times she wasn’t there. But her name remained steady at the top of the class percentage. Shireen Baratheon. Two days had gone by since they had received the project packet but he had seen hide nor hair of Shireen. So instead he went in search of her. Which was how he would up in the library. His fourth time circling in front of the help desk he was stopped by a librarian, a wrinkled old woman with a shawl wrapped around her head.
“Can I help you find something young man.” As sweet as she looked her voice was laced with steel and he knew that she would by no means put up with any sarcasm or wit, so he went with the plain truth: “I was looking for a Shireen Baratheon, she’s my lab partner. I just wanted to go over some things.” He said, digging his hand in his hair and pushing it from his face in annoyance. It was as if he told the old woman that it was all you can eat pancake day. Her face lit up like Christmas lights.
“Shireen!” she clasped her hands together. “I love her. So sweet. I’ll show you.” The old woman moved with a bustle he didn’t know she had in her, she skated around tables and if not for his long legs he didn’t know if he could keep up. They passed romance and science fiction, skirted around history and supernatural and landed in occult. In the middle of the shelves a large circle table sat study on the old carpeting and a girl behind it in a chair, hunched over a notebook and calculator. The librarian tip toed over and tapped two fingers on the desk.
Two things happened at once in that moment (Three if he was being romantic.) The first was that the girl in question, sitting hunched over the notebook yanked a pink ear bud out of her ear and looked up at him with the biggest blues eye that he had ever seen. Her inky hair fell, wavy over one shoulder and her face was exposed. Big blue eyes sitting over a pert upturned freckled nose and red lips painted purple. Her bangs cut a tight line across her forehead, brushing her slanted brows. Her skin was healthy pink in some places and white-grey in others, the fall of her hair exposing the intricate scar on her face that ran down her neck. His heart skipped a heavy beat in his chest.
Upon instinct he brought his hand up to rub at the spot where he felt like part of his heart banged against his rib cage, the breath left his lungs and he, for a moment, lost himself. Because she was stoic and beautiful in her calmness, and he wondered what it looked like when she laughed.
“Shireen, this boy is here to see you.” The librarian hustled away, Rickon didn’t see the little wink she threw at Shireen who cheeks flushed bright, Rickon’s eyes drew to that blush that stained her cheeks with a rapt attention. He wanted it to happen again, he found. As the older woman left Rickon found himself alone with Shireen who was staring at him with a growing flush on the more tanned side of her face. After another moment of standing silence Rickon realized he would be the one to have to talk first. So he took a step forward, took his hand from his hair and held it in her direction.
“I’m Rickon Stark, and I’m your lab partner.” He glanced around her shelved in fortress.
“What are you doing here all by yourself?”
Shireen observed Rickon Stark from over the edge of her notebook. He was hunched over her packet that she had made the night before. The pencil that had once been shoved behind his ear was now jammed his mouth, the eraser being greedily chewed upon. He was flipping through the seven paged packet with ease, his lips moving to the tune of whatever section he was reading. While he was reading, she was observing. She had seen Rickon Stark from afar, but up close, he was a sight to behold. He was tall, edging toward 6’3” and not so lanky, with broad shoulders and muscled his arms. His dark burnished red hair looped and whorled down to his shoulders were he had it pulled back into a sloppy little bun that looked better than anything she had ever done with her hair. He had dark sea foam green blue eyes. He wore a pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt, accented with a blue button down flannel that she was, quite frankly, jealous of. He had a black corded necklace, a beaded bracelet that said, “SANSA” and a neck tattoo. The tattoo was an intricate “S” – she knew that it must have stood for Stark, or whoever Sansa was, but the fact that it was the first letter of her name had her flustered.
She turned her eyes back down to her math homework, she wrote another line of work and began to calculate exponents and polynomials when he interrupted.
“So what part do you need me to do?” He was at the end of the packet where the essay was, looking up at her unabashed with confused eyes.
“It’s done.” She said.
