The Arts of Winter
Disclaimer : I do not own a Song of Ice and Fire or any of the Associated characters.
JON
Jon descended the stairs of the dark, yet oddly warm tombs of Stark Lords and Kings - he had a bright lantern with flames of orange licking the edges. It always brought him solace to stand before their cold eyes. Some may find it odd, or name him a Masochist for seeking out the cold looks of his Stark ancestors. But Jon preferred their cold, hard looks opposed to the scornful and judgemental looks of the heart of the North, Winterfell.
He studied each of his recent ancestors carefully. His Uncle Brandon Stark, The former Heir of Winterfell. He was an impressive warrior, and Jon's younger brother, Bran's namesake.
Then there was his Aunt Lyanna Stark, the former betrothed to King Baratheon, and the former crowned Princes' Queen of Love and Beauty. She was kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen, his actions sparked a rebellion, which was fanned by the deaths of the Lord and Heir of Winterfell. And ultimately caused the death of the Targaryen dynasty, and the birth of the Baratheon dynasty.
Jon moved to the next statue, his Grandfather through his father, Lord Rickard Stark, the Northern Lord paramount was slayed, no executed alongside his Heir, leaving his second son Eddard Stark, a boy at the very heart of the rebellion as the Heir and Lord to Winterfell.
He continued his exploration until the came upon his great ancestor, the last King of winter, the last King in the North, Torrhen Stark.
Jon knew that it was getting late, but he couldn't bring himself to care in the slightest. Nobody else did. Except his father, Lord Stark of Winterfell.
Jon raised his lantern to the face of The-King-That-Knelt. The orange light was cast upon the solemn face of Torrhen Stark. He was in many ways, very much like Jon in appearance, but at the same time quite different. More like his Lord Father.
He studied the statue carefully before he happened upon odd writing on the hilt of the sword. It was quite odd, It's much like the symbols that adorn House Royce of Runestone. He rubbed his callused thumb over the engraved runes and tightened his grip around the pommel.
Suddenly Jon became unbalanced and was pulled towards the floor of the crypt, somehow pulling the sword with him as if it were the lever to a great castle gate. Then he was bathed in ethereal blue light, it enveloped his whole body, and he felt like he was being squeezed into a tunnel, that was much too small for the smallest of creatures, let alone himself.
He felt his gray eyes pop with his eardrums as his vision returned to him, the blue light that had enveloped him lit the chamber that so that he may see. Or mayhaps, the light had always illuminated the chamber with its cold, blue flames that levitated slightly above the wall-mounted torches. Torches of winter, Jon decided.
The young bastard of Winterfell took note of the stone chamber awash in blue light. It wasn't that noteworthy, it consisted of a solitary altar rimmed with blue light, between two statues, while another stood behind the altar. Becoming suspicious, Jon's gaze travelled around the chamber once more, there was really nothing else of note, besides the stone, it glowed a peculiar Amber in the seams of the stone, barely visible, but almost as if he was specifically attuned to the power that lay in the rocks, yet he was gazing through narrowed eyes.
He moved on from his contemplation of the rocks and their yellow light, and moved towards the altar, oddly enough, the closer he got, the further he was. "What sorcery is this?"
He kept moving, the altar and the statue shrunk, becoming as far away as the sun on the horizon. The air became thinner, and he became heavier, his muscles felt like hot knives were pulling them apart. He fell to his knees, yet something about the altar grasped him tightly, and refused to let go. He was reduced to a crawl as fog retreated from his maw, the cold numbed his face, yet he forced himself forward.
The further he crawled, the heavier he became, and colder he felt, the hot knives no longer hurt, for he could scarce feel his limbs. It was almost as though he was disjointed from the rest of his body, yet he remained aware of the biting cold as it sunk its teeth deep into his bones like a vile poison slowly gnawing at his very being.
Still, he pushed on, the blood of the North ran through his veins. They were hard, and so was he. The altar now seemed to become both closer and more further with every inch forward that he took.
