Winter Dragon

Ned Stark

Ned liked to believe he was in tune with his children's feelings, even when surrounded by other people. When he noticed Robb still sitting to himself at the high table rather than mingling with the other guests like his siblings, he knew something was wrong.

"You're quiet," he commented to his son after leaving the Blackfish and Ser Rodrik. Robb didn't answer him.

"Is something wrong?"

Robb shrugged lightly in response.

"No," he said in a small, quiet voice.

It was one Ned would think more suited to Jon, not Robb. Robb had always been outspoken and loud, boisterous. He could easily lift a room with his smile, but he wore a frown now. When Ned thought of it, he'd been wearing a frown all day.

"I'm your father, I know when you're lying," he retorted, taking a seat next to his son.

Robb was quiet a moment before mumbling something underneath his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said the reason I'm quiet is because Jon hates me."

That took Ned aback. Of all things he knew of Jon Snow, hate towards his siblings was not in his character.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I said something that hurt his feelings and he is never going to talk to me again."

Ned was sure that wasn't the case, but to a child of seven things probably seemed that binary.

"What happened?" Ned asked instead.

Robb sighed before speaking.

"We were playing monsters and maidens. Jon said he was the Lord of Winterfell, just as well as any other time, but this time when he did, I said he could never be because he was just a bastard," Robb confessed, looking down in shame.

Ned was surprised. That never bothered Robb before.

"I didn't even mean to say it. It just... slipped out. I regretted it as soon as I realized. Patrek and Lyman were there and they started laughing at Jon and he ran away. I talked to Mother about it. She always has good advice. She said that I'm to be the heir to Winterfell and I shouldn't waste my time on a bastard. She said it's an insult to entertain him over Lord Mallister and Lord Darry's sons. She didn't want me to introduce Jon to them and Jon didn't want to offend them, but I made him come play with us anyway."

Ned opened and closed his mouth. He knew Catelyn hated Jon and he knew that southern perception of bastards was harsher than it was in the North. He could understand the ideology behind Catelyn's bids to isolate Jon from their guests, especially since they were Riverlords. Still, he hoped she could put aside her animosity towards Jon for the betterment of the boys' relationship. Maybe that was asking for too much.

"Well, have you tried to talk to Jon since then? Apologize to him?"

"Every time I approach him, he runs away. He doesn't want to talk to me ever again."

"I'm sure he's just confused and hurt. Most probably afraid too."

"Afraid of what?" Robb asked, his nose scrunched in confusion.

"Losing you, mayhaps. You two have always been together, always mirroring one another. You spent infancy in the cradle together. You walked and talked one right after another. For a while, you were the only person Jon would speak to as a toddler. I remember when Jon broke his leg after that accident with his horse and was bed-ridden. You lasted all of a day without him before you thought up how to remedy the matter: by jumping off the Heart Tree so you could break your leg too and spend all day locked in your room with him."

"Jon was so angry. He lectured me for hours about being responsible. I was just happy to be by his side again."

The smile waned from Robb's face just as quickly.

"But what if he doesn't want to be my brother anymore? Even after I apologize?"

"You are family, this will not get in the way of that. You remember what I always tell you?"

"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

"Aye. This will pass, but amends must be made first."

Robb nodded firmly in agreement and hopped up to leave.

"Cover for me with Mother?" He requested.

Ned smiled softly and nodded his head.

"Of course. Off you go."

Robb smiled in return before losing himself in the crowd of taller men until he could slip away. Ned watched him go with a soft smile. He remembered the days when it was he and Brandon bickering with one another. They were like night and day and their father had to mediate more than once. Back then, he could get so angry with him. Brandon knew just what to say and do to rile Ned up. Now he missed his older brother like a limb.

He hoped Robb and Jon never knew the sting of that loss until they were old men.

Robb Stark

Robb was nervous as he searched the grounds for Jon. It felt like a lifetime but was probably just five or ten minutes. It was long enough to make him anxious.

