Robb Stark (292 A.C. Third Moon)
Winterfell – Training Yard
He gazed across the training yard, lost in thought. His father's words from the morning meal echoed in his mind. Jon would be leaving for Greywater Watch, and though Robb knew it was for the best, he could not help but feel sad. Jon was his brother, even if they didn't share the same mother, but by heart, and the thought of losing his closest friend and confidant filled him with a quiet ache.
Jon had been with him for as long as he could remember. It never mattered that he was a bastard; to Robb, Jon was simply his brother. He was always there, whether they were hurt, alone, or getting into mischief together. More often than not, it was Jon who took the blame when they were caught. Especially if their mother found out. She would scold Jon harshly, sometimes even before their father, as if belittling him would somehow raise Robb higher. It had been unfair, and only now did Robb truly see it.
Especially during our sparring sessions, he thought bitterly. How am I supposed to improve when my opponent will not fight me at his full strength? How can I learn if I believe I can defeat anyone? He never realized that he often bested Jon in their spars only because Jon was holding back. Jon did not restrain himself when fighting Theon, and Theon rarely stood a chance.
And how could Mother be so cruel? Robb's anger simmered. Sending Jon to bed without food for days, or finding ways to keep him from eating at all? She never saw who he truly was, only the shame of his birth. She could not see how much happiness he brought Father, or how much I trusted him. Jon would never betray me.
He wondered if he could ever forgive her. If only she had heard Jon defend her, even when she was cruel to him. He always insisted she was their mother, that they had only one, even if she despised him. Jon always denied himself, taking less food, fewer comforts, so the trueborn children could have more. Jon was good and true. Nothing his mother said could change that.
His thoughts were broken by a familiar voice.
"Stark, Robb!" Jon called, a hint of concern in his tone.
Robb blinked and turned toward him, realizing he had been lost in thought.
"Yeah, sorry," he said, shaking himself from his reverie. "What did you ask me?"
"I was asking if you are up for a spar," Jon replied with a grin. "Greyjoy does not seem eager for another beating." He gestured toward Theon, who was still groaning and dusting himself off on the ground.
"Sure, Jon," Robb said, glad for the distraction. "It will do me good to clear my head."
They stepped into the training yard, wooden swords in hand. Circling each other carefully, they waited for an opening. Jon struck first, his sword flashing toward Robb's midsection. Robb parried cleanly and countered with a swift strike at Jon's shoulder. Jon deflected it but stumbled backward from the force.
Robb pressed the advantage, raining down a series of quick, precise blows. Jon blocked each one, his movements fast and fluid, his focus unwavering. Sweat trickled down Robb's neck as he struggled to keep pace.
Then he saw it, a brief opening. Robb feinted left and lunged right, catching Jon off guard. His wooden blade thudded against Jon's side, forcing a grunt from him as he staggered back.
Jon recovered quickly. He turned Robb's next strike aside and launched into a furious counterattack. The sound of clashing wood filled the yard. Robb did his best to hold his ground, but Jon's relentless precision finally drove him back until his shoulders hit the training yard wall.
"I yield!" Robb gasped, breathless, sweat streaming down his face. He was surprised, yet thrilled, that Jon had beaten him. He had never seen his brother fight like that before.
"Jon, I did not know you had it in you to be so furious," Robb admitted, clapping him on the back with a grin.
Jon smiled slightly. "It's the wolfsblood, you have to Robb, and since this is my last spar with you for a while, I thought I might as well give it my all."
The reminder that Jon was leaving dimmed Robb's smile, but he pushed the feeling aside. For now, he was simply glad to share this moment with his brother, free from their mother's cold disapproval.
"Well," Robb said, still catching his breath, "I will have to work harder next time if I ever hope to counter an attack like that."
Jon chuckled softly. "I will look forward to it."
They both put their training swords away and walked the Winterfell second wall. The cool wind brushed against their faces, carrying the faint scent of pine and snow. For a while, neither spoke. Robb's heart felt heavy, yet full, as if the silence itself carried everything they needed to say.
"Hey, Jon," Robb said finally. "I just wanted to say that I am going to miss you, brother."
Jon smiled faintly. "I will miss you, too, Robb. But I will be back before you know it."
Robb hesitated, then spoke with quiet sincerity. "I am grateful for this, for us, for the bond we share. We are a pack, all of us, and the pack stays together."
