Jon 1 295 AC

He ducked under Robb's wooden practice sword, lifting his shield up to shove it upwards, but as he went in for his own blow he found that Robb had lowered his own shield in the moment that he hadn't been looking, and was now bringing it back up towards his face.

He leaped to the left, feeling Robb's shield-bash clip his shoulder as he shifted to the side, glaring at his trueborn half-brother.

"That was dirty."

"What can I say? I picked it up from Joffrey."

"Bah, like he's clever enough for that. He spends all of his free time trying cavorting with Sansa."

"I can hear that you know, and I'll have you know that Lady Sansa seeks me out far more than I seek her." The Prince noted from his seat near the edge of the courtyard.

He sat there, a book splayed open on his lap, glaring at the two. "And perhaps, Robb, I might be more available for fighting practice if your father had not banned me from it after you broke my arm last time."

Jon didn't know quite what to make of the Baratheon Prince. He honestly didn't interact with him that much outside of the courtyard. The first time he had seen him, the boy looked like a corpse. His father had carried him in out of the south, and he had apparently been found half-frozen by a weir wood in the morning.

That had been around the time all the weir-woods started to bleed from their eyes, and the Ravens had started nesting in the rafters of Winterfell, whole flocks of them as if they were taking refuge here against something.

The servants and Old Nan, and even Maester Luwin, they all said it was probably an omen, some magical sign of things to come, but all of them thought it meant different things.

His father did not speak to what it meant, but he did speak of the magic he had seen in the war, of how he had fought against the living dead at the Red plains, and how their blood still stained the soil.

Joffrey did not even speak about that, though everyone knew he had been there as well. Arya, who didn't like Joffrey much, had pressed him one time at dinner for it, but Lord Eddard had snapped at her, telling her to sit down and leave the boy be, that she shouldn't try to open his wounds up out of curiosity.

It felt a little unfair, Joffrey was one to pick at the weaknesses of others, but they were told not to press at his.

"Oh, well if it isn't the spoiled deer complaining about the wolves who fight better than him. Is it that hour in the morning already?"

Well, there was one exception.

Theon Greyjoy was a year older than Robb and him, already a man by official standards, but still a hostage here by some political machinations Jon didn't understand very well. He was much closer to Robb than Jon, but all three shared something of a mutual distaste for Joffrey.

The difference was that Theon cared much less for their Father's advice. Especially since his Sister had visited. He had started acting up, and the target of nearly all of his ire was Joffrey.

"Oh, have you slithered up from well again Greyjoy? Got sick of trying to drown yourself?"

Jon glanced towards Robb as the familiar exchange began, raising an eyebrow.

"Think they'll ever come up with any new insults?"

"Unlikely, they've been using the old ones for months."

He wasn't sure what was the cause of such enmity between the two, but their verbal duels always tended to drown out eh conversation wherever they met. Jon thought they might half enjoy it, but the looks in their eyes never indicated as such. More of a mutual disgust.

He wasn't sure what caused it. Maybe their difference in status, Joffrey as the crown Prince and an official squire being fostered here, and Theon as a supposed traitor's son and a hostage. He was just guessing though, neither talked to him very much.

He followed Robb out of the training grounds and away from the increasingly repetitive match of insults going on behind them. There was only so much of the two that could be reasonably put up within a day.

He raised his eyebrow when he spotted Bran atop one of the short interior walls, stroking a Raven's feathers as if it were a pet dog.

Robb spoke first, cutting off his joke before it could even leave his throat. "Bran, get down from there, you know mother doesn't want you climbing the walls anymore."

"Don't wanna." The boy replied, continuing to stroke the dark-feathered bird.

"I'll get Mother." Robb threatened his tone turning icy, which caused the bird to crow loudly and flutter away up to one of the towers.

"Aww Robb, you scared her." The eight-year-old cried, reaching after his friend before his brother reached up, scooping him off of the wall and dropping him gently on the ground.

"If you have to play with the crows do it on the ground at least," Robb Chided. "Now come on, Joffrey and Theon have made the training ground unusable. Let's see if Father is home yet."

The three made their way through to the eastern courtyard, moving through the large arch formed between the armory and the great hall and out into the open space before the King'sroad gate.

Lord Eddard was indeed present, speaking to some messenger or other, southern by the looks of him, who was busy handing their father a letter.

He dismissed the man as he saw the three boys, a small smile forming across his face.

"Bran, Robb, Jon… not skipping out on your training I hope." The Lord said, nodding towards their gear, which Jon belatedly realized they were still carrying.

This time, his tongue was quicker than Robb's.

"Joffrey and Theon are arguing again." He explained curtly, seeing the recognition in his father's eyes.

"Is that so. Well, I'll have to talk to them then." His eyes turned toward the back of the messenger, who was already saddling up once again. "There's another matter as well, but we'll discuss it at dinner."

"It seems that Robert has decided to invite me south for something other than a war for once."