What if Father was wrong? What if Jon doesn't want to see me? What if he ran away? It'll be all my fault. He'll freeze and die and his soul will haunt me forever. Robb's thoughts raced with ridiculous notions and exaggerated worries.

He found himself almost jogging as he looked all around Winterfell before finding Jon in the place he should've thought to check first. Little Arya was in her room, she was still only a toddler, but even as a Toddler Jon was her favourite, Arya would very often follow Jon around like a lost puppy.

Robb was about to knock when he heard...singing.

It wasn't a secret around Winterfell that Jon could sing, his brother was only seven name days and yet he could sing as good as the best singer of Westeros.

Maybe even better than the king, Robb thought, even in The North was known that Rhaegar Targaryen knew how to sing.

He was half convinced to let him sing but he wanted to make things better with his brother, knocking on it.

The singing stopped, Robb could swear he heard his sister pout, before he heard footsteps walking towards the door.

He wouldn't quite meet Robb's eyes to his annoyance and despair.

"Is there something you need, my lord?"

"Don't call me that," Robb replied immediately.

"What shall I call you then?"

"Brother. I'm your brother."

Jon didn't answer him. Robb felt fear rise in him, but he pushed it down.

"I need to speak to you alone, in private."

Arya looked put out at that, but Jon waved her off and followed Robb away from her room.

"Is there something of great concern I can help you with, my lord?"

"I said don't call me that."

"It's the proper way to address someone of higher station than myself, and you are of a higher station."

"That doesn't mean... look, I'm sorry for what I said. I shouldn't have called you a bastard."

"You only spoke the truth, my lord. I am a bastard."

"But you're not just a bastard, you're my brother."

Something flashed in Jon's eyes that Robb couldn't make out and then Jon dropped the courtesy and turned on his heel, walking away from Robb. He felt his heart sink as he went.

"Jon," he called after him, but Jon didn't turn.

He found himself chasing after him, catching up to him quickly and following behind him as he walked through the halls of the keep. Mother would say it was improper to chase after a bastard and more improper for Robb to walk behind him like he was subservient to him, but he didn't care about all that just then.

"Jon, please talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes, there is. I'm trying to apologize to you. I want... we can just forget I ever said anything and go back to the way we were."

"No, we can't!" Jon exclaimed, turning around to face Robb abruptly, surprising him.

"Don't you see? You were right, I'm just a bastard. I don't have a place here. I don't belong here. Not with your mother and her Riverlords. Not with you or Sansa or Arya, because I'm not like you. I'm a mistake Father made in a moment of weakness, a shame, a lone stain on his honor."

"That's not—"

"It is! Everyone says so. You should just follow Sansa's lead and leave me alone from now on, because I'm not your brother. I'm just your half-brother."

Jon turned around again to leave him. Robb almost let him go in his shock, but he plowed forward, following Jon as he made his way to his chambers. He ignored him at first but eventually began to speak to him.

"Go away, Robb."

"No."

"Leave."

Robb didn't answer him. They were quiet a while, only their feet making noise.

"Robb."

"I said no."

"Go away."

"I won't."

"Why won't you leave me alone?!"

"Because you're my brother and anyone who says different doesn't know what they're talking about, even if that person is me! We were in the cradle together. We've seen every nameday together. We've spent nearly every day of our lives together. If that is not a brother, then what is?! Who cares about blood? Any two fools can share blood, that's not the only thing that makes a family. I allowed the River lordlings to turn my mind to folly, but no more. You are my brother. Besides that, you are my best friend. That is never going to change," Robb replied fiercely.

Jon looked at him uncertainly, shaking his head.

"But your mother—"

"Is not the future Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I am. I love my mother, but she isn't always right. You're my brother and when I am lord of Winterfell, you will be my brother in every way."

"What do you..."

"I'll legitimize you when I'm Lord of the North."

Jon gave him a look of cautious hope and disbelief. Even when Robb nodded in confirmation, the look didn't change. That caused a pang of hurt, but Robb pushed it away. That was alright, he'd just have to show him later on.

