Jon walked along the training yard with his sword in hand, and watched as the younger boys carried their wooden ones. He could scarcely remember a time when he used a wooden blade. He smiled while watching two boys brawl and tug at each others hair, abandoning their swords completely. Winterfell's Master at Arms Ser Rodrick Cassel grabbed them under their armpits and threw them aside. Jon smiled and thought of Arya. It was something she would do.
He could feel the cold in the air, and if he breathed too deep, he would choke. He thought about the words of his house, Winter is Coming. The King would arrive any day now, and Uncle Benjen as well. The Night's Watch beckoned him, it was his turn to Take the Black.
The last few weeks were plagued with Theon Greyjoy's jests about the Southern girls who would pour into Winterfell like hot spiced wine. He even said that the Queen would likely want to fuck him. Robb remained like Jon, quiet and uninterested in Theon's empty words, though Jon had a greater dislike for him than Robb did.
I've no interest in the Southern girls. In truth, he was more interested in seeing the King, a fierce friend to Father. He often thought of Father's youth, and who he kept company with. It was hard sometimes, to image Father being anything but the Lord of Winterfell. Perhaps he would get to hear more at the feast. He would sit with his brother, and Father, and Uncle Benjen where he could listen all night. He smiled at the idea and imagined the warm wine, and cured meats.
"Jon." Father yelled from across the yard. He knew his voice without having to look. He stopped and waited for him to approach.
Father walked with his cloak swaying behind him. There was no snow on the ground in the training yard, too many feet overturning the soil. His seams were soaked with mud and dirt. He stopped in front of him and took in a deep breath. "It's a good day for training." Father commented.
Jon smiled and nodded simply. Father looked around the yard, and Jon knew that he had something to tell him. Something that troubled him.
"The King will arrive soon. Any day now I'd suspect. I was speaking to Catelyn," He didn't like that. Any time he had been speaking to Lady Stark, there was always something terrible in store for him. Jon never called her Catelyn, and it twisted his stomach some when Father had to call her that. When he spoke to his siblings, she was called, your mother. "She believes that perhaps for the feast, you might remain out of sight." He began again quickly, "Just for the feast." As if the words would cut through him less.
Jon's heart sank, and he could almost feel his shoulders slumping. He might have suspected this. He tried to keep his face un-moved.
"She thinks it will offend the Royal family to seat a bastard amongst them?" He said softly, with his head down. The mud had never been quite so interesting.
Father let out a small breath, and starred into the yard yet again. "She is my Lady Wife, and I will allow her this. You will understand someday."
No I won't.
"Yes father." He said simply. He was not going to argue an empty cause. Lady Stark always won in these matters, and Jon was not her true born son.
"You'll enjoy yourself later. Uncle Benjen will be there." He smiled.
Though forced, Jon smiled back. Father nodded and turned his heel, and as he disappeared back into the castle, Jon looked out to the yard again, looking for nothing in particular. He took in his breath, his chest heaving up and down noticeably. He moved quicker towards a straw man that was used for sword training. A man who wouldn't fight back. It was not Jon's favourite tool. He unsheathed his sword with haste and slashed at him over and over again.
Jon wouldn't go to the feast at all. He never belonged there anyhow, and he wouldn't want to offend the Royal's. He let out some irritated air from his nose.
It will be boring anyhow. He thought, before he threw his blade against the straw man so hard that it broke it in half. He watched as the straw turned and tumbled in the wind.