AN: Many thanks to Rowena Pendragon for helping with the story.
Starlight painted the snow on the godswood's ground a blue as pale as winter roses. Here and there it had already began to melt, revealing the blackish brown of rotten leaves. Maester Luwin had been heard to say that they could expect the white raven any day. Summer was finally coming. Tonight, though, winter still ruled.
Jon Snow rubbed his small hands, which had gone almost numb in the cold night air. Not only summer was awaited most anxiously in Winterfell. The Ironborn rebellion had ended and Lord Stark was coming home. A warm feeling filled Jon like every time he remembered that his father was returning. Less than a fortnight and he will be here.
He had been five, almost a whole year younger than now when the Ironborn rose in rebellion. Still a little boy, but old enough to understand the looks Lady Stark gave him every time she opened the messages from the Islands with trembling hands: If Lord Stark dies I will drop you as a beggar in front of gates of Winterfell and never let you back. She would do it and then he would starve and freeze, Jon Snow knew. He had no other place to go.
But father had lived and he was coming home. And maybe she will die herself, some ugly voice reminded him. She was great with child, her belly so big she could barely walk. The babe was too late coming, the castle folk whispered to each other in hushed voices. He saw the pitying looks women gave her behind her back. She will die, he often heard, they both will die. Jon understood what dead meant even if his brother didn't truly. When someone was dead you never ever saw them again. Jon's own mother had been dead since he could remember. He would not mind never seeing Lady Catelyn again, but it would make Robb and father and baby Sansa sad. Besides, it was not death he meant to pray for, but life.
He had woken in the middle of the night, awake as if it was a noon. Jon had taken a stool to look out to the deserted yard his chamber was facing. Growing quickly bored, he meant to go back to sleep, but then he remembered what Rysa from the kitchens had told him once. A night was the best time to pray. No one prays then, she had whispered, and with only one voice to hear, the gods were more likely to listen. So Jon dressed himself as well as he could, being able to do his own laces since before Lord Eddard left, and sneaked away from the castle.
At first, it had been father he meant to plead for, but father was big and strong and was going to come home anyway, he had said so in his letter. Instead, Jon decided to pray for the child who was going to be his little brother or sister. Jon did not understand how someone could die before being born, but he knew it would be very bad if it happened.
Walking carefully, he tried not to step on any snow. It was beautiful in the night and he would hate to spoil it. We are called the same, besides. He had all the time he needed, the godswood was empty and no one would care to see if a bastard was in his bed. He approached the huge heart tree from behind, slowly cycling it, only to freeze after few steps.
The godswood was not empty after all. In front of the tree's scary face sat a figure in a gray cloak. Her auburn hair appeared dark brown in the night. One of her hands was touching the trunk the other resting on her big belly. Even in the night he would recognize Lady Stark by a barest glance. He had learned to spot to her quickly so he could always run away before she noticed him.
What is she doing here? Jon bit his lip. Catelyn Stark barely ever came to the godswood—she hated it there. It was one of the reasons Jon loved the place so much. He watched her distraught, she hadn't seen him yet, he knew, because she hadn't sent him away. He clenched his fists and told himself to be brave like a son of Lord Stark should be. Once he walked close enough, he could see that her eyes were closed. Is she praying or has she fallen asleep?
He should leave, he knew, but something stopped him. He glanced at the hand resting on her stomach with longing. A moon turn past, when she had still smiled, even if she worried about Lord Eddard, the babe had moved and she went to Robb to let him feel it. His brother's eyes widened in wonder. She would never allow Jon to do the same, he knew better than to ask, yet…
She is asleep, he told himself, she will never know. Careful as a thief, he came closer. Her breaths were long and heavy, she had dozed off. He felt as if he was a hero from a song about to steal a princess from a sleeping dragon. She is no dragon, she is a fish. A huge horrible fish who eats bastard children. With her big belly and gray dress, she even looked like a whale in one of Maester Luwin's books. Nevertheless, holding the huge trunk, he put his other hand on her belly as far away from her own as possible. For the first time in his life, he felt her warmth. Nothing happened at first and Jon remembered a stablehand saying that the child had been already eaten by worms in its mother's womb and for a moment he wondered if it was true...
...but in that moment the child kicked - strongly, right under his palm. He could feel the movement under the fabric, under her skin. It felt like a tiny fist or foot —not at all like worms moving. It was the most amazing thing in the world. Let it live, you gods, he prayed. Let it live, let me love it and let it love me and I will always do what needs to be done. Lady Stark must have felt it too, however. Her hard, blue eyes opened and she looked right at Jon.
"Get away from me!" she screamed.
Jon took a hasty step back and slipped upon mud. He caught the white trunk in the last moment and didn't fall down. Somehow, just touching the huge old tree gave him courage, as if the old gods were truly there with him. He steadied himself and looked her in the eye.
"Begone!" she growled standing clumsily, her dress dirty with mud and melting snow. He could see how hard it was for her to get up. She had to use the tree for support, the same tree he was touching, but she tried to stay away from him as far as possible.
"I only wanted... ...it's going to be my brother or sister."
"It's not going to be anything yours."
They stared at each other. Only whispers of branches swaying lightly in the wind were spoiling the bone chilling silence. And then, somewhere far, far away, almost as if in a different world, a wolf howled. It grew louder and louder, a long wild sound. When the grove finally quieted again, Jon saw that Lady Stark was pale as the moon, her hands were trembling and her eyes were huge with fear. Something in him snapped.
Suddenly, he felt as if twenty years had passed and he was not a little boy, but a man grown, hard and strong as his father, as old kings of the North, as Aegon the Dragon himself. Suddenly, he knew it was not him who should fear. When he spoke his voice was calm and cold and his words felt as if someone else was speaking through his own mouth.
"You are wrong. She is yours for now, but only till the moment she is born."
Lady Catelyn gaped at him shocked; he had never spoken to her like this, but Jon only turned and walked away wishing to be gone before whichever spirits possessed him fled away and he found himself crying in front of her.
He was yard away before she found her voice.
"It's going to be a boy."
He didn't answer, didn't even turn back, he knew she was wrong. A soft smile sneaked to his lips as he remembered the girl's laughter he had heard in the howling. Somehow, he knew that she would be slim and quick, gray-eyed and long faced, and wild and hard as North. And his.
Jon walked another yard before Lady Stark screamed.
"Maester Luwin! Call…Maester…Luwin!" she shrieked in voice strained in pain.
He ran to the castle and did as she had bid him.
His little sister was born even before the white bird came.
