7

Summary:

The feast and its aftermath: some hunting, some sparing, and old faces.

Notes:

1) Hey guys, sorry this took so long. Between my eye infection, holiday drama, work, and wedding planning, it was hard to find time to work on his chapter. The next one will come quicker though.

2) This chapter also did come easy; like, I know what I wanted to put in this chapter but I had a hard time writing it. I'm still not entirely happy with it. I'm going to starting planning out chapters better before I start writing.

3) On the topic of my eye infection, it's healing up nicely but my doctor is still worried about dry air. I'd also like to thank everyone who wished me well in the comments of the last chapter, it was greatly appreciated.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Timeline

283 AC/4E 187: Robb Stark is born; (two months later) "Jon Snow" is born.286 AC/4E 190: Sansa Stark is born; RS-3, "JS"-3.289 AC/4E 193: Arya Stark is born; Theon Greyjoy (10) arrives at Winterfell; RS-6, "JS"-6, SS-3.290 AC/4E 194: Bran Stark is born; TG-11, RS-7, "JS"-7, SS-4, AS-1.295 AC/4E 199: Rickon Stark is born; TG-16, RS-12, "JS"-12, SS-9, AS-6, BS-5.296 AC/4E 200: Direwolves are found; TG-17, RS-13, "JS"-13, SS-10, AS-7, BS-6, RS-1.297 AC/4E 201: Robb Stark turns 14; (two months later) "Jon Snow" turns 14; (one month later) "Jon Snow" runs away from Winterfell/appears in Skyrim; TG-18, SS-11, AS-8, BS-7, RS-2.299 AC/4E 203: Jon Whitewolf sends a letter to Winterfell; TG-19, RS-16, JW-16, SS-13, AS-10, BS-9, RS-4.300 AC/4E 204: Lord Eddard Stark asks Jon to return to Winterfell; TG-20, RS-17, JW-17, SS-14, AS-11, BS-10, RS-5.302 AC/4E 206: Jon Whitewolf receives Arya's letter: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(two-and-a-half months later) Jon Whitewolf arrives at Winterfell: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(Four days later) Robb Stark turns 14: TG-22, RS-19, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.

Jon VII

"So, Boy, tell me what about this 'Great Thane' business." King Robert asked as he wiped gravy from his mouth with a stained cloth napkin. Jon looked up from his roast, wishing he was literally anywhere but here. To sit at the high table with the king was supposedly a great honor -one that a bastard should have been elated to receive- but facing down Auldin again with only his skivvies and a fork for protection would legitimately be preferable that the situation Jon found himself in now. Squeezed in between the king and Lord Stark with half the hall's eyes on him, the young Dragonborn hadn't been this uncomfortable since the time Haelga invited him to 'practice the Dibellan Art' with her; he refused, of course, and proceeded to avoid the woman whenever possible for the next year.

"It's one of the noble titles within the hierarchy of Skyrim, Your Grace."

The king belched, "And you managed to achieve it, win some land in a duel?"

"Not exactly, Your Grace. The nobility system in Skyrim isn't the same as Westeros, though there are some similarities. Skyrim is divided into nine different holds: Winterhold, Eastmarch, the Rift, the Pale, Falkreath Hold, Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, the Reach, and Whiterun Hold; these are similar to the different regions of Westeros. Each of the Holds has a slight difference in terms of climate and local government but is each ruled by a Jarl who resides in the Hold's capital city.

The jarls are akin to the Great Lords, I suppose. They're largely independent, but do swear fealty to Skyrim's High King or Queen, who in turn swears fealty to the Septim Emperor. Each of the nine holds is further divided into five different fiefdoms; four of these are governed by a lord or lady and their family while the fifth, the one holding the capital city, is ruled by the Jarl directly. The jarls all have a court that is made up of themselves, their steward, the castle's head...scholar, the governing lords and ladies, and four thanes.

The title of Thane is given by the jarl of a hold to a person of great importance; usually, they earn this position by performing great deeds of service for the Jarl of the hold and its people. This can be anything; healers, soldiers, and merchants have all become thanes for one reason or another. The belief is that since one has to earn the title, they will work harder to honor it, and since they come from all walks of life, each will bring a different perspective to the court. I am called Great Thane because I hold the title in all of the different holds.

Thanes aren't granted any land -however many thanes do come to own plenty of it- but the position does come with plenty of perks that lords and ladies don't receive. For one, newly titled thanes receive housecarls, highly-trained bodyguards who are sworn to protect the Thane, their families, and property until death. Also, while the title isn't inheritable, children of thanes often make marriages with other noble lines, sometimes even into the families of jarls. Finally, when it comes time to collect annual taxes, the lords and ladies get to keep 10% of what is collected from their lands but thanes receive 5% of what is collected in total."

Jon didn't know if the king was actually listening to him -the glazed look in his eyes could either be from boredom or the massive amounts of alcohol he was consuming- but considering he was coherent enough to ask another question, it may have just been the man's natural state.

"The High King you mentioned, where does he rule from?"

"Well, that's where some of the differences between Skyrim and Westeros lay; the High King -or High Queen, as it is currently- is actually also one of the jarls. When the previous king or queen dies a moot is held with representatives from each of the different holds to decide on who will hold the title next; this tends to be the child of the previous ruler but not always, sometimes it is the deceased's spouse, sibling, or a different Jarl entirely. But once they are elected, they rule as both as king or queen and as jarl of their hold."