Jon smiled and pulled him into a firm embrace. "You are my brother, now and always," he said.
When they stepped back, Robb's throat tightened. "You have become skilled with the sword, Jon. I only wish my mother had not stopped you from showing it."
Jon's expression softened. "It was not your fault, Robb. Do not ever think that. Remember that, please. I will be looking forward to seeing how we have both changed when I return."
Robb managed a small smile, hope shining in his eyes. "I look forward to that day, Jon."
They hugged once more, sealing the bond between them. When Jon left for his chambers to prepare for his journey, Robb stood watching him go. Jon was the closest sibling he had, and as he disappeared into the halls of Winterfell, it felt as if a part of Robb went with him, if only for a time.
Chapter 6: Arya
Arya Stark (292 A.C. Third Moon)
Winterfell – Arya's Room
Arya and Robb both blamed their mother for the way Jon was treated. It wasn't fair, and it never had been. To Arya, Jon was her brother, no matter what anyone said. That would never change.
Now he was leaving for Greywater Watch, and her chest felt tight just thinking about it. Her favorite brother, the only one who really understood her, was going away. Maybe Robb could teach her swordplay instead. Father had said Robb might be willing to, and with the Mormonts coming soon, maybe she'd have someone to train with. She held onto that hope like a secret promise.
In the end, Robb had yielded during their spar. He hadn't looked angry, only happy, like he'd finally had a real challenge. Afterward, Arya went back to her room, not sure what to do with herself. Septa Mordane's lessons were stopped for the moment. Father said they should all spend time with Jon before he left.
A soft knock broke her thoughts.
"Can I come in? It's me, Jon," came his voice from the hall.
"Yes, come in," Arya said quickly. A smile tugged at her lips as Jon stepped inside, his hands hidden behind his back.
"Hey," she said, trying to sound cheerful even though she felt anything but.
"Hey," Jon answered. His voice was gentle, a little sad.
She frowned. "What are you hiding?"
Jon smiled faintly. "I brought you something."
He pulled a small package from behind his back, wrapped in brown paper. Arya tore it open and gasped. Inside was a small sword, her very own.
"Jon, it's beautiful!" she cried, lifting it up. The blade was tin, dull and light, but to her, it was perfect.
"I wanted you to have it," Jon said. "You can practice with it for now. It's blunt, but when you're older, I'll make sure you get live steel."
Arya grinned. "Do you remember the first lesson in sword fighting?" Jon asked.
"Stick 'em with the pointy end," she answered proudly.
They both burst out laughing, the sound echoing softly off the stone walls. For a moment, it felt like everything was the way it should be again.
Her laughter faded as a lump rose in her throat. She wasn't close to Sansa, not really, but Jon had always been there for her. He had taught her to shoot a bow, to climb the tallest trees, and now he was trusting her with a sword of her own.
"I'll miss you," she whispered.
"I'll miss you too, little wolf," Jon said with a smile, reaching out to ruffle her hair.
"Promise me you'll write. And I'll write back," she said quickly.
"I promise," Jon replied. "Of course, little wolf."
They sat together a while longer, talking about his journey and what he hoped to see. Time slipped by, and the sky outside her window had turned orange by the time Jon stood.
"I have to go, Arya," he said softly. "But I promise, we'll start training in the morning."
"Yes," she said quietly. "I'd like that."
Jon pulled her into a tight hug. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of leather and cold air.
When he finally let go, he smiled at her one last time before leaving.
Arya watched him go, her eyes stinging. She held the little sword close against her chest, clutching it as if it could keep him from leaving. Soon he was gone, and the room felt too quiet, too big. She looked down at the sword in her hands and whispered to herself, "I'll get better, Jon. I promise."
Chapter 6: Jon
Aenar Targaryen / Jon Snow (292 A.C. Third Moon)
Winterfell – Crypts
Five weeks after Jon's nameday
The last five weeks had been different for him. He had spoken the truth about Lady Stark's treatment of him, and he had learned the truth of his past. Soon, he would depart into a new chapter of his life as the ward of Lord Howland Reed and future Lord of Moat Cailin.
Life at Winterfell remained much the same. Lady Catelyn still disapproved of him, but he had noticed a change in others. His relationships with Sansa and even Theon had improved; they both seemed more accepting now. It brought him comfort to rebuild those bonds. He planned to send them letters to keep their connections alive.