"You don't believe me now, but you'll see. You're a Stark, you always have been. Eventually, you'll be one in name as well," Robb vowed.

Jon Snow - 288 AC

The first time Jon really understands what bastard means he is almost five years old. Almost a man grown, Uncle Benjen laughs as he squeezes the boy's skinny arm to feel his muscles, and Jon beams with pride. Soon you will be as big as Hodor, says his Uncle, though Jon isn't sure if he believes that, even if he has outgrown his grey tunic with the green trimmings.

Sometimes when Lady Catelyn comes to watch Robb play with swords, or do his sums in Maester Luwin's solar, or sit a horse while Hullen holds the reins, Jon likes to pretend that she's there to watch him, too.

Those days, he will take extra care to make his letters neat, to recite the names of all the Kings of Winter though in truth there are too many to remember, even for a boy of almost five, and to swing his sword as fiercely as the Daeron the Young Dragon himself. He will pronounce his Valyrian words just right, and will run faster than even Robb, but when he looks over at her to see if she has noticed, it is not pride he sees in her eyes. Not love. Her eyes a blue, cold and blue.

Jon wonders why she loves Robb and hates him. He wonders what is wrong with him. His father smiles at both of them, lets them both sit in his lap, and pats both of them on the head when they have fallen over and are trying hard to be brave and not cry. Uncle Benjen lets them both ride on his shoulders so they can reach the high branches in the Godswood, and Maester Luwin smiles at both of them when they remember which King came after Brandon the Shipwright.

Even Sansa holds both of their hands tight as they lead her across the courtyard to where they are playing knights at a tourney, so that she can be their Queen of Love and Beauty, with a crown of the prettiest leaves they can find in her auburn curls. But Lady Catelyn only has smiles and sweets words and gentle caresses for Robb, and cold blue eyes for Jon.

She never hits him, never yells at him or pinches him, but he can still feel her disproval every time she sees him. Her anger. Her hatred. In truth, she never says anything to him at all, but Jon thinks that might just be the worst thing of all. Her eyes on him are cold and blue, cutting him deep, but no one else seems to notice the wound they leave behind.

When Jon is almost five years old, he wonders he did wrong to make her hate him. He thinks as hard as he can, and remembers that some moons ago, when he had only just turned four and was not as big as he is now, he had knocked over a vase of flowers in her chambers where he and Robb were playing, and it had shattered on the floor, the edges of the broken pieces as sharp as her eyes.

He thinks this might be why she dislikes him so, but he is not entirely sure, for he cannot remember kind words and gentle smiles and hugs before that either. Jon thinks that if he gives her a pretty gift, then mayhaps she will grow to love him as much as Robb.

The day is bright and warm, and a gentle breeze caresses Jon's hair as he picks flowers in the Godswood. The sun is glinting in the deep pool beneath the Heart tree, and the Weirwood's red eyes seem less sad than he is used to, and not quite so scary. The flowers are growing freely here, Goldencup and Lady's Lace and Evening Stars, and Jon picks as many as he can fit in his little hand. His fingers are sticky, and the sun is too bright in his eyes, but he stays until he has a flower of every colour he can find.

He sees her walk across the courtyard, her hair in a long braid, her belly large with the little brother or sister Jon will soon meet. He runs towards her, almost grabs the skirt of her gown before he remembers to stop himself, and lifts the flowers up towards her.

His breathing is quick, his hands are sticky, and his heart flutters in his chest. "These are for you". He smiles at her, wonders if mayhaps she will stroke his hair or hug him.

"My Lady", he says, suddenly uncertain when she remains quiet, studying him.

"And why would I want those weeds, bastard? " She asks, her voice low, her eyes cold and blue. She turns and walks away as his hand sinks, his fingers opening to spill the flowers on the ground, and his heart breaking in his chest.

A bastard, he understands then, is a boy Lady Catelyn can spare no smiles or hugs or sweet words for. A bastard is a boy of almost five years who will never know her love. On the ground, the flowers mix with the dirt, sticky and withering, one of every colour he could find.