With that thought, the altar was so close that Jon could touch it, quite literally, and just as he attempted to do so the cold crept in. Like a viper of Dorne crept down his spin and spat cold venom into his mind, halting his movements completely, there was no pushing himself forward, there was no positive thought left, only despair as cold crept through his very essence. Constricting everything good and swallowing it whole, when it ran out of good to consume, it came for the bad, coiling around it all, even his bitterness towards the Gods for cursing him with the name bastard, his resentment toward Lady Stark, his envy towards all his trueborn siblings, his self loathing for feeling this all. Jon was left an empty husk of what he once was, feeling absolutely nothing. Not his name, not his last name, he had nothing.
He laid there on the floor unable to feel, unable to move, he just laid there. Thoughts just seemed to freeze before they were formed. When the thoughts did occur they were of the sort that broke him, they were of a draining sort. Such as how long had he been laying there? Hours? Days? Or only a few minutes at most? Jon could not truly say. The cold was his only companion as his breath fogged and he breathed out clouds of despair like the great Dragons of old.
Then, his vision began to fail, at first it was only a slight blur, then it degraded more so, however the darkness that he expected to follow did not befall him, no. His vision was blank, and white, white as snow.
Snow.
Snow.
It was fleeting, but he felt like he found something. Snow, he thought. He felt his face unfreeze as expression returned to him. "Snow." his voice was as coarse as hard ice. "Snow, " he repeated much more sure of himself. "That's me, I'm Snow." said Snow. "Snow, Snow." he repeated, clinging on to it like the last string to his very being. "It's cold, Snow, it snows in Winter," he spoke to himself, feeling stronger the longer he clung to that feeling. "Winter. . .Winter. . .Winterfell. "
Jon's mind flickered through images, a grey direwolf on a white field. "The banner of the Starks, the Starks of Winterfell. Their Lord, Lord Stark." Snow felt an immense swell of pride. "Lord Eddard Stark, The Lord paramount of the North, and my Lord father. But he was a Snow, not a Stark. A Snow of Winterfell. Snow? That's a bastard name. That's me, the bastard of Winterfell. My name, Snow," Jon's voice burned through the ice, and his eyes flashed purple, it was only a moment, but it was enough to clear his vision. "Jon Snow! I'm Jon Snow of Winterfell! Son of Lord Eddard Stark! Blight to Lady Catelyn Stark, Brother to Robb Stark, and Sansa Stark - a prim and proper lady - brother to Arya Stark, Arya was his little fighter, he could feel his hand messing up her dark, birds nest of a head. Brother to Bran, Bran the climber. And little Rickon, he is but a babe, but a brother nonetheless. He is Jon Stark!
Jon opened his grey eyes, and he stood before the altar rimmed with winter fire. Two statues on either side. King Torrhen and Lord Torrhen, one crowned and the other kneeling. The one that knelt was solemn and regretful, while the King was Hard, and his eyes glowed with power, even though it was carved stone.
Behind the Altar stood a statue very much like Jon, except he had Robb's build. At his side he held a Hammer with engraved runes. Both of his arms were thick with muscle, with runes carved along each arm, amber barely visible, glowed with power.
"Is that Bran, the builder?" Jon asked, he wasn't sure, it fit the songs to be sure.
He turned his attention to the raised dais on the altar, it's rim glowed with winter fire. A book laid upon it. Ice blue embroided with silver.
The Arts of Winter, by The Kings of Winter
Eddard
Eddard Stark rubbed his eyes tiredly, then he flexed his pained hands, rolled them around and finally interlaced them and cracked his knuckles with sequential pops. His face remained neutral through the whole ordeal.
Sometimes, not often, but sometimes Ned cursed his Lord father for his folly. King Aerys was burning the most innocent of folk, and they were mad enough to make demands of a King so deranged, he was called the Mad King. As a rule Targaryens were ailed with some form of madness, and they were mad, no doubt about. The Maesters were of the notion that it was their inbreeding, between brother and sister no less, that caused the madness that was so prevalent amongst the most sane of Targaryens. The Mad King, Aerys, was a culmination of bad blood. It was conjecture to be sure, but Ned could not deny the evidence, even if the cause is mayhaps something else entirely.
Still, the fault lay not with them, but with honour. And he knew all about honour. Oh Jon, oh sweet Jon, Ned thought piteously. The life that Jon had been subjected to was hardly fair on him, and it's all because of the subject of his birth. The poor boy is treated like trash by the vast majority of Winterfell and it was all Catelyn fault. It was not any illogical fault of hers to be sure. She did as any mother would, she did what she did to protect her children.
