Nolan Snow

Winterfell 292 AC.

Nolan Snow.

What was a bastard's lot in life?

He'd been told, as young as he was, that bastards were nothing but a disgrace. But those were words from a woman who hated him and his brother for no reason other than being born, so Nolan did not put much stake in them. He had learned to ignore what Lady Stark thought of him—now, if only Jon could do the same as him, life would be sunshine and rainbows—and the books had opinions about bastards that Nolan liked much better.

History was littered with bastards, some good, some great, some legendary, some bad, some evil, some legendary in a more malicious sense. It was foolish to think that all bastards would grow into people like Bittersteel and Seastar. A few of them had even become kings! So, why could a boy of nine see that it was the world that made a bastard either honourable or antagonistic and not a woman of six and twenty? Nolan didn't understand—if she wanted to hate, then why not hate the man who had dishonoured her? What would hating a child do?

He didn't think he'd ever understand Lady Stark…

"Nolan!"

The Bastard of Winterfell turned away from the flames in the hearth and looked at his sister, Sansa's deep blue eyes peering at him with feigned annoyance as she stood with her little fists against her hips and a pout on her face. "Your nose is dirty," he pointed out, smiling as the six-year-old frowned and rubbed the dirt from her nose. "There you go. It seems you've made it even worse." Sansa whined and glared at him before coming closer when he waved her over.

"You're ignoring me," she complained as Nolan pulled his sleeve over his thumb and cleaned the smudge of dirt from her nose. "Thank you. Why are you ignoring me? Don't you want to play?" Her lip trembled. "But you said—"

Nolan laughed and patted her head. "We're still going to play, little sister," he promised. "I was just thinking. Where are Robb and Jon?" His sister shrugged her shoulders, seemingly unbothered that their brothers had vanished. "I hope it doesn't have anything to do with Arya. Your lady mother wouldn't be happy if they took her from the nursery again."

"Uh-huh. I don't think so," Sansa shook her head, playing with the hem of her sky-blue dress. "Mother was so angry it made Robb cry." His sister's eyes widened after blurting that bit. "Don't tell him I said that! He'll be mad at me." Nolan smiled at her and promised to keep it to himself. "What are we going to play? I want to play monsters and maidens."

"Again?"

"Again."

"…Yay!"

His sister made a face at his exaggerated joy before shrieking with laughter as Nolan picked her up around the waist and carried her under his arm like a sack of potatoes. Together, they searched Winterfell for their brothers, finding the boys in the training yard going at each other with wooden swords. Robb complained about playing a children's game and that he was more mature than that but stopped when he noticed Nolan and Jon staring at him unamusedly. At the same time, Sansa widened her eyes and made her lip quiver—that look let her get away with murder around Winterfell.

"Has teaching her that come back to bite you in the arse yet?" Robb asked him annoyedly as he put his sword away while Jon chased their giggling little sister around the yard. Nolan looked at his half-brother with a raised brow that clearly said, what do you think? "What was I even asking for? You know she'll try teaching Arya and Bran the same, right?"

"Father explicitly told me not to do just that," Nolan smiled ruefully. "He said nothing about Sansa doing it instead. We should prepare ourselves for the possibility of all three of them using the Eyes at once." Ignoring Robb's horror at the notion, Nolan punched his brother's arm before jogging away to join his twin and his sister.

They indulged in Sansa's games all morning, with several of the household's children joining them. Five boys and six girls, including little Beth Cassel, Farlen's animal-loving daughter Palla, and Gage's redheaded girl Ros, who stuck to Jon like glue and amused herself by teasing him, and Cley Cerwyn, whose father had come to speak with Lord Stark about the harvest feast two moons from now. Though Robb had invited Theon Greyjoy to join them, the older boy did not find their "childish games" entertaining and went to practise his archery. Not that Nolan cared much—Greyjoy had been a royal arsehole from the moment he'd arrived at Winterfell with Father after Lord Balon's failed rebellion.

