Chapter 13

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Jon Snow.

Ever since the morning Jon had been riddled with some strange feeling. He didn't know what it had to do with, the fact that the king was coming to Winterfell or the fact that he had defeated them this morning in a duel forced upon him by Theon and Robb, and Lady Catelyn had seen it. Her gaze was so cutting and venomous that Jon began to feel if he did not quickly escape her gaze, he would die on the spot.

John didn't have to think about it for long. Already outside leaving the donjon, he bumped into his younger half-brother on his father's side, Bran. The boy saw the royal column from the top of the tower and hurried to tell everyone.

"I suppose," Jon thought, "Bran is the only person, apart from Sansa, who is happier that the king is coming. The rest of us are more likely to get a headache from it..."

A short time later he was already standing next to the Stark family as the King groomed each one, familiarising himself with Lord Stark's family. Even his bastard, His Majesty paid attention to him and said nice words about seeing him as his father in his youth. Here, though, Jon felt his stepmother's sizzling gaze once more. He shrank back in his seat and tried to appear inconspicuous.

Then the king and Ned Stark went to the crypt to pay their respects to his aunt Lyanna Stark.

Jon withdrew as far away from the high lords as possible. He did not avoid their company for long, though, for there was a reception in honour of the king and his family in the Great Wormhole that evening.

It was not too often that Jon Snow was glad he had been born a bastard rather than the legitimate son of Ned Stark. After all, now he could fill his goblet all he wanted and no one would say a word to him. No one to tell him what to do here. After all, John took his "rightful" place on the bench between the young squires and drank with pleasure. The aromatic good wine filled his mouth with a wonderful flavour and brought a smile to his lips.

And even the hum of hundreds of sips did not prevent him from enjoying these moments of freedom.

It was already the third or even the fourth hour of the feast in honour of their king. The Stark family sat near the royal children as did the king and queen. Ned Stark was a man of stern rules, and only on this day had allowed each of his offspring to drink one glass of wine, but no more. Here on the bench, where no one could stop Jon from drinking as much as his thirst demanded, he felt good.

He was happier and freer in the company of his squires, and even earned the respect of the young men when he began to drink "manly".

John was even able to satisfy his curiosity about the guests as they made their way out into the hall. The procession moved to within a foot of his assigned seat on the bench, and John was able to get a good look at everyone. Even noticed all the noble lords and ladies who had also arrived.

He had even made friends with a few new faces over the course of the evening. One of them was Ollie, Lord Damian Blackheart's squire. They had become friends because he had heard a boy a little older than himself tell him that Lord Blackheart had saved Princess Myrcella from the fire, and had suffered from the flames himself. And shortly afterwards he received title and lands in the Stormlands, and now he was sworn as his suzerain to King Robert. After that John, as well as other young men, put their cups aside and continued to listen to Ollie's stories about the exploits of the "green cloaks" in all colours, even if a little embellished by the emotions and alcohol that overwhelmed him. But John listened carefully to Ollie's words and admired the man. He had a position even worse and lower than John's. He was not the son of the Guardian of the North and the glorious Ned Stark. He didn't have a loving father or brothers. Damian Rivers had grown up in the Freys' viper's den, he was just one of Lord Walder Frey's bastards who was disrespected, and there were no strong family ties there like in the North, and he had a lot to overcome. It was only now that John realised that he still had his life worked out compared to Lord Blackheart.

It made one think hard...

Soon enough, his uncle Benjen, the best scout of the Night's Watch, the place he had recently been so eager to join. Now he had just said, without so much as a fervour, that he wanted to join the Watch. His uncle had talked him out of it, and now, after hearing first from Ollie and then from his uncle, he was holding his horses. He hadn't put the idea away for good, though. He just continued to enjoy the good wine, and when his uncle told a couple of amusing stories, then left for his brother Lord Stark's, Jon went outside for some fresh air.

There he encountered a tall man with a neatly trimmed beard, thick dark hair in a high ponytail, and bright scarlet eyes that looked at Jon with interest.

Snow also took a closer look at his attire. A rather warm garment of black colours and a brown bear skin cloak that should keep its owner warm, on the man's chest was embroidered the crest of a white lion on a red field.

"It's Lord Damian Blackheart!" - flashed through John's mind, and immediately he spotted the second figure beside him as well. - "And that dwarf is the Imp? The queen's brother Tyrion Lannister?"

- Are you Ned Stark's son? - Lord Blackheart asked with a smile.

- I am his bastard! - Snow looked down at the snow-covered ground.

- This place is a gathering of bastards and scum. - Tyrion snorted.

- But you are Tywin Lannister's legitimate son and heir, my lord," Jon looked at the dwarf in surprise.

- I am a dwarf! - The Imp smiled. - And any dwarf is a bastard to his father. I have much more in common with you and Lord Blackheart. Believe me. - and turned his attention to Ghost. - Is that your tame wolf?