He cries in his bed that night. He tries to do it quietly, pulls the blanket over his head and pushes his face into the pillow. Alone in his chamber, now he felt the cold of the room more than ever before.

The day dawned, unusually chilly. Within the tiny sliver of courtyard framed by his window, Jon could see men bundled in furs stamping their feet to stay warm, their breath misting in the morning air. Curious, he touched his fingers to the glass, and quickly withdrew as the warmth started to bleed out of his body.

Inside, the maester's study was still warm as ever. Maester Luwin dozed silently in his chair, seemingly oblivious to the two boys seated in front of him. Haphazardly placed stacks of books and parchment littered the room, casting strange shadows that flickered in the firelight. When he was younger and had a more active imagination, Jon had almost been frightened of them. Now, his eyes simply slid over them as he turned around to see how Robb was faring.

His brother chewed on his quill and fidgeted, his brow furrowed as he attempted to hack his way through one of the maester's more onerous creations. Robb probably wished that he had the use of a sword right now, not that it would do him any good. The art of sums, as re-imagined by their maester, seemed more like a sinuous, ever-changing knot that required deep thought and careful introspection. Qualities somewhat foreign to a Stark, Jon thought with a rueful smile, along with the ability to sit still.

It had taken him some effort to solve the problem, and he couldn't help but feel a bit proud for beating Robb at sums yet again. He was glad as well, for there were so many other things to think about - his assured pummeling of Robb later this day on the training grounds, the hot pies baking in the kitchens, his little sister Arya's smiles.

Beside him, Robb ripped up his parchment and started anew.

Jon sighed, eyed the maester to make sure it was safe, and scribbled down a few choice hints on a piece of parchment before sliding it over to Robb.

Several minutes later, Robb's whoop of joy almost jolted Maester Luwin out of his chair.

"I take it that you are finished?" he asked, all smiles.

Robb nodded eagerly and slid his parchment across the table.

Maester Luwin leaned over and examined it closely. "I see...yes, very good. I will let your lady mother know that you have done well today." He then glanced over at Jon's parchment and added, "And you too, Snow."

Jon had an inkling that Lady Catelyn would most likely not be hearing about his progress.

"May we go?" asked Robb.

"Yes, you may go," the maester nodded.

"Thanks for the help," he said as soon as the door closed behind him. "But don't expect me to cut you any slack on the training grounds today in return."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Jon grinned. "Not that I'd need it."

Robb laughed and rubbed his forehead with a calloused hand. "And that was definitely one of the worst ways to spend the morning. I can feel a headache settling in already."

"And we both know what the best cure for a headache is."

"Pie, of course! Race you down to the kitchens?"

Any cautionary thoughts he might have about what Catelyn would say if she caught them racing in the castle again disappeared as soon as he saw Robb's eager smile.

Their footsteps rang and echoed through the stone hallways as they ran downstairs, dodging serving girls along the way. Robb beat him to the first turn, but he caught up before they reached the second bend. They both narrowly missed running over Septa Mordane as they turned another corner.

Jon laughed out loud as they raced down a flight of stairs. He felt like the wind, with all of Winterfell flying past him.

In the end, Robb narrowly beat him to the kitchen's back door and per their usual agreement, the loser had to go inside and get the pies by hook or crook. Jon sighed and tightened his belt. It was so much the easier for Robb, who simply had to waltz in and smile at a serving girl.

The kitchen smelled of warm dough, Dornish spices, and apples from the Reach. He spotted the head cook placing out rows of apple pies to cool and quickly looked around for a diversion.

Five minutes later, he came flying out. "What happened?" asked Robb.

Jon laughed. "The head cook threw me out after I tried to talk to his daughter."

"But did you get the pie?"

"Naturally." He smiled and held out the pie he had hidden in his bag amongst his parchment and quills.

"Excellent! Shall we go outside?"

Jon had a brief vision of hot apple pie on a cold, almost wintry day. "That'd be wonderful," he replied, reminding himself to save Arya a piece for later. "After you, Ser Robb."