"Nolan," Father's voice encircled the yard, stopping the older children at once as they turned to look up at the Lord of Winterfell in the window in the covered bridge between the armoury and the Great Keep. "I have a few matters to talk with you about. Come to my solar." When he was gone, the other children started oohing at him for getting in trouble.

"Quick." Nolan looked at the others. "What did I do wrong?"

"You stole lemon cakes from the kitchens." "Released Papa's hounds." "Dropped a bag of flour on FatTom!" "Climbed the broken tower." "Jumped off the broken tower!" "Stuffed Greyjoy's boots with pigshit." "Kissed that girl!" "How do you know about that?" "She told me, all giggly like!" Nolan blushed, glaring at the snickering redhead before hurrying towards the keep to meet with his lord father, ignoring their laughter as he did.

-xXxXx-

Lord Eddard Stark's solar was sparsely decorated, the walls on either flank lined with books from floor to ceiling, with the Valyrian steel greatsword Ice displayed on an ornately carved stand behind the polished ironwood desk scattered with documents, quills, and ink pots. Sat on a high-backed chair with dark leather seats was the lord himself.

Nolan's head was swimming. Was he going to be punished? If so, then what for? Hopefully, it was something that happened, not something Lady Stark thought he should be punished for, like visiting Arya and Bran.

"Good. You're here," Father said, not unkindly. "How has your morning been?" Nolan was relieved but cautious as he sat in the chair across from his lord father behind the desk. Succinctly admitting to having a good morning, Nolan had to shift slightly to get comfortable under the lord's gaze. "You seem nervous. Should I be worried about something?"

"Has anyone told you you're looking quite sharp today, Father?"

His father hummed, ignoring Nolan's attempt at flattery. "Do you remember when I asked what you wanted to do after you reached your majority?" Lord Eddard Stark had taken his bastard sons aside a fortnight past and questioned the two about that, asking out of pure curiosity or boredom—Nolan suspected a bit of both. What Jon had said, Nolan did not know. He'd been too worried to ask after seeing the mournful expression on their father's face.

Nolan nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. Had his father finally decided? Would this conversation be about the dangers of such a dream and that being the reason why Lord Eddard couldn't support it, or would it be about why he wanted to follow the path of the Sea Snake and Longstrider and Votar and what he would need to do to earn Lord Stark's support? Nolan shifted uneasily in his seat, praying it would be the latter, and nodded at his father.

"I remember."

The Lord of Winterfell weighed him long and hard with his eyes, his fingers laced together as he leaned forward over his desk. "And it has nothing to do with my wife?" There was a knowing gleam in his father's grey eyes. "Nothing at all?" Nolan did not bother lying to his father—the man could read him like an open book.

"Lady Stark might have played a small part in it," Nolan admitted sheepishly, scratching his cheek and watching as all his father's exhaustion was expressed through his eyes. "But that's not the only reason, or even the biggest one. You gave me that book for my sixth nameday, Father, and I couldn't get it out of my head. Maybe it was a flight of fancy at the time, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to be someone who did the impossible."

His lord father remained silent for a while, not a sound in the solar but for Nolan's heart in his ears. His lord father did not have to support him in this—the Bastard of Winterfell would achieve his dream regardless—but it would be nice to know that he did, even if he thought it was utterly ridiculous. "And what is this impossibility you wish to perform?" It was not out of disapproval or anything but genuine curiosity that his father was asking. Nolan saw it in his eyes.

"There's quite a lot, actually," Nolan admitted. Then, looking down with embarrassment, "But the main one is, to put it simply, find where the magic went after the dragons died." He had never said that aloud before. Even Nolan thought it was impossible, but the magic must have gone somewhere. It couldn't have just died after the last dragon did—there were still traces of it throughout Essos, he had read. Where was the harm in trying?

"That is an impossible task," his lord father replied. "Where would you even begin? Don't think for a moment I'll give you my blessing to take on this little mission of yours just yet. I'm merely curious about where you would start this hypothetical search." The Bastard of Winterfell chewed his lip, thinking about it before meeting his father's searching gaze.

"The Wall."

-xXxXx-