Today was the day he would finally leave Winterfell after ten long years. He had risen earlier than usual, as he always did, to train and prepare himself for the journey ahead. Before setting off, he decided to speak with his mother, or at least the statue that represented her, in the crypts.
As he walked through the quiet, torch-lit passage, the chill of the stone seemed to seep into his bones. When he reached her statue, he stopped and gazed up at it, speaking softly, his voice filled with longing and resolve.
"Hello, Mother. I miss you every day. But knowing who you were brings me peace. Reading the letters from you and Father gives me a sense of purpose. I will try my best to make you both proud. I will set history right and reveal the true story, not the one spread by the usurper."
He took a slow breath before continuing. "I will bring honor back to our house and protect our family, both sides, if they are still alive. And if there are any Targaryens left, I will protect them too, because they are family."
For a moment, the image of a woman with silver hair and purple eyes lingered in his mind. He wondered if she truly existed or was only a whisper from his blood.
"Today I leave," he said quietly, "but I promise to return and visit you. You're always in my thoughts, and I will forever love you."
He smiled faintly, thinking of Rhaegar and a song he once sang. Perhaps he could honor his mother that way, through music. Singing was not something bastards were often encouraged to do, but he believed Lady Stark wouldn't have allowed it.
Then he began to sing Jenny of Oldstones, a song his father had sung before. "High in the halls of the kings who are gone."
"Jenny would dance with her ghosts."
"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found."
"And the ones who had loved her the most."
"The ones who'd been gone for so very long."
"She couldn't remember their names."
"They spun her around on the damp old stones."
"Spun away all her sorrow and pain."
"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."
"Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."
"They danced through the day."
"And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall."
"From winter to summer, then winter again."
"Til the walls did crumble and fall."
"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."
"Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."
"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."
"Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."
"High in the halls of the kings who are gone."
"Jenny would dance with her ghosts."
"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found."
"And the ones."
"Who had loved her the most."
As he finished the song, he heard applause behind him. His hair stood right up as he turned around to see who it was.
It was Howland Reed, and he looked at him with wide eyes. "You know?"
"I do," was the only thing he said. "I thought it was him for a moment. You sing just like him," Howland said, his voice thick with emotion.
"I heard him sing once at Harrenhal, before the joust. He sang that very same song. Your mother cried when she heard it. It seems fitting that the first song you sing to her is the same as your father's," Howland added with a small smile.
"Why didn't you or my uncle tell me the truth?" Jon asked.
"Because the truth was dangerous, and for a child to keep that secret would have been difficult," Howland began. "I had planned to tell you once you arrived at Greywater Watch. It was your truth to know. But tell me, how did you find out? Did your uncle Benjen tell you?"
"A voice in the dark… and Bloodraven," Jon replied. His thoughts turned bitter for a moment. So Uncle Benjen also knew the truth and chose not to tell me. Just like Father. Keeping the truth hidden only caused more pain.
"Hmm," Howland murmured. "Bloodraven told me as well about what was happening to you. That is why I came here, to take you as my ward."
"I suspected as much," Jon said quietly. "I knew, even in my talks with Bloodraven, that he was keeping something from me. As for how I found the truth, it was the voice that guided me to this very statue. It told me many things, some I didn't expect. It showed me what the Watch truly was, led me to Bloodraven, and spoke of a path I must walk. It said it had planned this for centuries, and that one day, Valyria would be my path."
Howland frowned deeply at that. "It seems the gods are at play indeed," he said thoughtfully. "My son has seen similar things, a dragon with the head of a wolf, burning brightly. I think that must have been you. And I have no doubt that you will burn brightly, Jon. You are your mother's son, after all. She, too, had a habit of finding trouble and being a shining light in the dark. " He placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "She would have been proud of you."
"Thank you," Jon said softly, his heart swelling at the words. He wondered what it truly meant to burn brightly. If the voice was to be believed, it could mean many things. "I hope that, in time, I can learn more about my mother. My father isn't very talkative when it comes to her."
"That I can tell you," Howland replied kindly. "And we shall speak more of your dreams. You have the blood of greendreams and dragondreams within you, a powerful combination."
Jon nodded, feeling a sense of calm settle over him. As they walked away, he felt comfort in knowing that Howland understood, and that he knew the truth. He had known the man barely a week, yet already, Jon felt he could trust him.
