The Life of a Bastard

Every bastard has a mark to distinguish them, these marks aren't physical, but a word, a name.

In the north a bastard was known as Snow, in the south they were known as Sand, but I was rased in the Westerlands where a bastard was called Hill.

My father is Tywin Lannister, I wasn't his first bastard, but I was the first he kept. my mother was an unknown noble, unknown to me anyways. My father was paid a rather large amount to raise me, and though he raised me he was never really a father to me, he treated me about as well as my elder brother Tyrion, which is to be expected I guess.

I've really bonded with Tyrion, who was ten years my senior. He was like a father. While Tywin schooled me, Tyrion mentored me. Tyrion taught me about life and how it was like for people like me and him, he told me something once that I'll always remember. "All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs" he had always been a comical person.

I've always said that me and him were the smart ones in the family, he would say he's the smart one, I'm the giant. his accusation wasn't wrong, I was 6'3 and I was only 14 years of age.

I should probably mention my other siblings. Cersei hates me, she's the queen and eighteen years my senior. She acts as if me and Tyrion were the worse things that happened to the Lannister name.

My brother Jaime was her twin. Jaime had always been nice to me, we often sparred and though he was the best swordsman out there, I could hold my own when he went easy on me. I had bonded with him as well, but not nearly as much as with Tyrion.

I was taught everything. I was much more knowledgeable than my eldest siblings. the only two in my family who knew more than me are Tyrion and my father.

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It was midday when we finally arrived at Winterfell. Jon Arryn, King Robert's hand, had died and needed to be replaced. Arryn had gotten "sick" but I had a suspicion that he had been poisoned. one doesn't go from perfectly healthy to dying that quickly.

We were in Winterfell to replace the Hand. Cersei believed that Jaime should be named Hand, maybe she poisoned Arryn, I wouldn't put it past her.

King Robert thought that Ned Stark was the perfect candidate, and I agreed. Ned was an honorable man, he wasn't likely to betray Robert, he's also a good leader. If it wouldn't harm my family's place in the kingdom I would rather him be king.

After a "warm" greeting we were shown our rooms, I would stay in the stables of course, either that or I would stay with the soldiers, but I enjoy the solitude.

A few hours after our arrival there was a feast. As I was a bastard I wasn't allowed to sit at the main table, so I sat with the farm boys at a table on the lefthand side of the ornately decorated dining hall. My nephew Joffrey, who was twelve (two years younger than myself) did not seem very impressed, to be fair he was a spoiled ass.

At the table I was seated was a dead ringer for Lord Stark, he was younger obviously, probably about my age. Under the table where he was seated was an albino wolf. The boy was most likely the infamous bastard of Winterfell, Jon Snow. He seemed quiet, but his jokes were top of the line.

A man came by our table and spoke with Jon for a bit, I had lost interest, but they had gotten quite loud. By the end of it Jon had run out of the Dining hall, his wolf following him. The situation he was in was pitiful and I knew it well. I got up deciding I would go talk to him.