A Song of Ice and Fire (c) George R. R. Martin
He stared at the painting at the end of the living quarters. The frame was of oak, painted silver with carved wolves at the corners and a tiny silver placard at the bottom with the Stark words: Winter is coming.
Staring back at him was his lord father, his wife and their five trueborn children. He wished he was among those painted figures, wanting desperately to belong to this family. Yet he was not. Thus was the fate of a bastard. His lord father's lady wife would have nothing to do with him and glowered coldly at him whenever she saw him. She never once spoke his name, only referred to him as the bastard.
At least his father would use his name. It was a small mercy. He stared at his father in the picture, his hand on his eldest trueborn son. Neither father nor son smile; but instead stared out from the canvas with a frosty gaze. His half-sisters stared back icily from the canvas. The eldest of the two girls had the same serene sternness in her face as her mother did, while the youngest had a definite glint in her eyes that the painter was able to capture by some miracle. The second trueborn son of his lord father stood next to his second sister, and was only before the painter long enough to capture his face. The youngest of the trueborn children was a suckling babe, still in his mother's arms.
If he had been his lord father's trueborn son, he'd be besides his half-brother, only instead, they'd be true full brothers and their lord father's hands would be on their shoulders. Next to him would be his beloved sisters. Sansa would come to him with her fears and Arya with her tales of shield-maidens and warrior queens. He would teach Bran how to use a sword and spar with him in the training yard. If he had been a trueborn child, Catelyn would let him hold baby Rickon, smile at him sweetly, and stroke his hair.
Yet none of that would ever happen. He thought bitterly as he stared at the portrait. The gods had seen to it that he was born without a surname, and instead given one in the form of Snow.
"Jon!" a voice called to him. Jon turned to see his half-sister Arya. "Come quick! I have something to show you!" she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Jon glanced once more at the portrait before falling Arya.
This is a modified piece of writing that I had to do for Creative Writing class. The original idea wasn't actually this fanfiction, but the concept I had in my head was too good to pass up and not make this. I originally didn't want to use names until the end, but I ended up using them anyway. Enjoy.
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- Nemo