"Pardon me, but did you say that the land is ruled by a queen? I assume she rules as regent for her son." The queen, who had previously been alternating between ignoring him and shooting him twin icy glares with Lady Stark, addressed him directly now. Her emerald eyes were still cold, but there was a kind of intense fascination dancing in them.

"No, Your Majesty. High Queen Elisif rules in her own name; although she did come into the position because she was married to the previous High King and Jarl of Haafingar, Torygg."

"Is it unusual for a woman to rule in her own name?"

Jon thought for a moment, twisting the gold and ruby ring on his left thumb around. The ring was enchanted to neutralize poisons and venoms; he didn't want to think anyone at Winterfell would actually try and poison him, but Serana's warning still hung ominously at the back of his mind. "No, Your Majesty, not truly. Four of the nine jarls are women and there are quite a few ruling ladies; daughters are also in the line of succession, same as sons."

"How...progressive."

Jon shrugged, "Not really, it's more due to practically. Women have always had a fair amount of freedom in Skyrim but not too long ago there was a great war that ravaged the continent; men went off to fight and women were left to pick up whatever work needed to be done. Boys grew up watching their mothers, aunts, and sisters working in mines, smith weapons, and run lumber mills so when they grew up, such things were not unusual. Some paths are harder for women, of course, but no one is truly going to bat an eyelash at a woman in the Imperial Legion."

"Really! Ladies carry weapons there?" Arya said excitedly, gray eyes wide.

Jon couldn't but chuckle, "Aye, they do." He caught the look on Lord and Lady Stark's faces, "Women in Skyrim carry weapons because everyone carries weapons; it is a harsh land fraught with danger, everyone needs a weapon."

"And yet you seem so fond of it." Lord Stark commented, bitterness tinging his words.

Jon bit his sharp retort back and instead fiddled with the amulet of Akatosh around his neck, "I am. The land is hard and cold, as are the people. Nords are a gruff lot, closed off and slow to trust outsiders. But once you earn their respect, you'll have a loyal friend for life. It reminds me a lot of the North, actually."

"What's that you're messing with?" King Robert asked, a low growl in his voice as he spotted the dragon-themed pendant.

"Oh, it's the religious symbol of Akatosh, one of the Nine Divines; They are the principal deities worshiped in Skyrim."

"So you worship their gods now too?" Every question Lord Stark asked was beginning to feel like an interrogation and Jon was sick of it.

"No, but the amulet was given to me by the Jarl of Whiterun, Balgruuf the Greater, soon after I arrived in Skyrim and I've held onto it ever since; its a bit of a good luck charm, I guess." Truthfully, Jon didn't know who or what he should worship. As the Dragonborn, he was supposedly favored by Akatosh and, despite not being a Nord, Tsun promised that he had a place in Sovngarde. Jon usually trusted enormous half-naked men wielding giant axes, but he never actually met any of the Divines. He had, however, interacted with plenty of the Daedric Princes, even spoken to one face-to-face. That being said, Jon wasn't sure he really wanted to worship any of them; even the most benevolent ones tended to have a dark side. As for the Old Gods, what did he really know about them?

"A kind gesture," the Lord of Winterfell grunted.

"It was," Jon eagerly agreed. "He's a good man, Jarl Balgruuf; he's been like a father to me."

Lord Stark flinched at his words and started to respond, only for King Robert to cut him off. "It's a damn impressive thing you did, becoming your own man. I wish either of my sons had the same fortitude, they're both useless."

Prince Joffrey took a break from flirting with Sansa to shoot a glare at his father but the fat king didn't seem notice; his attention still uncomfortably fixed on Jon. "But you? You found yourself in a strange land with nothing and managed to pull yourself up into a powerful position. I'm proud of you; you've grown so much. I held you when you were a babe, did you know that? Your father stopped by King's Landing on his way back to the North after the war and he had you with him. You were a tiny thing, quiet too; at least, until I held you. Then you grabbed ahold of my beard, gave it a mighty tug, and started wailing."

Jon stared at the man who killed his father and laughed over the dead bodies of his siblings; he felt like he should hate him on principle but the king's odd affection and strange wistfulness confused him. "No, Your Grace; I have never heard that story before. I swear that I have no desire to repeat such an action though."

The king let out a hearty laugh and slapped Jon on the back before turning to speak with Ser Barristan Selmy, giving Jon the chance to move his seat further down the table.

"What are you drinking?"

Jon looked up at Theon, slightly embarrassed as he tried to shove the flask back into his trouser pocket. "Cyrodilic Brandy," he admitted bashfully. "It's hard to get your hands on, so I was saving what I brought for a special occasion. Surviving this damned feast is as good of a reason as any to break it out."

"Hand it over!" Theon all but ripped the flask from his hand, gulping down a mouthful and puckering his face at the burn. "That's got some kick to it."

