A Wildling's Life

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The Following TEN Chapters are avaliable for Patrons.

Chapter 38 (Crow's Eye), Chapter 39 (To The South), Chapter 40 (White Harbor), Chapter 41 (A Bear's Roar), Chapter 42 (Where it All Began), Chapter 43 (Harrenhal), Chapter 44 (A Feast and A Queen), Chapter 45 (Queen Rhaella and The Hidden Prince), Chapter 46 (My Name is Aemon Targaryen), and Chapter 47 (Jenny of Old Stone) are already available for Patrons.

Jon

The sword pierced through the empty cold air of God's Wood. The prince gripped the pummel of his sword, both of them, Wolf's Blood on his right and Dark Sister on his left, a strong grip on both of them; he wasn't yet that familiar with Two Sword Style. Whenever he tried to use both of his hands, his mind would only use his right hand; his left hand would barely move; after several tries of failure, Jon understood he would need to read books, practice for months and years, and ask someone who knows how to use Two Sword Style into teaching him.

The only one that he could think of being capable of teaching was Ser Arthur Dayne. Jon felt his heart beat faster at the thought of the Legendary Swordsman; it was said he was the best swordsman ever to exist, even better than Daemon Targaryen, Daemon Blackfyre, Barristan Selmy in his prime, Aemon the Dragonknight, Ryam Redwyne, and many others.

Jon didn't know who was stronger, and there was no way of ever knowing the truth, but the prince knew Arthur could teach him Two Sword Style, which was one of the hardest ways of sword fighting, many who had tried had accidentally lost their arms by moving their swords without much thought.

Jon could already see it; fighting against Ser Arthur Dayne would be a dream come true; whenever or not he won didn't matter as long as he put up a good enough fight and did not lose within ten seconds.

The thought of Arthur Dayne made his mind go to his real family. Jon wasn't sure how to even feel about them. All he knew of them was what he heard from people, tales, and rumors—all of them, people with names but no faces.

Rhaegar Targaryen was considered the best king since Jaehaerys Targaryen due to his ability to save the Kingdom and bring peace after Aerys Targaryen II.

Jon didn't know anything about his biological father other than words, tales of his braveness, and his smart mind. One thing he knew for sure was his singing voice came from his father; before knowing the truth, Jon had wondered quite often from who he inherited his singing voice; he knew there was a chance of simply being good at it. But now he knew his voice, which was from his father.

Jon wondered what else he had inherited from the King; he and Arya were the only ones who looked like Starks; Jon wondered if there was nothing else he got from his Targaryen side. Everyone in Winterfell always said he looked like a Stark.

The young prince sheathed his swords; the scabbard of Wolf's blood looked as beautiful as the sword inside, white as snow, with blue streamlines that made it look like winds blowing in a white field; at the top was a Blue Wolf's eye, Jon felt uncomfortable looking at it, reminding him of the blue eye of the White Walker beyond the Wall.

Jon sat in the root of the Weirwood Trees; Arya was secretly training with Val since Lady Stark would be furious if she caught Arya training instead of acting like a Lady and stewing with Sansa; Ghost had tagged along; he had gotten very protective with Val, growling at whoever looked like a slight threat. The thought of his little sister brought a broad smile to Jon's face.

Despite knowing the truth, Jon still considered her a 'little sister.' He doubted he could see her as anything but that. He remembered her smile when he gave her the Sword.

' "Close the door," Jon told Arya once they entered her chambers, Nymeria following along, jumping around, her tail wagging rapidly. Something Jon noticed, Arya was happy and excited, and it seemed Nymeria was as well.

Arya closed the door with her two hands, whirling around to see Jon grab something from under her bed; it was a long box made of northern wood decorated with a Stark sigil carved at the top.

"When did you bring that here?" Arya exclaimed; she couldn't remember seeing that box under her bed before.

"Today after breakfast," Jon gave her a quick reply, putting the box on top of her bed.