“I can see that. What part of the project do you need me to do?” The science project had taken her less than two hours to do, a little research, a small documentary on local turtles and some typing and the project was done. Shireen had been spurned by group projects, she knew that at the end of the day she would be the one doing all the work. So she went ahead and did it anyway.
“No part. It’s done.” She said, and looked back down at her math, swearing under her breath when she noticed a mistake, taking the pen down to correct the negative to a positive. Shireen fully expected him to take his copy, she had written his name in forest green pen – and leave, but instead a few minutes passed and he was still sitting there. Shireen was half tempted to put her headphones back in when he spoke again:
“I don’t understand.” Shireen deeply sighed and set the violet colored pen down and peered at him from behind the rim of her glasses. “What is there to not understand?”
“It’s my project too.” He said. Shireen was a bit baffled, the boy (man, gods be good, this was a man but Shireen was trying not to pay attention to it. It being of course the cut edge of his jaw, the wideness of his shoulders, the long callous fingers.) He sighed when he realized she wasn’t going to say anything.
“I’ll do the extra credit.” He announced.
“I was going to do it.” Shireen blurted. It was the only part of the project she had been mildly excited about. The prospect of sitting next to a creek all day watching the nature did something to Shireen, excited her. She had charged up the battery in her camera and found her old pair of hiking boots that she wouldn’t mind getting muddy. She watched him read over the instructions, mouthing the words on the page. She examined him some more, finding more nuance in him each time she looked. The raspberry color of his lips. The scar where he might have once had a nose piercing, the smattering of just-slight-darker-than-peach freckles across his nose and dusting his cheeks. He had pointed ears like an elf and an arrow straight nose. Good biology, Shireen thought, with a tad bit of bitterness added to the thought. Thinking of her own rough skin that was prone to acne, her frizzy hair and narrow teeth.
“I’ll go with you.” Shireen looked back down at her math so he wouldn’t catch her staring.
“You really don’t have to.” She told him, patiently.
“I will though. When are you going, tonight?”
“Tonight? No… I have a thing… I was going to go Saturday.”
He nodded along to her, he ducked his head and caught her eyes, his mouth turning up in a half smile. “A thing?” He quirked a brow and bit into that puffy lip, “Hot date?” She flushed, because that was beyond her scope of imagination.
“As if.” She shrugged a frail shoulder, “The Lord of the Rings is in theater. I’m going when I finish here.” She said. As if he needed to know what kind of nerd she was, as if he needed to know that she spent most of her nights either hunched in front of her desk or crouched in the back row of the Old Towne Theater.
“Lord of the Rings? Never seen it.” He said, shrugging his own broader shoulder. Her mouth plopped open.
“Never seen it?” She asked, her voice rose in pitch. “You’ve never seen the Lord of the Rings?” He looked up at her, startled by her abrupt change in attitude. “No.”
She shook her head, glanced at her watch and began to pack up her things, throwing her calculator and pencils in her backpack.
“You poor deprived child.”
“Deprived? I’ll have you know my brother said the movie wasn’t that good.”
“Your brother is just as deprived as you are.” Rickon Stark snorted. Blew rough air through his nose and chortled. “I’ll have to tell Bran you said that. Isn’t it old?” He wrinkled his nose at her. “It’s a classic, but it’s not old. You’ll honestly have to see it for yourself.” She offered, checking her phone screen. A blinking message from Davos was on the screen, a precisely typed out: “Won’t Be Home For Dinner or Breakfast, Staying Late at Work. Call Later.”
“Is that an offer?” He asked. She blinked at him.
“You taking me to the movies, Baratheon?” He asked, his voice took on a sarcastic, charming sway and she found herself blushing, the warmth rushing from her cheeks to her toes, burning a hole in her chest at his roguish smile.
“Is that what you got from this?” She asked him, taking measures not to stutter. She was clearly already embarrassing herself enough as is. As he was about to answer she saw a figure emerging from behind his left shoulder, she had a swanky walk, accentuated by her thin thighs and short skirt. Myrcella swaggered up behind them. But Shireen doubted she even saw her. There was a phone clutched in her hand and a little mischievous smile on her face. Shireen had seen it often in her life. It was the same smile her mother, Cersei wore, and her brother Joffrey wore. Tommen was the only exception in that bunch.