"After what I paid, it better," Jon grumble, snatching it back and wincing when some of it spilled on the sleeve of his new tunic. He had changed into one of his new Radiant Raiment outfits: a sky blue tunic under a charcoal gray jerkin embroidered with pale gray beasts and black trousers. In addition to his amulet and the ring on his left thumb, he was wearing Lord Harkon's bone hawk ring set on his three middle right fingers. At first, it had felt unnerving to wear the dead vampire lord's jewelry but Nords were big believers in the idea of war spoils and, as Serana pointed out, it wasn't as if Jon didn't keep the man's sword in one of his many trophy cases. So he kept the rings and enchanted each to increase his reserves of magicka, health, and stamina.

"It looks like you weren't able to avoid the feast, after all." Robb chuckled, cheeks flushed with wine.

"I really should have listened to Enzo when he said we should leave." Jon conceded, glancing over to where the giant Redguard sat at the end of the table entertaining the younger children with stories of Hammerfell.

"You didn't want to come to the feast?" Arya asked. The youngest Stark girl had been forced into a dress for the evening; it was simple enough, a dark blue velvet in the Northern style with a square neckline, tight sleeves, and a hemline that ended just under the ankles allowing for greater ease of movement than the standard floor-length Southern gown. Her hair had been done up in a plaited bun and -Jon felt his heart swell with a rush of affection- she was wearing the necklace he gave her.

"Not in the slightest." Jon took another drink of brandy before the sadness filling Arya's eyes made him quickly add, "It's not that I don't want to spend time with you all, it just that I find that feasts tend to be incredibly boring."

"How can you say that?" Sansa gasped; unlike her simple, the auburn-haired girl had gone all out for the night, dressing in an elaborate blue and gold gown with her hair twisted up in a Southern hairdo that Jon had seen Lady Stark use whenever her brother visited. "The royal family is here!"

The Legendary Dragonborn couldn't help but smile as she excitedly whispered that last part. "I've met plenty of royalty, Sansa: kings, queens, emperors, princes, and princess. Believe me, underneath all the glamor and titles, they're just normal flawed people like the rest of us."

"That can't be true; maybe the royalty from where you've been is different."

'Oh, Sansa, for better or worst you're still so innocent. I can only hope you don't get anyone killed because of it,' Jon bit back a sigh. The innocence of children was a beautiful thing and should be cherished, but there was only so far it could go before it became ignorance. Ignorance got people killed. He started to try and gently argue his point about royalty to Sansa only for the king to demand his attention again.

"Do you hunt, Boy?"

The king was an avid hunter, Jon remembered; he supposed he was too -if culling rabid wolf packs, tracking down bloodthirsty bears, or helping the jarls fill up their stores counted as hunting. "I have, Your Grace, many times; though I rarely do so for sport."

"Excellent! You'll be joining the hunting party tomorrow then, you and the big man."

It wasn't a question. "Are you sure that want, Your Grace?"

"Damn right it's what I want! Now, let's get on with the dancing. Bards!"

The lower tables were pushed back against the walls and the bards began a lively chorus of "The Bear and the Maiden Fair". Multiple couples made their way onto the floor: Bran went out with a reluctant Jeyne Poole. Robb gallantly offered his arm to Princess Myrcella, who blushed scarlet but took it eagerly. Lord and Lady Stark followed slowly, neither looking particularly enthused. The Queen gracefully made her way to the center of the room, led not by her husband but by her twin brother. Sansa all but dragged the prince -who smiled but Jon caught the annoyance in his eyes- into a dance, thus ending Jon's attempt to talk some sense into her.

"She acts so stupid sometimes."

Jon glanced over at Arya, slumped down in her seat in a decidedly unladylike fashion. "She's your sister; you don't need to like each other but you do need to look after one another."

"Well, she doesn't make it easy. All Sansa thinks about is songs and stories; she never leaves the castle walls without an escort-"

"And you do?"

"Bran and I sneak out to play with the children at the orphanage; they're nice but sad. Sansa doesn't know what that's like; she only gets sad about Father scolding her for spending her allowance on Myrish lace or not letting her foster in any of the southern courts. Maybe she can sew and sing and dance, but she can't protect herself; not unless she plans on stabbing someone with a sewing needle. She's never even tried to use a bow and I know archery is something high born Southern learn. I-I'm worried she'll get hurt."

The admission surprised Jon, Arya was never one to open up about her love for Sansa. "To be honest, I am too. There will come a time when Sansa sees her first true horror and when that happens, someone will need to be there to help her. In the meantime, I'll speak with your father about the issue."

"She annoys me, but I'll protect her," Arya swore with a solemn nod.

Jon reached out and tugged a loose strand of her hair affectionately, "That's good to hear, Little Sister. But for what it's worth, I hope that day never comes. I hope it never comes for either of you. Now, come on; let's dance."

"So you're the bastard?"

Jon looked up from the book he was reading, Rubies and Iron by Maester Naylin. It was quite interesting, he would have to suggest it to Arya; she'd probably find the warrior women of Kayakayanaya, Samyriana, and Bayasabhad fascinating. After slipping out of the Great Hall -leaving Enzo dancing with whatever woman admired the man's broad shoulders enough to approach him- Jon had stopped by his room for a bottle of spiced wine and two goblets before returning to the quiet sanctuary of the library; or, at least, what had been the quiet sanctuary of the library. The dwarf of Casterly Rock stood at the doorway, odd eyes studying Jon's form. It was odd, how similar and yet how different he looked from his siblings; clad in scarlet and gold finery but with strange hair and eyes, he looked like a twisted mirror version of the ideal Lannister heir.

