"Father." Jon summoned his courage and pleaded with Eddard, "Let me go to King's Landing with you. I can be a squire, a guard, anything. I don't want to stay in Winterfell."
What he didn't say was that he didn't want to face Lady Catelyn's cold gaze anymore, nor did he want to feel like he was someone superfluous.
Eddard looked at Jon, seeing the features that so closely resembled Lyanna's, and a wave of sadness washed over him. He had originally planned to leave him in Winterfell to assist Robb while he took Catelyn south, which would have kept them apart.
But now, with what happened to Bran, Catelyn was staying behind. If he left Jon here as well, the boy might be even unhappier. Perhaps this child with the blood of the dragon was truly born for the south; in King's Landing, he might find different opportunities.
Or, once he had established himself in the south, he could find a way to forge a future for Jon, allowing him to earn honor and lands through military service or other means, and completely cast off the stigma of being a bastard.
After a long silence, Eddard nodded. "Very well, Jon. You may come with me. But King's Landing is not Winterfell; there are more rules there, and hearts are more complex. You must be cautious in word and deed at all times."
Jon's face lit up. "Yes, Father. I won't let you down."
On the morning of their departure, Winterfell was shrouded in a thin mist.
Eddard was fully dressed; beneath his black fur cloak was a simple traveling outfit. His sword, Ice, was carried by a squire at his side. This valyrian steel greatsword was the heirloom of House Stark, and he needed to bring it with him.
Sansa was so excited she had barely slept all night. She wore her finest blue velvet gown and a blue cloak, her hair carefully braided by her mother in the southern style.
The girl had always dreamed of southern castles, grand balls, and handsome knights. In her imagination, King's Landing was just like the songs said—a place where all fantasies came true.
Arya was the exact opposite. She dawdled until the last moment before crawling out of bed, wearing boyish breeches and a tunic, her hair a mess. Catelyn tried to comb it, but Arya squirmed so much that she eventually gave up.
"Why do I have to go too?" Arya complained. "I want to stay in Winterfell with Bran."
"Because you are a daughter of House Stark," Catelyn said while straightening her daughter's clothes. "You need to learn noble etiquette."
"I don't want to learn those stupid things," Arya muttered.
Jon silently packed his belongings. He didn't have much: a few changes of clothes, a practice sword, and a book on the history of Westeros.
Robb stood at the castle gates to see his father off. The fourteen-year-old boy had broad shoulders, the typical square face of House Stark, and the red hair of House Tully.
"I'll take good care of Winterfell, Father. I'll look after Mother and my brothers too," Robb said solemnly.
Eddard embraced his eldest son. "I know you will. Remember what I taught you: listen to the advice of others, but trust your own judgment as well."
"I'll remember."
"Come back soon, Father," Rickon whispered, being held nearby.
Eddard leaned down and kissed his youngest son's forehead. "I will. When I return, I'll teach you how to ride."
Finally, Eddard embraced Catelyn. She fought back tears, but her voice still choked up. "Stay safe, Eddard. King's Landing is a dangerous place."
"I know." Eddard gently stroked her cheek. "I'll be careful. Once the situation has stabilized, I'll return."
Catelyn then embraced her two daughters who were about to leave home.
Theon stood to the side, watching this warm scene with a hint of envy. As a ward from the Iron Islands, he had been sent to Winterfell at a young age. Although he tried his best to appear like a true Stark, there was still a distance between him and them.
Despite his frequent mockery of Jon's status as a bastard, he actually envied Jon's freedom to leave Winterfell while he remained trapped here forever.
A nameless jealousy suddenly stirred deep within him, though he had yet to realize it himself.
And so, a party slightly different from the original plan set out from Winterfell.
Eddard Stark took his two daughters, Sansa and Arya, along with his bastard son Jon and a troop of loyal northern guards, to accompany the King's party onto the Kingsroad heading south.
Catelyn stood on the walls of Winterfell, watching the party recede into the distance. It felt as though the warmth of her parting embrace with Sansa and the sound of Arya's chattering still lingered in her arms.
She looked down at her hands, cold from not yet being accustomed to the northern chill, then toward the tower where Bran's accident had occurred. Suddenly, a sense of foreboding quietly crept into her heart.
Robb stood beside Catelyn. "They'll be safe, Mother."
Catelyn didn't answer, only tightening her grip on her son's warm hand.
The journey south was long and tedious.
Because Eddard's family was with them and Robert was actually in a very good mood, their pace was much slower than before.
The Kingsroad from Winterfell to King's Landing is nearly a thousand kilometers long. They traveled thirty to forty kilometers a day, spending nights in castles or inns along the way, or camping in the wild if there were none.
For the first few days, Sansa remained excited. She leaned against the carriage window, curiously observing the scenery along the way.
From the wilderness of the North to the swamps of the Neck, and then to the fertile plains of Riverlands. But the novelty soon faded; as a noble lady on her first long journey, she quickly felt the fatigue of travel.
Arya, on the other hand, grew increasingly excited. She pestered Ser Barristan to tell her battle stories, learned horsemanship from the guards, and even practiced swordplay in secret with Jon.
Once, she tried to sneak into the woods to explore, but was caught red-handed by Eddard.
"There may be outlaws in Riverlands," Eddard warned his youngest daughter sternly. "You must stay near the party."
"There's no danger with all of you here," Arya argued.
"Danger is everywhere."
Aside from occasionally teaching Arya swordplay, Jon remained silent most of the time.
He was carefully observing everything along the way: the architectural styles of the castles in different territories, the clothing and accents of the locals, and even the changes in the weather.
Ever since passing through the Neck, he had felt the warm humidity of the south, which made him feel as though his very blood was boiling.
He truly believed now that he belonged in the south; perhaps the mother he had never met was a southerner.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898