Myrcella only had eyes for Rickon. She approached the rounded table with loud obvious steps, Rickon didn’t turn around to address her. Without asking, Myrcella plopped herself in the chair between Rickon and Shireen.
“There’s a party tonight at the Summers, didn’t know if Jojen told you.” Myrcella asked. Shireen began to pack up quicker. Shoving a sticky note as a bookmark between her math text book she tossed it into her bag.
“Nope. Haven’t heard a thing.” This was where girls like Myrcella became lost on Shireen. Rickon wasn’t engaged in their conversation the man hadn’t even looked up from his packet to address her. But it didn’t slow Myrcella. Shireen couldn’t bring herself to flirt on her best day, Myrcella could flirt with a brick wall.
“Well there is. And they always have booze so you don’t have to bring your own.” She spouted.
“Well. Sounds lovely but I’ve got plans.” He said. Shireen fully expected him to follow up that disinterested sentence with : “I’m watching paint dry.” Instead he said: “Going to the movies with her.” Rickon Stark threw his head in her direction, she froze in the process of leaping from her seat to make a stealthy exit. Myrcella turned her attention onto Shireen, who sheepishly looked over at her. Rickon Stark stood up, so did Myrcella. He towered over both of them.
“Maybe next time Miranda.” He said.
“Myrcella.” Her teeth gritting cousin corrected.
“Whatever. Same thing.”
Shireen left the library, feeling the shadow of Rickon Stark at her back. A few people stopped to stare, but most ignored them. Shireen all but ran for the doors of the school to the outside. She figured she could catch the 4 o’clock bus for Denming Street and be at the movies by 4:30 in time to catch the 5:00 p.m. showing. As she left the building she felt the air hit her face and felt free once again, away from prying eyes and evil cousins. While Shireen enjoyed school, she loved learning, she wasn’t a fan of being at school.
“Where are you going?” A voice called from behind her. She turned, and abruptly remembered her shadow. Her excitement for the movie gone.
“To…. The bus?”
“I thought we were going to the movies.” He said. He was by no means crowding her space, but the sheer size of him made her feel like he was. He all but blocked out the sun.
“I am.. I was taking the bus.” She said. His face screwed up. She took the offense. “There’s nothing wrong with the bus, it’s very clean – “ He held up a hand to stop her. His face unreadable as he spoke down to her. “I know there’s nothing wrong with the bus. But I have a car, so … I thought we could drive.”
“oh.”
Oh, Indeed.
So there Shireen was, perched on the leather seat of Rickon Stark’s brand spanking new maroon red impala, clutching her backpack to her chest and looking out the window. The scenery was flying by too fast, the boy moving like a bat out of hell. The music was a low hum in the car, it went from low heavy rock songs, to thumping rap songs, to lingering guitar solos, there wasn’t a particular genre it just bounced around. His car was mostly clean, there were a few articles of clothing strewn across the back seat, his backpack lay slumped on its side back there. He was jabbering too, just talking lightly to fill the air she supposed. Or to make up for her unforgiving silences.
“Sansa isn’t into movies so we haven’t gone in a long time.” Shireen perked at the name, observing the bracelet on his wrist: SANSA “Is she you girlfriend?” The auburn haired man laughed, “No. Sister.”
“Oh.” Shireen said. Looking down at her lap she asked, “Do you have more siblings?”
“Yeah. There are six of us. Seven if you include Theon.” She gasped. Seven children. Her mother had barely been able to hold just her.
“What about you?”
“Just me.” She said. There was a small lingering silence after that.
“My … parents got separated so no more kids for them.” She said, and wondered if that was too much information.
“Oh. Were you young? When it happened?”
“Yes.” She remembered the precise date it happened, getting in her mother’s car with her and the two of them driving off. She remembered the sadness and the horror that she felt, she remembered living with her mother in the tent with the rest of the cult goers, she remembered it all.