"That's what I've heard," Jon said, returning to his book.

"Well I've heard that you are going by Jon Whitewolf now; it sounds like there must be quite a story behind that."

Jon gave a nonchalant shrug, "Not particularly. Soon after I arrive in Skyrim someone asked what my name was. I told them it was Jon Snow, but they thought I was lying; after all, it was actually snowing at the time. I was asked again, so I came up with 'Jon Whitewolf' and I've been using that ever since."

"Yet you cling to the name so tightly."

"It's the name I chose. I've lived under it for nearly five years now; it's who I am."

"Perhaps that is true, but it is important one never forgets where they come from -less they lose the roots of their being. I find that it's vital to always remember who you are so it can never be used as a weapon."

'Alright, enough of this poetically philosophical back-and-forth,' Jon narrowed his eyes at the Lannister. "Why are you here, Lord Tyrion?"

The dwarf approached Jon's table, "To satisfy my curiosity. I saw you leave the hall after a dance with your sister and I thought I'd follow. Not many people would be anxious to leave the company of royalty; even if the royalty in question is my lout of a good brother. He's quite taken by the idea of you, I wonder why that is?"

"I supposedly look much like Lord Stark did when he was younger, perhaps I make him think of his youth in the Vale."

Lord Tyrion hummed with a thoughtful look on his face, "Ah yes, the king is obsessed with days long passed. But you don't actually look much like him, you know? Lord Stark, I mean; not once you look beyond your coloring and slant of your features. I suppose it's possible you favor your mother."

He trailed off but kept his eyes firmly on Jon. He was fishing for something; Jon doubted the man knew anything about his parentage, but curiosity could be dangerous so it needed to be nipped in the bud. "It's possible, but I wouldn't know. Lord Stark never spoke about her, she is almost certainly dead by now though."

"Well, we have that in common then," Lord Tyrion comment as he slid into the chair opposite to Jon. "Oh, Rubies and Iron! Such an intriguing topic; though I do have to wonder if iron rings in the nipples make sex better or worse."

'That is not something I ever need to hear,' the Dragonborn groaned internally. "I can't comment on that but I do have to ask your opinion on a topic my companion and I have been quarreling over."

"Your giant friend? I certainly wouldn't want to get on his bad side; give me the details so I can agree with him."

"Well when we stopped in Essos, I picked up some books to add to my library. Now, I bought the copies written in Common Tongue but the merchant also happened to have versions written in the original language, so I purchased those too. Enzo says the Common Tongue copies were enough but I believe that to fully enjoy a text, it must be read how the writer intended."

"Oh, of course, the original text is ideal! You never know what is lost or 'corrected' during the translation."

Jon smiled, he found that he was enjoying the Lannister's company; it was nice spending time with Arya, Robb, and Theon but none of them were particularly interested in discussing the scholarly arts. "Would you care for a glass of wine, my Lord?"

"You might as well ask if I breathe air; poor away!"

Jon had intended split the bottle of wine with Enzo -which was why he had grabbed the second goblet- but seeing as the man was probably busy basking in the attention of lovely ladies, he saw no reason not to split it with the Heir of Casterly Rock.

Lord Tyrion took the glass with a grin, which widened along with his eyes after he took his first sip. "By the gods, this is fantastic! I've never tasted anything like it."

"You're not the first to say that. It's Spiced Wine, the signature drink of Solitude, Skyrim's capital city; only one family in the whole country knows how to make it. I absolutely adore it, so I stocked up before leaving for my trip here."

"I'll pay you 25 gold dragons for every bottle you have."

"That's not going to happen; thank you for the offer but I have all the coin I need. I am will to share this bottle with you though."

"I'll have you know that I'm extremely used to getting what I want. However, I suppose that I can live with sharing a bottle of fine wine with some decent company."

Jon refilled Tyrion's glass, a smile on his face. "Excellent; now, tell me, what do you believe are the most seminal Westerosi works? I need to know what to buy before I return to Skyrim."

"What exactly is it we are supposed to be hunting?"

"Elk, I think; maybe boar wasn't really paying attention, to be honest."

"I do not doubt it; when exactly did you go to bed last night?"

"Late, or early, depending on how you see it. All I know is that the music in the Great Hall had stopped by then. Thank that gods that health potions also work on hangovers."

"I cannot believe you stayed up to all hours talking about books with the son of the man ordered your older siblings and their mother killed. Wait, actually, I can. That does not mean it was a smart idea though."

"Lord Tyrion is a learned man, quite the exceptional conversationalist. And it's not like we talked about anything personal. I mean, he did try but I brushed him off. Besides, I wouldn't even have ended up talking to him if you hadn't abandoned me in enjoy the admiration of hoards of Northern women. How many did you end up dancing with?"

"A little over twenty, got a few proposals for...private dances as well. I refused, more trouble than it could possibly be worth. As is this 'hunting' trip, there are mammoths herds that make less noise."

Jon chuckled at his friend's candor; it was true, the king's voice bellowed through the forest as he spoke with Lord Stark was probably scaring off any wild animals nearby. 'Is it possible for a man to be louder than a beast?'

"We should start planning our return tonight; your homeland has its charm but I am rather eager to return to Skyrim."

"Agreed, if we stay too much longer than I just know Lord Stark will try to pull me into another heart-to-heart."