Jon turned to look at her with a little smile on his face. "Go on!" Jon said with a gesture of his head. Her little legs couldn't take her faster, her hand grabbed the top, and with some strength, she lifted the lid; inside, she saw the most beautiful sword she had ever seen, briefly reminding her of Dark Sister.

The thin sword was suitable to Arya's slight build and the style of fencing used by the bravos of the Free Cities. For a moment, she wanted to grab it from the blade and the pommel, but she stopped herself, her hand gently wrapping around the silver pommel; looking at it from up close, she could see herself reflected in the thin blade.

"It's thin," Arya said before showing it to Nymeria, who didn't look that interested in a shining piece of metal with a pointy end.

"So are you; it fits you; I had Mikken make it for you; it is not heavy for you, it won't cut off legs, and it can't deflect, but as Val told you, as long as you're faster, you can dodge their attacks and come out on top," Jon explained making her look at him.

"Even with a sword like this?" Arya questioned.

"Especially with this one," Jon said with a smile; Arya found herself smiling back a sudden urge to hug him close.

"Careful," Jon said, pointing at the sword in her hand; Arya carefully put it on top of her bed before jumping into his loving arms.

Feeling his arms hugging her made the girl smile; feeling his warmth always made her smile. No words were needed between the two; Arya loved her big brother.

Jon escaped his thoughts when he heard the sound of footsteps; he turned to see Lord Stark walking up to him; the prince let out a long sigh, stood up, he grabbed Wolf's Blood, closing his eyes for a second; Kessa was hunting in the nearby forest.

"Lord Stark?" Jon questioned after opening his eyes; his voice filled with disdain; his uncle's face didn't react to his tone.

"Jon, what are you doing here?" He questioned, ignoring the tone Jon used. The Prince saw Lord Stark's eyes briefly flickering at the sword on his hand before looking back at his eyes.

"Training, my lord." Jon kept his answer short, giving the lord a clear indication that he wasn't welcome there.

If his uncle noticed it, he didn't give out any sign of displeasure, more like acceptance. "I see; what about your swords?" He questioned, now looking at his swords.

Ned could see they were valuable ones and perhaps good swords. They were sheathed, so he couldn't tell what kind of blades they were. His eyes noticed one of them leaning against a root of the Weirwood Trees, the Quillon was decorated to look like dragon wings, and the red ruby in the pommel was too recognizable...

"That's Dark Sister!" Ned said, astonished; stepping closer, he noticed his nephew grab the sword as if protecting it from him.

"Where did you find it?" Ned couldn't help but ask, now looking at his nephew, who didn't seem to want to answer his question.

"The Maester at the Castle Black is Aemon Targaryen, son of Maeker. He had it hidden for years when he...gave it to me!" Jon stopped talking, remembering how his Great Uncle had reacted to him once he touched his face. It all made sense; he recognized my features! Jon thought, amazed; despite being blind for who knows how many years, the old maester still recognized his features. That brought a thought to Jon's mind.

Maester had Dark Sister for who knows how many years waiting for him, but the prince wondered how could his great uncle know that he would one day show up; feeling a headache, he escaped his thoughts when Lord Stark nudged his shoulders.

"You alright, Jon?" His uncle asked, concerned; the young prince simply nodded. Lord Stark seemed skeptical, but Jon didn't care about his thoughts and was really hoping he would soon decide to walk away and leave him alone in his thoughts.

"What about the other one?" Ned asked, pointing at the other Valyrian Steel Sword. Ned noticed the wolf's head but didn't comment on it.

"An F-Friend gave it to me; he said it belonged to a great warrior named Jon Stark," Jon explained, paying close attention to Lord Stark, but it seemed the man was just as confused as him by the name.

"Jon Stark, who was he?" Ned asked, confused, trying to remember any Stark with that name.

"I don't know; my friend said he was Brandon's little brother and a Great Warrior," Jon explained with a blank tone, now holding Wolf's Blood in his hands.

"That's impossible! Brandon The Builder didn't have a little brother...as far as we know," Ned denied; he wondered who could be Jon's friend that told him that, but knew his nephew wasn't too keen on spending time with him.

