The Bastard of Winterfell
"Mother." Lady Catelyn Stark still remembered seeing Ned riding his horse, followed by thousands of Northern men down the Kingsroad. She remembered how she'd wrap little red-haired Robb under layers of fur and how she kept asking Maester Luwin if it'd be safe for the little one outside in the cold. Her hair had been done up in a Southern braid and the excitement on her face for her husband to see their babe. Cat had known little of Ned when they married, but he seemed kind enough, and hopefully he wouldn't be too displeased the child looked more Tully than Stark. The whole war she'd fear she'd lose another husband (even though Brandon and her were only betrothed) and the babe would be fatherless. Then when she saw the dark haired boy with the Northern grey eyes in his arm, her face went slack.
"Hello, my lady wife," Ned had said. "This is Robb?" Then he smiled. "He's beautiful. A strong one, too. When the time comes, he will be the Warden of the North. Cat, this—this is Jon Snow — my natural born son." "You're bastard, you mean," Cat had thought. She remembered how when she got to her chamber she'd cried for seemingly hours and the hair she'd worked so long on was a mess and her face stained with tears.
While most lords forgot about their bastards, Ned raised him as a son. Robb and Jon slept in the same chamber in two cribs. They played together, laughed together, sometimes they even fell asleep on each other playing on the floor. Cat knew they'd grow up to be brothers, regardless of his bastardy, and Cat hated Jon for it. The only good thing about it was Robb was a few months older and could do more than Jon could. Robb could run around while Jon at eleven months could barely stand without falling. Robb could already say "Mahda" "Fada" "Wolf" and "Hungy"
"Mother," Jon said it again. "Mother." He raised his arm in the air and looked at her with eyes the same as Ned. "He must've picked this up from Robb," Catelyn swallowed. She'd ignored the boy and tried to show no possible affection to him, but here he was believing she was his mother. Cat had always been there to watch Robb play and occassionaly (not that she wanted to admit it) when the two fell asleep playing she would carry them back to their cribs. She'd left a wet nurse Wylla to nurse Jon and Ned had been the one who'd held and cared for him, not her. His lip quivered and he waved his hands. "Mother."
"I'm not your mother, bastard," Cat wanted to say but the words died in her throat. He was just a babe. A little babe who looked so much like Ned; sweet, noble Ned. He didn't look like whatever whore birthed him. In another world Jon could've been hers — her little wolf who she would hug and kiss and watch play with his brother would pride. "Hello Jon," Cat whispered and kissed his forehead. She carried him over to the rocking chair and sat down. His big grey eyes stared up at her and his mouth in an 'o' shape. "You look just like your Father, did you know that? You've got the look of the North. Robb looks like a Tully, but both of you are wolves. You have Northern blood." He stared up at her with his big grey eyes and his mouth in a curious 'o' shape. "You're just a little babe. Only a few moons less than Robb. I suppose it wasn't right of me to blame you, Jon. Ned's the one who brought you into the world, but I could never hate Ned, and it's not right of me to hate you. You'll be a strong, loyal wolf one day, Jon Snow, and in your father and brother's hearts you're a Jon Stark. In mine, too," She said after a moment.
"Mother?" He stared up at her with a smile on his face. "Mother." He nuzzled his head onto her bosom and closed his eyes.
Cat smiled at him, something she hadn't thought she'd ever do. "Yes, sweet boy, I'm your Mother and I promise to love you as much as any child I've brought into the world. Your my son." She rocked him back-and-forth until his breathing was calm and soon her eyes shut and she fell asleep, cuddling the little boy, and that's exactly where Ned found them in the morning.