"Ser Robb the Valiant," he corrected.

"After your performance earlier today, perhaps we should rather call you Ser Robb the Stumped."

Robb grimaced. "Maester Luwin knows I lack the abilities to solve his more fiendish problems, yet he doesn't ever let up."

"I agree, he does know," said Jon, "and he also knows in which direction he wants you to develop."

"I intend to develop in many directions, but not the one Maester Luwin has in mind. Let the maesters in their towers wrestle with the greater questions of the mind. I will have more practical matters to deal with."

Jon smiled and did not reply. There was no arguing with Robb when he had decided on a course of action. For his part, he was actually rather fond of the maester's questions. There was a rare, elusive beauty to them, almost as if they were suffused in magic.

The training grounds were deserted this early in the morning, which suited them perfectly well. Jon laughed and watched while Robb leapt and twirled around, a wooden sword in one hand and a piece of pie in the other.

"I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight!" Robb called out as he threw his sword in the air and caught it.

Jon swallowed another bite of pie and asked, "I don't know, was the Dragonknight particularly fond of pie?"

"Hmm, I suppose not. What a pity." He did a little pirouette and slashed at an invisible enemy with his sword. "I think I shall be Ser Arthur Dayne instead then. And who shall you be?"

"Another great defender of pie," Jon laughed. "The Lord of Winterfell!"

"What did you say?" asked a voice, soft and deadly.

Jon turned around and felt his high spirits immediately sink as he came face to face with Catelyn. The Lady of Winterfell stepped out onto the training grounds, cloaked in blue. "Do not make me repeat myself, bastard," she spat. "What were you saying to my son?"

"Mother, we were just joking around..." Robb started to say, before his mother cut him off.

"Septa Mordane informed me that you two were running in the castle again. Is this true?"

Robb sighed and hung his head. "Yes, Mother."

"Despite my repeated warnings not to? What do you have to say for yourself, Robb? Was this his idea?"

"No, it was mine."

Catelyn simply ignored him and directed her wrath again at Jon. "So after I had to leave off going over accounts with Ser Rodrik because of your foolishness, what do I happen to hear? The bastard proclaiming himself Lord of Winterfell? Or do my ears deceive me?"

Her eyes narrowed as she fixed him with a cold, blue stare. Yet Jon knew that she saw not him but instead his Stark features and coloring, an ever-constant reminder of her husband's infidelity, the threat he might pose to her own trueborn sons. He bit back excuses that he knew to be useless. "No, my lady," he sighed.

Catelyn took a few steps forward. Despite his growth over the past year, she still towered over him. "I thought that this was obvious," she said in the softest of tones, "but it appears that I was mistaken. While I am forced to suffer your presence under my roof and at my table, may the Seven save you if I ever find you plotting to steal what is rightfully Robb's. Do I make myself clear?"

Jon forced himself to stand upright and look her straight in the eye. "It was just child's play, my lady. I never wanted it."

It was a lie, of course. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything in the world, more than life itself, and she knew that. He wanted to be someone, not just a Bastard. But Catelyn simply stiffened and said, "See that you don't." She then turned to her son and said, "Come with me, Robb. It's about time you learned to look after our accounts."

Under his mother's eye, even Robb did not dare show him any sympathy. They walked back inside, leaving Jon alone on the training grounds.

He shivered a little. It had started to snow.

The snow was a few inches deep hours later when Robb found him ensconced amongst the rubble at the base of the broken tower. He did not say anything, but simply tossed him a warm, fur-lined coat, for which Jon was grateful. They sat together on the stones, watching the snow fall.

"You didn't show up for training today," Robb said, about half an hour later.

"I had a few things on my mind."

"Such as?"

"What will become of me after your sisters marry the lords of other great houses and go south, when you become the Lord of Winterfell with Bran and Rickon as your bannermen, when I no longer have Father to protect me."

Robb turned and looked him in the eye. "You will always be welcome at Winterfell," he said.

"Your mother would beg to disagree."

Robb sighed and did not reply.