The Blackfyre's, the Greystarks, and the war of the ninepenny Kings was cause enough to fear bastard born children. They had a history of usurping their trueborn kin.
The Stark patriarch returned to his work, only to be interrupted once more by a knock on the door. He sighed, before giving his visitor permission to enter.
"Arya, what is the reason for this visit?" asked Ned, his gray eyes silently surveying his distressed daughter, on occasion it pained him to look at his daughter, she had Lyanna's look, it was painful to be sure, but he moved past it. "What troubles you Arya? "
"It's Jon." said Arya, sounding decidedly troubled.
"Jon? What about him?" asked Ned in confusion, Jon wasn't the type to be horrible, least of all to Arya. He shared a bond with her that none of her fellow siblings could boast.
"His missing father!" she exclaimed, "I haven't seen him for two days. I've asked around, but Ser Rodrik has said that he hasn't been in the sword yard, or the at the dinning hall, and Robb has been to his chambers, but Jon wasn't there either."
Ned sat at his desk in silent contemplation. He let the information sink in. During Roberts Rebellion he was called the quiet wolf for his excellent poise in the face of troubling news, and in the same breath he concocted a sound strategem that led to the victory of numerous battles. At the current point in time, his mind failed to create such strategies and all he could utter was, "Jon's gone?"
"But, you will find him father?" asked Arya.
"Arya! It's time you went to bed. What exactly are you doing here?"
It was Catelyn, "It's quite alright, my lady," said Ned, "Arya has just informed me of something quite troubling."
"What is it?" asked Catelyn, becoming quite concerned.
"Jon's gone!" exclaimed Arya.
Catelyn tutted at her unladylike manner, it was almost in reflex at this point. "What do you mean the bastard is gone?"
"She means that my son has not been sighted in something like two days." Ned said, his voice devoid of emotion, but to Catelyn it told her all she needed to know, he could see it in her eyes.
"I knew that the bastard would be trouble." she pursed her lips.
Ned ignored her, and rose from his desk he shrugged on his dark furs and strode out of his solar. At his door stood his two guardsmen. "Alyn, get me Jory Cassel." then he turned to Desmond, "Desmond, get me Farlen and Hullen, tell them it's urgent that they meet with me in Jon's chambers."
"As you say, m'lord." they said before leaving to fulfill their duties.
Ned, was off in his own direction, Arya and Catelyn were close behind him. "Is this really necessary, my Lord." asked Catelyn, "This is clearly a call for attention."
"Even if this is the case - and I doubt it is - it is my duty as his Lord father to answer that call. He may be lying dead in the wolfswood for all I know." said Ned, then he was reminded that Arya was still amongst them. "It is my duty to find my son, and nothing will stop me."
"Father?" Arya said hesitantly.
"Yes, Arya?"
"Can I go pray in the godswood? I - I can't lose Jon." said Arya, sounding half afraid, despite her wilful ways, she was only seven namedays old.
Ned gave her a gentle smile, "We will go together."
It took all she had not to run into her father's arms, Ned could see that, and was proud. He turned his attention to the door of Jon's chamber, he opened the door and glanced around the room, analysing each corner before he allowed his lady wife and daughter way to enter the chamber.
Catelyn sniffed the room in distaste. There was nothing at glance that was wrong with the room, the chamber pot was empty, and clean, his feather bed was neatly made, and the chamber was neat and organised in general. It would not be appraising if Jon were his trueborn child, but he insisted on cleaning his own room, as befitting of his rank. Ned took the time to carefully analyze the chamber once more, he could find nothing that explained why he was gone, how long it had been since he was here or where he went.
"It's dusty, father."
Ned gave her dust ridden finger a focused look. "So, it is."
"But, don't the servants clean Jon's room?" asked Arya, truly surprised.
"No, he requested that he clean his own chamber, as befitting of his station." said Ned.
"Evidently, the bastard is true to his name, and he has not cleaned his room." said Catelyn scornfully, her nose twitching in distaste, detecting an odour that was not to be found.