A pensive look crossed Enzo's face, "He wants you to stay."

"He does, and he's willing to say just about anything but the truth to make me. I'm going to give him one more chance to confess before… well, you know."

"That sounds reasonable. I may not like him but he did raise you and I want you to be sure before you cut him off."

"Me too," Jon admitted. The pair were at the back of the hunting party with King Robert and Lord Stark in the lead with the middle filled by Ser Barristan, Ser Jaime, Robb, Bran Prince Joffrey, Prince Tommen, and the Hound. Robb was stuck in the unfortunate position of listening to the crown prince whine about the weather -the boy had insisted on wearing silks and wools instead of the much more practical furs and was suffering for it; yes, as it turns out trudging through the snow and cold in the early morning while wearing improper clothing was quite unpleasant- and had resorted to shooting sad, pleading looks back at Jon, who waved in return. At least Bran seemed to be getting along with the younger prince who was far friendlier than his brother, if rather timid.

"A wonderful day for a hunt, isn't it, Ned?"

"Aye; this outing was a splendid idea, my King."

Jon's winced as his boot sunk into a patch of icy mud, 'Splendid idea my ass.'

"Well my party will be here for another week; I don't want you to dip into stores too much for our sake."

"That's extremely thoughtful of you, Your Grace."

"I told you to stop with all that 'Your Grace' crap, Ned! We're beyond such things and I get enough of it from those bootlickers down in King's Landing, I don't need you to suck up to me too."

"Just kiss already," Enzo grumbled, causing Jon to snort so hard it was almost painful. The older man leaned down, "Are you sure your mother was the king's great Northern love?"

"I only mean to set a proper example for my boys, my- friend," Lord Stark replied.

"You don't have to worry about that; your kin will always have an ally in King's Landing so long as mine is on the throne. Especially since... well, Starks will never have to worry about danger there. Isn't that right, Joffrey?"

"Why of course, Your Grace," Prince Joffrey sneered at his father's back. When no one commented, Jon figured that this was an uncommon occurrence.

"Yes, Father," Prince Tommen chirped from Bran's side.

"He didn't ask you; you're just the spare." Hissed Joffrey back at his little brother who seemed to fold in on himself at the cold criticism.

Jon frowned and caught up with the younger boys, setting a hand on the young prince's shoulder. When Prince Tommen looked up at him with big swimming green eyes, the Dragonborn smiled kindly, "It's good of you to care for your father's allies; it's the sign of a keen political mind."

He was rewarded with an adoring look, "You're Ser Jon, right? Bran was telling all about your adventures! Is it true you've fought pirates?"

"Aye, several times." Jon chuckled, 'Pirates and much, much more.'

"Wow, Joffrey has never done anything like that! Bran and Rickon also showed me the gifts you gave them; I really like the set of animal figures, do you have another one?"

"Unfortunately, I don't. But, I'll see if I have something similar. Sound good?" Jon asked, giving the little prince's blond hair a ruffle when he nodded, knocking some snowflakes out of the boy's hair.

"By the gods, everyone shut up and gather round. There on the hill ahead, see it? Look at the rack on that beast!" King Robert said in an excited whispered as he waved the group over and pointed at a fine, ten-point-stag up on the ridge of a hill. It was bent down nibbling on some green bits of a bush, steam rising from tawny fur in the cold morning air.

"An impressive bit of game, Robert. Would you like to do the honors?" His uncle asked, sounding very much like he was ready to go back to the castle already.

The fat king paused, perhaps aware that he no longer had the strength to throw his spear well enough to kill the deer. "No, one of the younger boys should do it. Joffrey, come up here. It's time to prove your worth in front of a crowd."

The prince huffed but pulled his crossbow from his back and stalked closer to his father, nearly tripping over a snow-covered branch along the way. The Hound followed closely behind, somehow much far quieter despite his larger side. Joffrey grinned as he leveled his crossbow and lined up a shot on the crossbow, but Jon frowned; his time with the Dawnguard had taught him much about how to use crossbows and from what he could see, the prince wasn't aiming properly.

"Your hand is shaking; steady it or the shot will go wide." The king grunted.

"It is steady, Father."

With that declaration, Joffrey pulled the release trigger and the bolt went flying. To be fair, the prince wasn't too far off the mark, the bolt catching on one of the buck's antlers and causing it to dart off into the trees with a screech. The whole party let out a frustrated groan, aside from Tommen who bit back a giggle.

"Seven hells, how'd you miss it by that much!"

"I hit its head!"

"It doesn't matter," The king waved him away. "Let's go, men. I want that buck!" With a huff, he took off up the hill with surprising speed for a man his size. After around of grumbles from the rest of the party, they followed and tracked the deer for about another quarter mile before coming to a narrow path along a hillside.

"Careful there, Bran. If you slip it'll be a long way down." Jon cautioned to the surefooted young Stark.

"Don't worry, Jon. I never fall; you know that."

"Yes, but-"

"AHHH!" To Jon's horror, a clump of dirt gave way under Prince Tommen, causing him to lose his balance and tumble from the path down the hillside. Everyone froze in shock before rushing to edge to try and help, the prince's name on their lips. Jon was the first to react; skidding down the hill, bracing himself off of trees and boulders and using his superior balance and agility to his advance. Eventually, he got far enough down to where he could see Prince Tommen lying in a crumpled heap on top of a snow bank at the edge of a small clearing.