As they entered the Great Hall, the rest of the family was already gathered, including Lady Stark, who wore an unexpectedly content expression. Jon couldn't help but feel a pang of cynicism, knowing her happiness was likely due to his departure.
"Good morning, everyone," his father greeted, taking his seat at the head of the table. Each member of the family replied in turn, and even Sansa directed a polite reply toward Jon. He understood Sansa's earlier coldness; she had only followed her mother's example. He hoped that, one day, the kind-hearted sister or cousin he remembered would return.
The meal passed as usual, filled with soft conversation and the occasional sharp look from Lady Stark. When breakfast was done, Jon and Robb rose together. Robb gathered his belongings, including a travel chest, Blackfyre he had hidden on the route to the Neck. He rapped the hilt with old leather and cloth, and smeared the blade with ash; now it looked like an old blade. Something he found in the woods. At least that's what he would say when he would ask to retrieve the blade.
"Morning, Alyn. Are you ready to leave?" Jon asked one of the Winterfell guardsmen who would accompany him on his journey.
"Yes, Jon. Good morning. I'm excited to leave and serve you," Alyn replied respectfully, unaware of the true purpose behind their journey. Jon smiled, his expression a mix of appreciation and quiet anticipation.
Turning back to his family one last time, Jon approached Arya first. He crouched to meet her eyes. "Hey, Arya. Take care of yourself while I'm away, alright?" he said, ruffling her hair gently.
Arya nodded, tears forming in her eyes. "You too, Jon. Promise you'll come back and write to me?" she pleaded.
His voice softened. "I already promised three weeks ago. You're my brave little wolf, and I'll always be there for you."
Next, he turned to Sansa, who kept her distance. Her eyes reflected a mix of sadness and resentment.
"Goodbye, Sansa," he said quietly. "Remember that Winterfell and the North are a part of you. Don't let anyone make you forget that."
Sansa nodded, her gaze softening. "I won't forget. And I won't forget you either, Jon." She stepped forward and embraced him briefly, their complicated bond visible in that fleeting moment.
Lastly, Jon turned to Lady Stark. Their relationship had always been strained, but he wanted to leave on a better note. "Lady Stark, I wish you the best. Know that I will always love your children. Goodbye for now," he said respectfully. She gave no reply, and he suspected she was only there for Rickon's sake.
Looking down at the small toddler in her arms, Jon smiled. "Hey there, little man. Take care of everyone for me, alright?" he said softly.
Rickon giggled, his bright eyes fixed on him. Jon would miss those eyes. "I'll bring you a toy when I come back," he promised, then gave Lady Stark a final nod.
He turned next to Bran, who was standing as tall as he could, trying to look brave. Jon smiled warmly. "Take care, Bran," he said, tousling the boy's hair. "Keep exploring and learning. You have a bright future ahead of you."
Bran beamed. "I will, Jon. Safe travels!" he said, then added shyly, "Can you bring me a toy too?"
"Of course, little ser," Jon replied, grinning. Bran laughed and gave him a quick hug.
Finally, Jon stood before Robb and their father. Lord Stark was his father in every way that mattered, even if Rhaegar had been the man who sired him.
Robb embraced him tightly. "Take care of yourself, Jon. I love you, brother. Greywater Watch won't know what hit them with you around," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Jon chuckled, returning the embrace. "I'll do my best, Robb. I love you too, brother."
Then he turned to his father. His voice was full of gratitude and respect. "Father, thank you for everything you've taught me. I'll make you proud, I promise."
"I shall take good care of him, Lord Stark," Howland said as he stepped forward, sharing a brief embrace with Ned.
Ned placed a hand on Jon's shoulder, pride and sorrow mingling in his eyes. "You already have, Jon. You will always have a home here. Never forget that. You may not bear my name, but you carry my blood."
"I won't," Jon said softly, nodding.
As he walked toward his horse, Howland spoke once more to Lord Stark. "I shall take good care of him, Lord Stark."
Ned nodded. "Of that, I have no doubt."
Jon mounted his horse and turned for one last look at his family. His heart was heavy, yet filled with determination. With Alyn at his side and Howland Reed leading their small party, they rode out through the inner gatehouse and down the snow-covered road toward Greywater Watch.
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