"No, my lady, Jon was quite meticulous. It has certainly been two days, maybe more since Jon was in the room. As you can see, ours is the only footprints in the room." said Ned, glancing around the room once more, he strode to the drawers and pulled them open, one by one. Going through each neatly packed article of clothing. "It is clear that if he did leave, it was not voluntarily and it's been a number of days since he was here, to be sure. We will only know more once Jory arrives and Farlen sets his hounds to work. Mayhaps Hullen will shed some light on the situation, but I very much doubt it."
At that moment there was a knock at the door. "You may enter."
It was Jory Cassel, the nephew of their resident Master-at-Arms, and the captain of his guard.
"My Lord, you have summoned me?" said Jory.
"Yes, but the reason needs wait until all is in attendance." said Ned.
It was only a few minutes longer and they were joined by Farlen and Hullen; The Masters of Horse and Kennel. "My son, Jon has gone missing, how long I cannot be sure, and where he went, I'm even less sure of that. All I can tell is that it's been at least two days since his departure, and it was not planned - not by him." said Ned, he allowed the information to wash over the three before he continued. "Jory, have any of your guards reported anything relating to Jon? Anything relating to his departure?"
"No, my Lord, but I will question my guards." answered Jory.
"Very good Jory, if you fail to receive any information regarding my son or any suspicious activity at the gates or any of the exists, I ask that you question as many as you will, and search for him, keep it confined to Winterfell."
"At once, my lord." Jory left at a brisk pace.
"Hullen, have any of your stable boys reported any horse that were taken and not returned, and for that matter, has there been any sight of Jon?" asked Ned.
"Nay, m'lord." Hullen shook his head. "My boys ain't seen anybody. Mayhaps Hodor saw him, doesn't help us any, does it? I will ask those boys, but your son hasn't been around my stables."
Ned nodded, and gave him leave. "Farlen, would you take Jon's furs, sheets and pillows. It may be useful for your hounds."
"As you say m'lord." said Farlen, before removing Jon's bedding and leaving the chamber. Ned paced the room in silence.
"Father, are they going to find Jon? What if something happened to him?" asked Arya, near tears.
Ned's heart went out to her. "Come, we will pray before the Heart tree." said Ned, then he turned to Catelyn. "My love, you may pray before the seven or tend to the children if need be. Your presence is not required."
"As you say, My lord." said Catelyn, her blue eyes piercing his, and she swept out of the room.
He soon followed her, but took off in a different direction, Arya trailing close behind. it wasn't much longer before they entered the godswood, Arya was silent as she walked through the godswood, her gaze jumped from this side, to that. It was to be expected, as this was her first forage into the Godswood. "Father, why do we not pray in the godswood all the time."
"Nobody is stopping you." said Ned, half-amused.
"But mother makes us pray in the Sept of the Seven." said Arya.
"Your mother and I agreed that she would educate all of you in the ways of the seven. I allowed it because it was the right decision at the time." said Ned, thinking back to the forced marriage. It always comes down to ambition; "But, if you wish to worship the old gods, you may join me. Traditionally Stark worship the old gods as our forebears did."
As Arya was about to answer, they came upon the Weirwood tree, and Arya was a loss for words. The tree was alabaster, with facial features carved into the trunk, long and melancholy, with eyes of blood red sap that stood out against the stark tree. Above, it had crimson leaves with five points; like hands reaching for the sky.
It didn't matter how frequently Ned visited the heart tree, he was always startled by the morbid beauty that the heart tree provided. And Arya was experiencing it for the first time. Of all the reactions, he never suspected that she would fall to her knobby knees, and bow to the watchful eyes of the heart tree, her eyes focused to the ground in submission.
"Old gods, I don't know how this works, but please, wherever you are, please bring Jon back home." said Arya, her voice twisting in obvious pain, the soft pitter-patter of water could be heard impacting the forest floor, as tears leaked from her eyes. "I want him muss up my hair, and I want to finish his words and him to finish mine. I just want my brother back, because I love him."
Ned was astounded, his heart lurched as he was suddenly reminded of Lyanna. At every turn; he thought. Ned went to one knee and rubbed her back reassuringly, and Arya turned around and encircled her arms around his neck, and buried her face into the crook of his neck, sobbing without pause.
"We will find Jon, on my honour we will find Jon." said Ned with Icy steel resolve.