- Timberwolf. - I think that's probably the only word John said proudly today.

- He won't bite my hand off if I touch him?

- No. He listens to me. - John smiled and gave the proper commands to his four-legged friend.

While Jon and Tyrion chatted leisurely, Damian sat down beside them and watched in silence.

- You're a bit stiff, Jon. Why? - Blackheart finally asked.

- I'm not uptight. - John objected. - I just don't talk much.

- And why is that? If I've seen Lord Stark's other children, I'd never believe you picked up his judgement and taciturnity from the beginning. It's more likely you've developed those traits during your time at Winterfell. Are you abused by servants and household guards? I don't think so. Then someone in your family? - Jon grew sad for a moment. - You guessed it! - Damian grinned contentedly. - And I think it's Lady Caitlin and maybe one of her children.

- It has nothing to do with them. - John lied.

- You're no good at lying. It can be useful to you in the future, but it can hurt you on the other. Are you going to sit by your father's side all your life and take his lady wife's attacks?

- She never says a bad word to me.

- But it's not just words that can offend. - Tyrion backs Blackheart up. - Even a look of contempt hurts you. Not just you, though, many.

- Allow me a word of advice. - Blackheart leaned forward slightly. John looked at him carefully and nodded. - No matter how you look at it, you're a bastard to the world, no matter where you are. So you're just a bastard who's an embarrassment to someone. - John frowned. The truth was hitting him harder than any blow. - But!" Damian put a finger up and smiled slyly. - That's our strength, you and I. You see, you and I weren't born of legitimate wives and there's no changing that. There's no changing our "mean nature" that many people believe in. And you and I can't change the fact that the world isn't fair. We have to tear out with our hands, feet and teeth everything we can. But you'll realise that soon enough. The main thing I want to tell you is that no matter what anyone says about you or how they look at you, they MUST be rubbish to you, or just average people who don't realise that you are special. Pay attention to your flaws and that status of being a bastard. See them all and start being proud of them, and the fact that you are a bastard... hehe, put that title on yourself like armour, and then no one will have anything left to hurt you. For they will have no arguments. You'll see, once you look at yourself and love yourself for who you are, your life will change.

- There are places where people are equal...

- It's a grave. - Damian and Tyrion said together and laughed.

- The Night's Watch! - Jon exclaimed.

- Do you know what the Night's Watch is now? A bunch of murderers and rapists and thieves and former Targaryen loyalists and a small group of people who want to be brothers of the Night's Watch because of family tradition or because of their own morality. But they tend to be Northerners. Ask your Uncle Benjen for more details, and I'm sure he'll tell you more, but he'll leave out the details and discourage you from joining, at least until you have children of your own. I have some loyal northerners on hand, they've been in frequent contact with the Brothers of the Night's Watch, and Daren One-Eyed even lived among them for two months once. Ask him what the Night's Watch is like now. - Damian sighed heavily and tiredly. - Don't fall for everything they tell you. Learn to recognise lies better. You'll need it in the future. Trust me. To become more than just an illegitimate son of the Guardian of the North, you must first try to achieve something more with all the powers and skills you have. What are your skills?

- Um... I can read, read, write, and Ser Rodrik says I'm good at swordfighting. I also seem to be a good hunter. - John hesitated.

- Pretty good. - nodded Blackheart. - Try to get a job in some lord's service. A squire, preferably. Then you'll have a chance to be a knight, and you won't be a Snow, but Ser Jon Snow, and maybe you'll get a nickname. Oh, even me! I could use a second squire. And if you're a good fighter, and Ser Rodrik hasn't been seen lying to me and his word can be trusted, then you could be a good fighter. Well, that is, of course, if you want to be.

John missed a heartbeat. He had just been given the hope of becoming a knight, and from a man who apparently treated him humanly and without reproach. They're even a bit alike.

- Of course, I will have to at least tokenise your skills as a fighter tomorrow, or see them. But I think if you have the will, you'll show yourself. John. I think I'll go inside. This cold is making me a little uncomfortable. Come on, let's go and warm up with some beer or wine. After all, it's a feast tonight!

- I wouldn't say no to that either. - The dwarf grinned and dragged John by the hand inside.

The next day, however, Lord Blackheart's inspection took place.

He had given it a lot of thought and decided to hold off on the Night's Watch after all. Ser Damian was right, why hurry when Jon could try his hand south of the North.

He carries the Stark blood in him! Blackheart had even said that Jon was superior to his kin in appearance, more Stark than them. And that had bought the young man off. Now he wanted to show, if not to the others, then at least to himself that he was a worthy son of his father, albeit a bastard.