There was another thought lingering in his mind. Valyrian Steel Swords were made in Valyrian, but they didn't exist eight thousand years ago; how could a Stark of that time possess a Valyrian Steel Sword?! Ned thought, already convinced to read in the library; perhaps there was something he had missed. With that thought on his mind, Ned decided to tell Jon why he had come here.

"Jon, I just wanted to let you know that the day after tomorrow, we will leave for Harrenhal. I would suggest you talk with Maege Mormont at least once," Lord Stark suggested after a short moment of silence between them.

Jon looked at him, puzzled, and it seemed Lord Stark had noticed it. "Maege was a good friend of your mother. Seven years ago, she recognized you. She confronted me, but we made a deal that I would bring you myself to Kingslanding once Robb was twelve years old; sadly, you left for The Wall one year before I could," Ned explained to his nephew.

Jon let out a humorless chuckle, thinking if we had just stayed one more year, perhaps he would have met his family earlier, but Jon quickly shook his head. A part of him regretted not knowing them sooner, but Jon knew he would never regret going beyond the Wall.

He met good people out there, Tormund, Mance, Ygritte, and his wife, and he had a Dragon now. The Prince knew he held the strength to conquer the entire Seven Kingdoms on his own; he could almost feel it, in his fingertips, flying high; only one word would be needed, nothing else, to turn entire castles and armies to ashes.

But the true North had shown him the threat; closing his eyes, he could almost see them, Blue eyes looking back at him. It made him shudder.

Is that why Bloodraven wanted me there? To wake Aegarax from his slumber and have the strength to fight the darkness once the Dead marched South? Jon thought it made sense, but there was something off; he felt as if he was missing something, something Bloodraven hadn't told him yet.

Jon took a deep breath; there was no point in thinking about it; he would eventually find the answers on his own.

"How did Lady Maege recognize me?" Jon asked.

"Your hair and eyes, nephew," Ned said with a smile that Jon didn't return.

"Benjen was right, your eyes are just like Lyanna's, and when you ride a horse, you're just like her," Ned explained with a melancholy look.

Jon felt good knowing he had taken so much after his mother. "What about my father?"

Ned blinked, not understanding what he meant.

"Did I take anything after my father other than my singing voice?" Jon questioned.

"You did," Ned admitted. "You might have Lyanna's colors, but your face and everything else is all Targaryen, I didn't know your father well, but I remember him before the rebellion before he grew his beard. You look like him, but with dark hair and grey eyes," Ned explained with a sad smile.

His shoulder slumped down somewhat, a sigh of relief, knowing The Royal Family wouldn't call him a liar. Of course, there was the option to simply introduce them to Aegarax, but he wanted to avoid that for as long as possible.

Jon still didn't know what kind of people his family was, and he didn't want them to accept him as their family just because he had a Dragon. Because he has power.

I will never trust the wrong people ever again, Jon swore; if his family doesn't turn out to be the family he had yearned for so long, then... The Prince dismissed the thought. For now, it wasn't good for him to think about that.

"Thank you for your words, Lord Stark. Where's Uncle Benjen? I want to speak with him," Jon said blankly.

Ned had a downcast look before nodding. "Of course, Jon. But make sure to keep Dark Sister away from Arya; you know how she would react," Ned warned with a playful tone. Jon simply nodded, knowing his sister's antics.

Val

"Your blade should be an extension of your arm, don't move it as if you're going to throw the sword," She corrected Arya strictly, who grumbled.

After getting 'Needle' from Jon, Arya had been quick to find her and beg for lessons. Val had been more than happy to teach her, reminding her of her own sister. While she thought giving the sword a name was odd, she knew both Jon's swords had names.

While the Wildlings didn't have the luxury to use swords others than those they stole from Crows or rarely found in the snow somewhere. She understood that perhaps it was the Southern's way of connecting with their blades.

Jon had asked her if she wanted a sword for Mikken to make for her, Val wasn't much into long swords, but she wanted a dagger.