“I’ve always admired my parents for staying together. They had some bumpy times, but they stay together.” Rickon said, Shireen observed him from this angel. He was so relaxed in the drivers seat, one hand on the wheel the other resting comfortably the window. Shireen wasn’t able to drive, her poor eye sight combined with her sudden infrequent muscle spasms in her leg made it nearly impossible to drive, so she never tried.
“We used to go to movies all the time but Sansa cant ever sit through them without driving the rest of us crazy so we tend to do movie nights at home so she can talk as loud as she wants.” He said.
Shireen didn’t bother telling him he was going the long way to the theater, it was a relaxing drive. The sun was low hung in the sky and it was just a tad too warm.
He parked front and center at the theater and hopped out of the car, Shireen got out slower, stretching her limbs before heading toward the double doors. She supposed at that moment she should have questioned herself.
Why did I get in the car with a stranger?
Why is this so easy?
Why am I letting this happen?
But she didn’t. Rickon Stark slowed his steps so that they could walk side by side, his arm every once in a while brushing hers. The Theater was an old beacon to her, an escape from reality for a few hours before heading home to her too big empty house and voicemails from her father. There were no therapists, no scars, and no nightmares in the movie theater. As the approached the ticket station Shireen noticed a familiar face behind the counter.
“Hey Pod.” She greeted. The boy perked up at her. Podrick Payne sat tall and stocky behind the counter, his dark hair limp in his face, his hand resting on his cheek, looking all the while like he was going to fall asleep right there at the counter. At her call he jerked up, sitting up straight in the tall chair and surveying the room. The lobby of the theater was dead, only a few folks milling about the popcorn machine going berserk in the way that It did. He gave her a small smile.
“Hey Shireen. How’s it going?” He asked. Shireen watched as his eyes drifted from her, corduroy skirt, converse sneakers, red tucked it blouse to Rickon. She could feel him tall and imposing behind her, dressed from top to bottom in black with heavy boots at his feet and that intricate tattoo on the side of his neck.
“It’s alright.” She shrugged. They had done this dance many times. They had struck up a loose friendship of sorts, both of them interested in the same kind of films, he would make her popcorn just the way she liked it or sometimes even come in and sit silently beside her during a film. While she would wait for the bus they had struck up many an odd conversation.
“What are we seeing, can I guess?” He asked. A playful smirk on his face. This was an old game of theirs.
“One chance.” She warned like normal. Wringing her hands on her skirt. Podrick’s eyes scanned the showing board jumping from show time to show time before falling back on her.
“Lord of the Rings?” He asked. She gave an overdramatic sigh and dug for her wallet. He started pressing buttons on the screen. After a moment of silence he asked, “Together or separate?”
“Together”
“Separate.”
Shireen spun to look at Rickon Stark, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was holding twenty dollars in his hand. “Oh” She stammered, “You d-d-d-ont have to pay I can-“ He reached around her, his arm resting on her shoulder as he handed Podrick the money. Podrick gleefully took it and printed their tickets.
“Any candy, popcorn?” Shireen timidly ordered a water bottle and a small bag of gummy bears. Rickon paid for those as well. She glared at him as they left the concessions.
“I could pay, I mean, I can pay you back.” She said. He smirked down at her, the his puffy pouty lips dredging up into a smile at her.
“Don’t worry about it.” Shireen supposed she should have been more suspicious of him. She should have questioned why he drove her here in his shiny car, bought her movie tickets and was now guiding her into a seat at the theater where she got her solitude. She should have checked the ceiling for camera’s or pig blood or something to imply that this was a practical joke. But instead she slumped into the seat, resting her shoes on the seat in front of her in the nearly empty theater next to Rickon Stark who was leaning so close to her she could feel his breath across her ear and his warm arm rubbing against hers, his knee sometimes touching hers. They watched the movie with little fanfare. Rickon would lean in every once in a while and ask a question or make a funny comment, and her ear would tingle and his warm breath would hit her face where her scars were and she would flush bright red and feeling something squirming around inside of her stomach like a worm or a butterfly every time his lips came close to her ear. When the movie was done she was pleasantly surprised that he seemed to like it.