And they sat in silence again, watching either the snow or nothing in particular, until their visitor came.

"Jon?" asked their father. "Are you there?"

Both Jon and Robb scrambled to stand up. "And Robb too." Ned laughed.

"I'm staying, Father," said Robb in a determined voice.

"Very well." He climbed up and sat down next to his sons. "Sit down."

Jon remained standing. He could feel all the rage and frustration of the last few hours building up to his breaking point, nearly driving him mad. And yet his fire was tamped down as he took in the sight of Ned and Robb before him, both father and son as calm and immovable as Winterfell itself. I am a Stark too, he thought bitterly, or am I?

He sighed and sat down.

"The first of the late summer snow," Ned observed.

"It's beautiful," said Robb.

Jon said nothing. He could feel his father's eyes on him, eyes that, like Catelyn's, seemed to see not him but rather someone else. Jon wondered who that could be. His mother, maybe? He had always been afraid to ask, since whoever it was, they always seemed to make His father sad.

"As beautiful and deadly as winter itself," said Ned. "Now Jon, would you mind telling me why you have been freezing all day outside and refusing your meals?"

"I had thought to stop inflicting Lady Catelyn with my presence under her roof and at her table for a while. And to show her that I learned my lesson that a bastard cannot claim to be Lord of Winterfell, even in jest." It was petty, he knew, but he was also beyond caring.

Ned laid a hand on his shoulder. "A bastard who acts with honor and integrity is worth ten trueborn sons who do not. And those who do not see this are willfully blind."

"I have always tried to act in a way that is worthy of you, Father," said Jon.

Ned smiled. "I know,"

Now

Jon was covering himself, the room dark and cold, his finger tips barely peeking out of the mattress, freezing, it had been long and Jon wasn't feeling his fingers, dumb and almost like a rock.

But Jon knew this feeling, it wasn't anything new, thankfully socks kept his feet somehow warm.

Jon tried to close his eyes and dream, dream of places he has never seen before, of places he wished to see, to see Essos, and Perhaps Valyria. A place Jon had been fascinated by singing he could remember himself, he wondered whenever the place had any alive Dragon.

He remembered his father and maester Luwin telling him that dragons had died centuries ago.

Jon suddenly felt someone watching him, opening his eyes, nothing but darkness, only the light of the moon illuminating his dark room.

Jon heard a low sound, to his right he saw Crow by the fire, warming himself. The crow as dark as the night, looking strangely at Jon.

Fire? Jon asked himself, he had no fire in his bed chamber, never, Lady Fish always made sure of that.

The little crow suddenly flew at the handle of the door, Jon pulled away the sheets, following the crow and opening the door.

The crow flew outside, Jon followed behind, he didn't know why.

The snow had been falling for the whole day and night, his food deep in snow and yet he didn't feel the cold, he felt warm.

Following it, suddenly the big gates made of weirwood, the gates bigger than him, the stairs inviting him inside, Father never forgets it open, Jon thought.

Walking inside he felt the eyes of the past kings of Winter, telling him to leave. You're not a Stark

Jon heard the crow through the darkness, walking deeper into the crypts.

His eyes saw the figure of a woman standing in front of Aunt Lyanna, the lantern close to her shines her face, her purple eyes beautiful like starts, her long dark hair, dancing with the fire, her dress red and black, she looked made of flames... dangerous, yet beautiful.

Jon said nothing to the woman, who smiled, he couldn't see her face, but her eyes but he knew she was smiling.

"Ñuha lēkia. Kostilus māzigon arlī naejot nyke. Jaelan naejot sōvegon hēnkirī," she spoke, her voice singing, illuminating the darkness around him.

Jon felt a fire burning on his chest, he felt loved, and in a way, he felt home, he wanted to stay here with her.

Jon felt a hand on his cheek, the hand cupping his cheek before it forced him to look behind, almost dark eyes of Jon saw blue eyes as big as the gates, the breath as warm as fire, tingling his naked skin.

"Sōnar zaldrīzes"