"Are you alright?"

The boy didn't answer but did let out a low, long groan which reassured Jon that he was at least breathing. He hopped down the last few feet onto the level ground below, crouching by the young prince's side Jon checked his pulse and cast Healing Hands on the boy. It wasn't his most powerful healing spell, but it would look odd if Tommen walked away without a scratch. After a few moments, the boy's coloration had improved greatly and he started to come around so Jon felt it was safe to move him into a more comfortable position. He propped the prince up against a tree trunk and started to brush snow from him when a slight snap caused him to freeze.

Slowly he turned his head to look over his to see a large shadowcat crouched to the ground at the other side of the clearing. Jon met the amber eyes of the beast and he got the sense that it was studying him even as he was studying it. The shadowcat was large for its species; most were roughly three feet tall at the shoulder and six-and-a-half feet long from nose to tail, but this one had an extra six inches in both height and length. It was skinny though, Jon could see prominent rib bones, and there were patches of fur missing from its pelt.

Tommen, still unconscious, let out a gurgle; the shadowcat's eyes flicked to his prone before returning to Jon's and the Dragonborn instantly understood. The beast was hungry and desperate, the young prince looked a good meal, but first, the beast needed to judge if going through Jon to get to him was worth it.

'Go away. Go away, I don't want to kill you,' Jon thought desperately even as the shadowcat's lips pulled back into a snarl, revealing sharp yellow fangs, and lean muscles coiled as it prepared to pounce. Jon's lips began to form the first word of the Kyne's Peace shout before he bit it back, the rest of the party was close enough that they would certainly hear it -the same was true of any spells he cast- and while he would reveal his secrets if it absolutely came down to that but he really didn't want to. That left his bow, but could he pull it from his back, notch an arrow, and shoot before the predator was on him?

He'd have too because, with a loud cry, the beast lept forward with its claws outstretched; Jon stumbled back, trying to arm himself but resigning himself to the fact he may need to reveal his abilities in order to save the lives of both himself and Prince Tommen. He pulled in a deep breath and prepared to FUS RO DAH the beast into Oblivion when-

"REEEEEEEE!'

Jon gasped when a brightly-colored shot down from the sky, slamming into the shadowcat's side and knocking it away, leaving smears of blood on the snow. The feline predator rolled to its feet and engaged to blob, shrieks, and yowls filling the air. When his mind caught up with his eyes, Jon realized he recognized the blob; the ten-foot wingspan, the bright orange-red feathers, the deadly black talons, and beak -it was Sweet Roll, his pet Bone Bird!

"Sweetie…" the Dragonborn breathed as he watched the enormous predatory bird grip his opponent's neck with his talons while darting forward to stab a razor-sharp down into the shadowcat's face. The beast reared back a deadly clawed pawed to slash at the giant bird but Jon managed to pull himself together enough to shoot an ebony arrow through its left eye, killing the feline instantly.

"Jon!" The dark-haired youth turned to see Enzo stumble to his side, his large frame for once more of a hindrance than an advantage. "It that…?"

"Yeah, I think so!"

Jon heard his name called again, this time by Lord Stark. "Son!" the man cried, gripping his shoulder, "We heard fighting, are you injured?"

He shrugged out of his uncle's grip, "No, I am fine. Prince Tommen needs a maester though; he's unconscious but I think he'll be fine as long as we return to the castle quickly."

The rest of the hunting party pooled into the clearing and Ser Barristan bent down to check on the young prince, "His breathing is steady, Your Grace, and I believe he will be coming to soon. Still, it would be best if we headed back immediately."

"What? Oh, yes. Clegane, pick the boy up and carry him back." The king said from where he was examining the dead shadowcat. He pulled the arrow from its skull and turned to Jon, "This arrow is yours, I suppose? You saved my son, Boy. You've done the royal family and Westeros as a whole a great service; I see to it you're properly rewarded.

"What the fuck is that thing?" The Hound roared, pointing up to where Sweet Roll was preached on the branch of a tree. Prince Joffrey took aim at the bird with his crossbow and was ready to shoot before Jon slapped the weapon down.

"YOU DARE-"

"That's my bird! Come here, Sweet Roll!"

The Bone Bird cocked his head at Jon -who for a moment worried the beast would choose now to be difficult- and took off from the branch, flying a loop around the clearing before landing on Jon's shoulder. He winced, a twenty-pound bird on your shoulder wasn't very comfortable, and the others in the party gathered around to examine his pet.

"What is this thing and why did you call it Sweet Roll?" The king demand as he attempted to touch an uninterested Sweetie, jerking his hand back to avoid losing a finger to the bird's sharp beak.

"He's a Bone Bird; a friend gave him to me as a gift and another named him Sweet Roll as a joke. I could never get him to answer to anything else though, so the name unfortunately stuck." Jon explained as he reached up to scratch Sweet Roll's chest feathers.

"And what is he doing here?" Lord Stark inquired as he stared at the bird with a look of both horror and amazement.