Jon had quickly told Mikken to make one, but Val didn't want Jon or anyone else to pay for it. She knew her husband could borrow some from The Man of House Stark, but she didn't want to bother him with that headache. Therefore she hunted down three boars in the nearby forest with the help of Ghost to give them to the Blacksmith in exchange for the dagger. Even North of the Wall. Skin and food, in general, were often used to exchange stuff amongst each other unless someone wanted to steal, but that was a route only a few took.

"I really appreciate it, Lady Val, but this is more than enough. The skin and the meat of one of them are enough for your dagger. You're quite a good hunter!" The blacksmith spoke with a smile, looking at the boars she had delivered.

Val found herself smiling at the praise. Ghost standing beside her, she pets him just above the ear, making the Direwolf wiggle his tail.

"I will start making your dagger as soon as possible, but I would like it if you come by tomorrow morrow," the man explained, measuring the three boars. They were all fully grown.

Val frowned slightly at his words, her hand gripping the hidden dagger. "Why?" She questioned, her voice suddenly cold like the snow below his feet. The man seemed to have noticed her sudden change of mood.

"To give you your exchange and dagger, of course!" The man said as if it was obvious.

Val furrowed her brow. Now she was confused. What did he mean by that?

"Exchange?" She asked; she knew what that meant, but she was already doing it. She was exchanging the boars for the dagger.

"Yes, my lady, I will sell the boar meat and the skin. All three are enough for thirty bronze dragons and one silver stag. Your dagger is only worth twenty-five bronze coins, tomorrow morrow I should have the dagger ready and give you the silver stag and fi-" "That's not necessary," Val interrupted before he could go on, she understood what she meant, but she didn't really care for the coins.

The man now looked confused and a little embarrassed. "My lady, I can't accept your coin. They're yours," the man protested; he didn't want that.

"I don't really need the coin," Val explained, hoping this would be the end of it.

"At the very least, tell me if you want to buy something else; perhaps you want something else other than the dagger," the man prompted, pointing his hand at the many different daggers, swords, short swords, shields, hammers and all kinds of weapons that Val had never seen before.

Knowing the man didn't want to accept her coins for free, she decided to see if she could find something. Her eyes found a short sword made to be used with one hand. "This one?" Val questioned, grabbing the sword from the barrel full of small swords.

"Ahh, an excellent choice, my lady. That sword worth is one silver stag," Mikken said. Val was getting annoyed with the constant use of 'Lady Val,' but she did not comment on it. Val reckoned this is how the Southerners greeted each other.

"Val, who trained you to use weapons?" Arya's voice made her escape her thoughts, her pale blue eyes finding the girl stabbing the dummy, her blade piercing what would have been the heart.

"My father taught me, but beyond the North, you either learn yourself or you don't survive," Val explained harshly.

Arya seemed to want to ask something else when a voice was heard...

"Arya! What are you doing with that animal?" Catelyn almost screeched at Arya, whose face turned red. Val saw who she knew to be Catelyn Stark! She almost wanted to laugh at her clothes or dress; to her, it looked ridiculous; she didn't know how can someone run wearing that dress.

"Mother, don't talk like that!" Arya yelled at her; Catelyn seemed not to care what Arya was saying, her hand grabbing her wrist and trying to force her to follow her.

"You must be, Catelyn Tully!" Val said sharply, her hand grasping the pommel of her short sword, stepping forward.

Catelyn stopped trying to drag her daughter away, her eyes finding Val, who was dressed all in white, her golden hair braided across one shoulder. The Lady of Winterfell lets go of her daughter to fully turn to Val.

"I'm Lady Catelyn of Winterfell, animal. I would appreciate it if you did not spend time with my daughter," She demanded with a scowl; Catelyn hated to admit that Val was a beauty, even more than Robb's future wife. She could see from her figure, from her waist and full breasts, that she would give the bastard many bastard sons and bastard daughters, all of them a threat to her son and future grandchildren.