However, Arya had ceased her sobbing, and had seemingly relaxed into his arms, and Ned smiled. It is quite late, and she has exhausted herself to be sure; thought Ned, as he got up.
He silently stared at the heart tree. I will find Jon, I made a promise; he silently vowed before turning swiftly and leaving through the godswood. Passing the sentinel trees, and the old Oaks, and the sturdy Ironwoods as he walked carefully down the path, not worried at all about safety, the Old gods would protect them.
As he left the confines of the godswood, he was approached by Farlen. "What news do you have?" asked Ned.
"We found him m'lord." said Farlen. "There isn't too much good to be found."
"His. . .dead?" asked Ned, suddenly feeling weak. "Where? How?"
"No, m'lord, not yet." said Farlen. "We found him at the doors of the Stark Crypts. He wasn't in a good way m'lord. We took him to Maester Luwin."
"Take me there," said Ned, sounding like ice.
"As you say." said Farlen.
When Ned was brought before Jon, he was all too painfully reminded of Lyanna in the mountains of Dorne. He had put Arya down to sleep in a chair beside Jon's bed. Oh Jon, No; thought Ned while taking note of how Jon's once beautiful brown curls had lost their lustre, and how gaunt and pale his face had become. He pressed his fingers to Jon's neck, his pulse was weak.
Sending more flashes of Lyanna's death to the forefront of his mind. He held Jon's hand firmly, I promised, I promised, on my honour I promised and for what? What are they good for? What good is my honour if I break it so?
Ned's face twisted, growing much longer, and the Stark melancholy became much more prominent. Before he could berate himself anymore the door was pushed open, and Ned's family came filing in the room. They were all led by Robb, even Theon made an effort.
Catelyn was behind them all holding Rickon. "I don't know what this is all about. But obviously the bastard is fi-" said Catelyn, before catching the look on Ned's face and then the sight of Jon, her eyes widened, then she said, "Robb insisted that we be here, as soon as he got word of Jon."
"What's wrong with Jon? I saw him only two days past and he was fine." said Sansa visibly startled.
"What's wrong with Jon?" asked Bran confused.
Even Catelyn seemed to be giving him an expectant look. And he had no answer for them. He wasn't a Maester, he could hardly tell them what was wrong with Jon, though he could guess. He was saved from answering when Maester Luwin entered the room.
"Jon is sick, very sick." said Maester Luwin, much to the Stark children's dismay. "He has not eaten in very many days, and his symptoms are synonymous with prolonged exposure to the cold. Although he has gotten over the worst of the ordeal - and I do mean the very worst of symptoms - he still has a arduous recovery ahead of him."
"So Jon is going to be fine?" asked Robb, sounding relieved.
"Yes, I do believe it will not be too long before he joins you in the sword yard." said Maester Luwin reassuringly.
"Now that we know that Snow will be alright, it's time for bed, and no Arya, pretending to sleep will not help you." said Catelyn as her piercing blue gaze fell on Arya.
"But I want to stay with Jon!" exclaimed Arya, her gray eyes burning with determination.
"Your mother is right Arya, you need to get some rest and leave your brother in Maester Luwin's capable hands." said Ned.
"But father-" Arya protested.
"I have spoken." said Ned sternly, brokering no room for argument.
His family left Maester Luwin and himself in the room after they each gave Jon a kiss, with the exclusion of Catelyn and Rickon. "Tell me true, will Jon's recovery be as clear cut as you say?"
"No, what I said was to put the anxiety of your children at ease. If I'm telling it true, Jon is lucky to be alive, and I cannot be sure when Jon will make a recovery." said Maester Luwin.
Ned sighed, before settling into the chair Arya had occupied, "If there is nothing else, I would like some time alone with my son."
"As you say, my lord." said Maester Luwin.
When Ned was finally alone he allowed his tears to fall freely from his eyes. His grey eyes were stormy as any Baratheon. "Jon," he whispered, "Just what is my honour good for if I couldn't protect you?"
A/N: so this is my first, a Song of Ice and Fire fiction, any suggestions or questions feel free to hit me up. Any notes? I know it wasn't exactly a long chapter, but I'm only getting into it, so the chapter size should increase.