That was an excellent question. One Jon had neither considered nor had an answer too, "Well...he, uh-"

"-must have followed us from our ship, Lord of Winterfell." Enzo cut in, his black eyes meeting Jon's briefly. "Bone Birds are highly intelligent, both excellent trackers and fantastic lookouts; sailors often keep them aboard to watch for pirates. We brought Sweetie with us on our voyage but left him in the care of Captain Vendicci when we set off on land for Winterfell; clearly, he must not have found the arrangement agreeable and followed us."

"Oh, well, that makes sense, I suppose." Lord Stark said, eyes still on the bird who stared back intently.

"Ned, we're heading back. Lannister, grab the cat. I want to take it back with us," the King bellowed. "Shame we never did get that deer, but it's almost time for luncheon and I'm fucking cold."

No one could disagree with such a statement; heavy, dark gray clouds hung low in the sky, dripping fat snowflakes onto the landscape. A wind had started up too, cutting through Jon's fur cloak; returning to the warmth of a fireplace sounded divine, but there was something he needed to do first. "I'm going to stay behind for a bit, Your Grace."

"What for?" Lord Stark asked, his brow furrowed deeply as his slate gray eyes traced Jon's face like he was looking for something.

"I want to see if I can track down the shadowcat's den, make sure there are no others lurking around."

"A good idea, Son. If the population if getting desperate enough to attack armed grown men than they need to be culled. I'll come with you."

"There is no need, Lord of Winterfell. I will accompany Thane Whitewolf on this endeavor." Enzo stepped to Jon's side and Lord Stark scowled. It was clear that no fondness had grown between the pair in the past week; that didn't exactly surprise Jon -Enzo was extremely protective- it couldn't say it made him happy.

"I-"

"Come on, Ned. Leave the boy to it; he'll be fine. I wish either of my boys showed that initiative."

It took him a moment, clearly unhappy about the situation, but Lord Stark did follow his king and oldest friend. Jon and Enzo both watched as the hunting party disappeared into the trees and stayed silent -aside from the quiet squeaks and chirps from Sweet Roll- until they could no longer hear the group tromping through the underbrush. When they were sure they wouldn't be overheard, Enzo turned to Jon, "What in the hell is your demon bird doing here?"

"How would I know? I'm just as confused as you are! And don't call Sweetie a demon bird, you know it hurts his feelings!"

"He is a bird! A bird that you left thousands of miles away and yet somehow showed up at your childhood home in time to save you from being mauled!"

"I know, I know," Jon groaned, raking a hand through his dark curls. "Maybe...maybe someone used a portal spell to send him here?"

Enzo mulled the idea over in his mind for a moment, "That is a possibility, I suppose. But portal spells take decades to master, and that is only if you are extremely talented. Could Lady Serana have sent him?"

"No, I don't think she knows any of those spells; her mother might though. I'll ask in my next letter but I honestly doubt it was either of them; if they could open portals here then they'd probably just come themselves."

"Well, do you know anyone else who could?"

"I know the Daedric Princes can, a few master mages, Tsun, and maybe the Psijic Order. But the question remains, even if they could open a portal to send Sweet Roll here, why would they?"

"A true mystery," Enzo hummed as Sweet Roll took of off Jon's shoulder, flying through the trees. The bird didn't seem to be trying to leave, exactly; he landed a few yards away and squawked until the two warriors followed. When they got close, Jon's familiar repeated the action until he led them to a small burrow.

"Why'd you lead us here, Sweetie?" Jon wondered out loud as he crouched down and ducked his head inside, casting Candlelight so he could see. "There's nothing-oh, I see!"

"No, absolutely not." Enzo snapped when he saw what Jon had pulled out.

"C'mon, Enzo! How can you say no to this face?" Jon held up one of the mewling balls of fur to his friend's face. The baby shadowcat squirmed and reached out to bat at the giant's nose. Jon could see the Redguard was starting to melt so he pushed a bit more, "They'll die if we don't take them. Their eyes are open and teeth have come in, they won't be too much work."

Enzo bit his lip, "You have enough animals."

"One of them is for you. Please! I feel guilty about killing their mother, the least I can do is make sure they survive."

There was a pause, but Enzo eventually sighed and took the tiny feline from Jon -it easily fitting into the palm of his hand. "Fine, but you and I are sparing this afternoon. I am sick of all this inactivity."

Jon smiled at his victory and cuddled his new companion to his chest, "Deal."

Two ebony sword clashed and sent their songs through the air of the courtyard. Jon leaned forward, close enough that only his sparring partner could hear him, and whispered, "People are watching."

Enzo's eyes twinkled with mischief, "Than let's put on a show."

Showing off was probably a bad idea, was certainly a bad idea, but Jon smiled back at his friend and gave a quick nod.

Then the pair danced.

Jon smoothly bent backward at the waist as Enzo's blade slashed the air above him in a gracefully. From his position he could see faces in the windows above, watching the mock duel with intense interest. They had chosen a relatively small and empty courtyard in the hopes that they wouldn't be disturbed, but the pair had attracted quite a crowd just the same. It was funny, this sparring match wasn't even that intense -their true matches, the ones they had in Skyrim, took place far away from anyone or anything that could be injured by their shouts or spells- but people were still gawking in fascination.