"Animal! Is that supposed to be an insult? I would have returned it if I took you for a good woman," Val replied; she knew nothing of how a woman was supposed to act in the South, but she didn't like how Catelyn seemed to demand from her daughter to act one specific way. Jon had warned her that Catelyn wouldn't be happy with her presence.

Catelyn scowled, her face turning red. "Your sons will be bastards just like their father," she said through clenched teeth, her voice getting louder.

"Bastard? As long as my sons are strong and healthy. I don't care how you kneelers call them," Val replied harshly. Bastard, Trueborn, it made no difference to her. To Val, they were just words.

Catelyn stepped forward, looking ready to slap Val across the face to put a mark on her beautiful face. When Ghost walked in front of Val, growling at her, baring his teeth.

Catelyn almost stumbled back in fear, turning her head to her daughter. "Arya, come with me," Catelyn said but more like ordering her, turning to Arya, who looked down before following her.

"See you later, Val," Arya said, pouting as they walked away. Val frowned, watching them walk away, but she didn't try to follow behind.

Shaking her head, she pet Ghost behind his ear, a part of her wondering why he was being so protective of her.

Seeing that she was alone, Val thought of her sister; she wondered how she was now, she knew it was still several months until she gave birth, but Val couldn't help but think of the people she left behind by coming here. She was safe now, but they weren't, she felt a pang in her stomach, feeling as if she had betrayed her sister, but she quickly dismissed the thought.

Jon was her husband, her new family, she would follow him anywhere, and she knew the reason. Soon, her sister won't have to worry about whether or not this child will survive the cold and not perish like the others.

Jon

"What happened after that?" Jon asked with a broad smile.

"Brandon ate the lemon cake full of spicy dust," Benjen continued, laughing as he spoke, earning a small laugh from Jon.

"He desperately tried to rush to the bathroom, but c-couldn't r-reach it. He shat himself just in front of the bathroom door!" Benjen tried to explain amidst laughter. Jon pictured his mother laughing.

After a minute of trying to calm down, Jon calmed himself; he wanted to know something else. "Which was the most pleasant memory you have with my mother?" He questioned; his uncle's smile wavered a little, clearing his throat; he didn't even need to try and remember it; that memory was almost carved into his brain.

' She parried Benjen's stick easily and, with a quick turn of her wrist, struck him smartly on the shin. He yelped, losing his balance, and wasn't long before he was on his back in the mud, glaring up at her.

"You needn't take out your rage on me," he grumbled. "It's not my fault Father wants to marry you off."

Lyanna pointed the end of her stick at his chest. "You're lucky this isn't a real sword, Benjen, or I'll have your head. Get up. Let's have another go."

Benjen scrambled to his feet, but he was smiling now, or more like smirking. He'd found her thorn. "He's not all bad, you know, that Robert bloke. Ned likes him fair enough."

"He can have him, then."

"Tell that to Father. I'd like to see it," sniggered Benjen. "Hey!" he yelled when Lyanna rapped him on the head.

"Too much talking," she said, but Benjen rubbing his head and sticking out his tongue brought her no satisfaction. Her mood was by far spoiled at this point.

She tossed the branch onto the ground, kicking at the dirt, cursing the gods for being so unfair. She crouched down at the edge of one of the pools, picked up a piece of rock, and threw it as hard as she could at the opposite bank. Benjen, to his credit, said nothing, just sat down beside her.

Lyanna sighed, pushing her sweaty hair out from her eyes. "I don't want to marry him." She thought about it for a moment, then rectified her statement. "I don't want to marry anyone."

"You can be a septa," offered Benjen. He recoiled at her glare. Lyanna's glare was nothing to be taken lightly; it could frighten the balls off of a man, Brandon said so himself.

"And be stuck in some crypt, saying prayers all day? Don't be stupid. Those aren't even our gods."

"I was kidding," mumbled Benjen. Lyanna rolled her eyes. "What do you want, then?"

"I want to be a sellsword."

Benjen covered his mouth, and Lyanna knew he only barely held back his laughter. She ignored him, not about to let her little brother ruin her fantasy.