“I mean, Legolas is cool, but it’s just because he’s an elf, but to be a cool dwarf like.. that’s the shit.” He said, he was no poet, but his comment made her laugh all the same.
“You should watch The Hobbit, full of cool dwarves.” She told him, they made their way back to his car.
She had waved goodbye at Podrick, who was sweeping the lobby with headphones in.
“You going to watch it with me?” He asked her, with a teasing lilt to his voice. She glances at him out of the corner of her eyes. It was dark outside now, the sun was falling over the horizon. “Where to next?” He asked, when they were situated in the car. She wound the seatbelt across herself.
“I suppose I sho-“ She was about to offer that he take her home.
“I know!” He snapped his fingers. “Dinner. You have your seat belt on?” He asked as he pulled out, the car gliding over the asphalt in a way that the bus never did.
“You don’t have to do this.” She said again. Because why, why was he doing this?
“Has it occurred to you that I want to?” No, she thought, it hadn’t occurred to her because that was absurd. They only drove about five minutes from the theater, pulling into a little diner in a shopping mall. It was a small vintage thing that advertised onion burgers and milkshakes.
“I come here all the time. Best burger in town.” He told her. He had to lean down to talk to her, she noticed, his whole body tilted in her direction. He waved at the girl behind the seating podium, she gave him a smile and a distant wave, not even directing them to a table her head face down in a magazine. He took her over to a back booth where they sat across from each other, his longer legs brushing hers under the table. She looked at the menu. It was one page long and advertised only three specials, the onion burger, the meatloaf and the black bean sweet potato hash. She knew instantly what she was going to get.
The waitress that came over to them had to be in her late 50’s, her face lined and her eyes smudged with thick black eye liner.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” She demanded of Rickon, who threw his head back and gave the most gorgeous laugh she had ever heard. His bass chuckle reverberated into her stomach and spine sending a flutter of nerves into stomach. “Nope.” He said, winking at the older woman.
“Didn’t anybody tell you? I’m a man grown now.” He said. The older woman laughed, “What does a man grown want to drink? The usual? And who is this pretty young thing? You trick some poor girl into going out with you.” The waitress said, resting her hand on her hip. Shireen blushed at being called a “pretty young thing.” She had never been a pretty young thing.
“This is Shireen. Shireen this is Brenda.” Shireen gave the older woman a polite smile.
“Brenda is the owner of my favorite diner and her sister Osha is the owner of my favorite bar.” He said.
Shireen quirked a brow at him. “Are you old enough to have a favorite bar?”
Brenda threw her head back and laughed. “I like her.” She called. “Anything you want, it’s on the house baby girl.” The woman said.
“The hash?” She asked. Brenda nodded her head.
“I’ll throw a milkshake on top of that for ya, babe.” She said, snagging their menus.
“Aren’t you going to ask what I want?” Rickon called after Brenda. Who turned with a hand no her hip and gave him a little glare, “We all know what you want boy.” As Brenda went to put their orders in Shireen looked at Rickon Stark, who was looking back at her with surprising intensity.
“So. Ms. Baratheon, tell me about yourself.” He crossed his arms in front of him on the table while she fidgeted.
“What do you mean?” She asked, fighting the urge to bite her nails.
“Tell me about you, tell me about …” He gestured around her.
Shireen took the cue. “The scars?” She asked.
It was a normal thing for people to ask, children blurted out ‘what happened to your face?’ in the grocery store all the time and she had the conversation with a million teachers and lab partners. But he balked at her, his face draining of color a little bit.
“No, No! Christ. No. I wouldn’t ask you that. I just meant you, tell me about you, what you like to do, who you hang out with? Jesus.” He rubbed a hand over his face.