He pulled himself upright, parrying off one of Enzo's strikes, and twisted to the side, getting behind the giant. He went down to one knee and struck a vulnerable section of his friend's armor with the pommel of his sword, causing the older man to stumble forward. In terms of pure martial skill, they were rather evenly matched and their winners of weekly sparring matches back home tended to come down to chance more than anything else. But there were differences between the two: Jon's slim, slender frame afforded him greater speed and maneuverability, especially since he was wearing a light set of sleek black and red leather armor. Add to that his years spent learning to traverse rooftops and scale the sides of walls, and Jon's agility made him an acrobatic and dangerous opponent. Enzo, while far from slow or clumsy, was a big man; he was incredibly strong but his size, coupled with his heavy set of ebony armor, meant that he couldn't move the same way Jon could. Their matches were a battle of power vs speed, strength vs grace.

The battle went on for nearly an hour, each participant giving and taking in equal measure as the crowd grew larger and larger. Jon, admittedly, put on more of a show than was really needed; at one point leaping on top of a stack of crates and flipping off. But it eventually had to end and when the opportunity presented itself, Jon swung his sword upward and it connected with the side of Enzo's helmet, knocking it askew. His friend chuckled and sheathed his sword, admitting defeat. Jon gave an exaggerated bow when the crowd applauded his victory, but a voice rang out clearly through the courtyard.

"Well that was certainly an exciting display," Jaime Lannister drawled as he sauntered over to the young Dragonborn. "Where did you learn to fight, Boy? I couldn't have been in the North."

Jon avoided stiffening at the insult to his homeland; it was true that North was not known for its exemplary warriors -their fighters tended to be hardy, but rarely were their skills the subjects of songs. "Ser Rodrik taught me the basics, Ser. Then I learned on my own, I had a few instructors but mostly life was my teacher."

"So you never squired under a real knight?"

"No, never." Jon paused before adding, "Nor do I have any desire to do so."

The blond kingsguard nodded in what appeared to be understanding and held out his hands, "May I?"

Jon reluctantly handed over his ebony sword -named Sightless for its lightning enchantment- for inspection. The oldest Lannister son had earned his moniker by killing Jon's grandfather, but the Dragonborn couldn't find it in himself to blame the man for his actions. As far as he was concerned, nothing of value to the world was lost when Ser Jaime struck down the king he was sworn to protect. That didn't mean Jon trusted him though.

"I've never seen a blade like this before," the knight mused as he admired the glossy black material decorated with delicate white swirls. "What is it made off?"

"Ebony, Ser Jaime."

"It's made from wood?"

Jon couldn't help but chuckle at the man's confusion, "No, it's actually closer to steel. I was confused when I heard the name too."

The golden knight tossed him back his blade, "Well come on then, let's have a go at it."

"Are you sure, Ser Jaime?" Jon studied the knight, wondering if the man had some ulterior motive. 'This is a bad idea.'

"Afraid of a little fight, Snow?" A smug sneer, eerily similar to the one his eldest nephew wore when he was displeased by something, crossed the comely man's face.

Jon clenched his jaw at targeted us of his former name, "I may not be a fan of pointless battle, Ser Jaime, but I do like to win."

And with that, the legendary Dragonborn lunged forward with his sword raised.

Ser Jaime reputation was not without merit, Jon realized as he parried a strike. The Lannister was a truly excellent swordsman and was actually much closer to Jon in terms of speed and agility. This was a fight Jon had to be fully present for, which was honestly quite refreshing; as fierce as their sparing matching could become, he knew that Enzo would never harm him. But that safety net didn't exist now and Jon loved it; it had been a long time since some gave him a real challenge.

Oh, Jon had no doubt that he could beat the Lannister if he tried a bit harder. But he also knew that doing so was more trouble than its worth, so he was resigned to either drawing the fight out before eventually 'losing' or having it end in some sort of stalemate. Jon was considering his best course of action as he traded blows with his opponent when a sharp cry of, "Jaime!" stopped the match abruptly.

The queen was storming her way towards the pair, clad in a luxurious gown a crimson velvet with embroidered golden lions and what must be at least ten pounds worth of jewelry hanging from her neck, wrists, and ears. Her technically beautiful face was a cool porcelain mask of indifference but even from this distance, Jon could see emerald fire burning in her eyes.

"Jaime, I need you to come with me now!" She snapped before leaving without even bothering to check to see if her twin was following.

Jon watched as a frown replace the gleeful smile that had grown on Ser Jaime's face during their match; it was only there for a second before it was replaced by a forced grin. The golden knight turned back to him and offered a handshake, which Jon accepted. "That was a good match, Jon. You've got real talent; hopefully, we can spare again soon."

"Jaime!"

"Coming, Sister Dear."

As the kingsguard left to do his duty, Jon glanced around the courtyard; some of the crowd had disbanded already but on the faces of those that remained there were mixed emotions: awe, surprise, attraction, pride, and, on the faces of Lord and Lady Stark, a mixture of anger and fear.

'I could have handled this better.'

Next Chapter: Jaime makes an observation, Catelyn has an argument, Jon spends so time with royalty, and the king makes an 'offer', 

Notes:

1) Just Jon's pov this chapter; I had originally intended for there to be a Catelyn section but I wanted to get the chapter out as soon as possible so it's being adjusted for the next chapter.

2) If Sansa seems irritatingly naive to you, try and get used to it. Some people learn hard and fast while some learn hard and slow; Sansa is, unfortunately, the latter.

3) Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, you all mean the world to me! See you so