"Yes, a sellsword, in the Free Cities," said Lyanna, resting her chin on her knees. "I can go anywhere I please. Pentos, Braavos, Myr, Volantis... Did you know they have elephants there? I should like to ride one."

Benjen couldn't hold back any longer. "Girls can't be sellswords."

"Why not?" demanded Lyanna. "All sellswords do is fight, win fights. I can beat you in my sleep, Benjen Stark."

Benjen crossed his arms and sniffed. He wasn't going to try to dispute that, as Lyanna knew. "Well... I've never heard of a girl sellsword. That's like saying a girl can be a knight."

"They can, too. Visenya and Rhaenys were warriors on dragonback. Queen Nymeria conquered Dorne."

"But you're not a Targaryen, and you're not..."

"Rhoynar," finished Lyanna for Benjen. He never listened very well during their lessons with Maester Luwin. Although many of these stories, Lyanna had heard from Old Nan. She sighed again, closing her eyes. "I know I'm not any of those. I'm a Stark."

The only maid Stark. If I were born a boy, like Benjen, I wouldn't have to marry.

It just wasn't fair. Brandon was the heir, and he would wed the Tully girl in Riverrun, make the alliance their father wanted, carry on the Stark name. Why wasn't that enough? Ned and Benjen could do as they please. Nothing was expected of them, as the younger sons.

Benjen patted her on the back awkwardly, trying to be comforting. Lyanna would have found that endearing if she wasn't still annoyed. "Robert isn't that bad. You like him, don't you? I saw you laughing with him at dinner."

"I was laughing at him," corrected Lyanna. She made a face at the memory of dear Ned's friend, winking his blue eyes at her over his tankard of ale, complimenting her nonstop with his booming voice. He wasn't unpleasant to look at, in truth - surely the serving girls couldn't stop blushing when he turned his blue eyes on them - and Lyanna supposed he could be funny, but fact was that he simply bored her. If he wasn't rambling about how beautiful she was, he was recounting a melee he'd won at this tourney, that tourney. Gods forbid she put in her opinion about jousts or lances or horses, or anything for that matter, he'd stare at her for a moment like she was strange, before roaring into laughter, slapping his thigh and saying, "Ned, your sister is adorable."

Never mind boring her, he absolutely set her teeth on edge, at times.

Benjen was saying something now, about how girls can be so complicated, he'd never understand them. Lyanna punched his shoulder. He whined.

"If you treat him like how you treat me, he'd dump you in a second," retorted Benjen.

Awfully tempting, actually. Only what had Robert said to Ned earlier, when he had thought Lyanna was out of earshot? Oh, don't you worry, Ned, I like my women with a spark in them.

Dear gods, if she ever punched Robert, that'd probably get him hard.

This wasn't something she should say to her baby brother (she'd always made sure Benjen was well-protected from Brandon and his bawdy stories of his escapades with that Barbrey woman), so she got to her feet, brushed off the dirt from her dress, and said, "Let's go back. I'm tired."

Benjen raised his brows at that- they both knew Lyanna was never tired - but he didn't challenge it. The two of them may fight a lot, metaphorically and literally speaking, but Benjen knew Lyanna the best out of all her brothers, and he could be sweet like that.

"Want to stop by the kitchen and nick some lemon cakes?"

Lyanna grinned, for the first time that day. Yes, Benjen always knew exactly what she needed.

"Race you!" she shouted and ran like the she-wolf that she was.

"After that, we ate Lemon Cake. I treasure that memory more than all the others because it was the last time I saw her smile," Benjen finished the story, but his smile had disappeared. Jon felt his throat dry; he couldn't say anything to make both of them smile other than hug his uncle, who hugged him back.

Stepping back, they soon mounted their horses. "Race you to Winterfell," Jon offered with a cheeky grin; his uncle smiled before nodding.

Jon rode much better than him, but all Benjen could think as he saw his nephew riding his horse was...Lyanna might be gone, but Jon, she's still alive...