John had three fights. The first was with the sergeant, as he was called by Ser Damian Sigurd Frostbite, who fought against him first with a sword, then with an axe, and then with a spear. It was difficult, his opponent was quite difficult and experienced, but he won the sword fight, and when his opponent fought with an axe, as it turned out to be his favourite weapon, he quickly lost his sword and was knocked out. When Snow came to his senses, Blackheart offered to try again, but already in spear-fighting. And here the two fighters fiddled with each other for a long time. They were not good enough with spears to defeat each other, but they were agile and strong enough to stay on their feet. Eventually the duel was ended by Ser Rodrik, who was doing a training fight for Prince Tommen and Bran asked to give way.

Jon at first thought he had failed Lord Blackheart's test. But an approving pat on the shoulder and a statement that he would be glad to see him in the ranks of his guard or even as a squire brought joy and hope to the heart of Ned Stark's bastard.

Ser Rodrik taught the younger boys for quite some time and often inserted his own comments. Bran was wrapped in what looked to him like a featherbed, and Tommen, for all his thickness and this outfit, looked like a kolobok. They huffed and puffed and tried to fight each other with cloth-wrapped wooden swords under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel, master of arms. An extra dozen spectators, besides Jon, Sigurd, Lord Blackheart and some of his men, there were local men, boys, even a couple of servants cheering the fighting men on. Robb Stark's voice was the loudest of all and he was, of course, cheering his little brother on. Standing beside his older brother was Lord Stark's apprentice, Theon Greyjoy, in his perennial black doublet, which was adorned with the golden kraken of his house.

Not long after the boys' exhausting duel, Prince Tommen was rolling around in the mud, trying unsuccessfully to get up. The cushions were making him look something like a turtle. Bran stood over him with his sword raised, ready to slash if Tommen got back on his feet. The audience laughed.

- Enough! - Ser Rodrik said. He gave the prince a hand and lifted him to his feet. - Good fight. Guys, help them take off their armour. - Prince Joffrey, Robb, it's up to you, I declare a new bout.

Robb, step forward with vigour:

- Gladly, Ser Rodrik!

Answering Rodrik's challenge, Joffrey stepped out into the sunlight. His hair glistened with golden threads.

- It's a game for children, Ser Rodrik," he said with boredom.

Theon Greyjoy burst into laughter.

- You are children, my prince!

- Robb may be a child," Joffrey said, "but I am a prince. And I'm tired of chopping Starks with toy swords.

- Real steel is too dangerous," Ser Rodrik said. - But I'll allow you to use tournament swords with blunted edges.

A very tall knight with black hair and burn scars on his face stepped forward and stood before the prince. It was Sandor Clegane the Hound, Joffrey Baratheon's bodyguard. It was Jon who was told in his ear by Ollie, who also approached along with a few other new onlookers.

- This is your prince, and who are you, sire, to tell him whether or not he can or cannot wield a sharp sword.

- I am Ser Rodrik Cassel, Master of Arms at Winterfell. - frowned the knight. - And I would advise you not to forget that.

- Do they teach women here?

- I educate knights! - Ser Rodrik emphasised. - They will receive steel when they are ready for it. When they are of the right age.

The knight looked at Robb.

- How old are you, boy?

- Fourteen," Robb answered.

- I killed a man when I was twelve. And you bet I didn't do it with a blunt sword.

Robb Stark bristled, his pride badly wounded. He turned to Ser Rodrik:

- Let me do it. I can defeat him.

- Then take the tournament sword," Ser Rodrik replied calmly.

Joffrey shrugged:

- I'll meet you when you're older, Stark. But not when you're too old. I don't feel like chopping up old men.

Jon noticed an audible chuckle from Lord Blackheart. It was as if something in Joffrey Baratheon's words had made him laugh, only Jon couldn't make out what it was. But he was sure he had been laughed at, he hoped, by the would-be commander, not at the prince's mental acuity, but as if at some memory of his own...

Robb's swearing echoed across the courtyard. Theon Greyjoy grabbed Robb's arm to pull him away from the prince. Joffrey, on the other hand, mimed a yawn and turned to his younger brother:

- Let's go, Tommen," he said. - Playtime is over. Let the children have their fun.

Theon held Robb with an iron grip until the princes and their party had moved away.

Jon felt even a little sorry for his half-brother. And he wished he could challenge Joffrey to a duel to avenge his brother. But who would let him? He's only a bastard...

- The kind of man you'll meet often, Jon. - Lord Blackheart has spoken. - But remember, don't think about getting upset about it, they are only trying to present themselves to undeserved heights. And in reality, they are incapable of doing anything of substance. At least, that's how it is in most cases. In time, you'll realise a lot of things. - and then he turned round and walked away.

After watching Robb, Theon, Ollie and Jon took part in a small tournament, where he came out the winner.

A little while later, he made his choice and decided to postpone the "black" until worse times. He went straight to Lord Stark to ask his permission to go south with Lord Blackheart and serve him.

Continuation to follow....