“It’s normal to be curious.” She assured him. She didn’t know why but she didn’t like the thought that he felt bad for asking the question that was on everyone’s mind.
“Shireen I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I don’t care about your scars.” He said. Looking her heavily in the eyes. “I want to know what you do on a Saturday afternoon when the weather is perfect and you don’t have homework to do.” He asked her.
She thought of her perfect Saturday afternoon, “I got to bookstores, I read a lot. I like … movies and TV. I go on walks sometimes.” She shrugged. “I don’t do much.” She said. And then looked imploringly at him.
“What about you?” He considered her question. “I go hang out at The Wildling. Osha’s bar. I read too, play video games, hang out with my brothers and my dog… I don’t think I do much.” He admitted.
She knew that feeling well, like you couldn’t remember how you spent your time. Brenda came back with their drinks, a vanilla milkshake in one hand a beer in the other. Rickon smirked at her. “Supplying alcohol to a minor?” He asked her, winking at Shireen who looked at the scene with mild surprise.
“Did you not want it?” Brenda asked, holding the bar out of reach. Rickon reached out with one long arm and snagged it away, taking a long pull.
The talked long with few breaks. About the project, the weather, The Lord of The Rings, Science fiction, their favorite TV shows as children and the difference between a sweet potato and a yam. For an hour or so Shireen absorbed herself into Rickon Stark. Falling into his life with ease, learning about his childhood fear of dinosaurs and his hatred for broccoli. She should have been scared, worried with how easy it had been to fall into line with him, laughing at his jokes and letting her guard down.
Brenda didn’t charge them for the meal, she sat down with them for a while and told an embarrassing story about Rickon and craft beer that had Shireen red in the face and laughing. Rickon stood even closer to her as they walked out after leaving a large tip for Brenda and a promise to come back. His body heat came off him in waves, running over her with, leaving her basking in his glow. He was like sun in that way, she wanted to be covered in his warmth so she would inch close, but fearing he would burn her she backed away. He drove her to her house, which was dark – she had forgotten to leave the porch light on that morning. He parked in her drive way, his car rumbling smooth.
“Thanks for taking me to the movies, Shir.” He said. And she found that she liked that, Shir – the nickname coming out of his mouth.
“I’m pretty sure you took me.” She told him, as she gathered her backpack together and fished for her house key. “Same difference.” He shrugged. She turned to say goodbye to him, looking up into his eyes her breath caught in her throat.
His eyes, dark and burning with an intensity that hadn’t been there before looked up at her.
“Have a good night, Shireen.” He said. She nodded, unable to speak properly.
That night when she lay in bed she lamented over the day, berating herself and wondering if she had day dreamed half of it. But she had come to a conclusion: It couldn’t happen again. It had been too easy for her to fall into him, it would be too easy for her to become absorbed by him. And when he burned her, and he would, she wouldn’t be able to heal from that. Rickon Stark, while sweet and funny, was out of her league. Not that she figured he would talk to her much anymore anyway, the project would be turned in at the beginning of next week and they would go back to barely missing each other in science class and she would be alone again the library. But she wouldn’t let herself forget this night, because for the first time in a long time she felt worthy. She felt funny and worth it. And that was a feeling she was going to let go of, even if it never happened again. She slept with a smile on her face and woke with a smile too. She showered and pulled on clothes that morning, leaving her father and Davos messages on their phones about her day. She made a doctor’s appointment and when it was time to take the bus she slipped her backpack on and inched out of the house. But that’s where she stopped.
Because parked in the driveway was a shiny red Impala with an auburn-haired boy behind the driver’s seat. She inched up to the window and it rolled down. Rickon Stark was wearing dark sunglasses and a short sleeved black shirt.
“I got you breakfast.” He said, holding up a two pack of pop-tarts. She just continued to stare. “And coffee.” She blinked at him.
“So, get in.” He said. She wondered in that moment if this was what making a deal with the devil looked like. If the devil was an auburn-haired man with a cup of Starbucks coffee in his hand a neck tattoo.
So get in, she did.