EDGE OF FEAR

PART ONE

Tobi is a good boy

TWO: WINTERFELL

Jon Snow watched as the young man pulled down his grey leather hood, to reveal shoulder length black hair with a vivid stripe of white. The colour of the stripe reminded him of starlight, or the palest snow.

The young man was smaller than Jon and lithe in figure. Beside him, Ghost, his direwolf pup, whined at the lack of attention.

He patted the pup absentmindedly, still watching from above. Ghost nuzzled into his palm, calm now that Jon's attention, at least partially, was on him.

The man's grey cloak was stained and worn from use; the leather boots also looked the same. Tied around his arm was a black armband. He wore no Sigel or sign that Jon could see, like the other bannerman that sometimes travelled to Winterfell to speak to his father, Lord Eddard Stark.

Perhaps, Jon thought to himself, this was one of the famous Rangers from the Night's Watch. His uncle, Brandon Stark, was First Ranger, but rarely came to visit. Brandon was held in high regard by his father, Lord Eddard Stark. He had not had much chance to talk to his Uncle yet, but maybe he would have the chance to ask him about the Watch and what it was like North and beyond the Wall. Jon enjoyed watching the various travellers, not that there were many, that came to Winterfell, imaging them going to places that he had only heard in the stories.

Old Nan was probably most to blame for fuelling his imagination with her stories of the Cold Ones and the travels of the heroes of old.

The sounds of Winterfell rose around him, the sound of the hammers striking at the forge, merchants bargaining prices between each other, Ser Rodrick training the younger Stark boys whose cheeks were puffed red with exertion. He would train with them sometimes, for they were good lads, both eager and willing to learn. But he was bored of just training – of just learning. He wanted to get out there. To be useful. He felt ready, ready to get out there and be a man, rather than just the bastard son of Eddard Stark.

He had thought about it a while, and had decided upon joining the Night's Watch, maybe to become a Ranger as well. The Wilds beyond the Wall would be an incredible place to see.

Father would stand, when he was not occupied, watching them, offering guidance or advice in his blunt, straight forward manner. He loved his home, he really did. But, sometimes, he wished he could see places Old Nan described in her tales. It would be fine to have an adventure, to have a purpose. Ghost, too, could come with him now.

Jon continued to watch with curiosity the newcomer as he entered through the main gates into Winterfell proper. On the man's back, there was strapped a fine curved bow over the cloak. He could also see a fine ivory headed knife hanging from the man's belt-not often worn by Wildings or peasants, unless they were stolen. Lady Stark had such a thin ivory headed knife, for opening raven messages. But it was a thin knife, and the ivory only covered a very small part of it. Given the man's clock, expensive bow and knife, Jon could only take that this man was either very rich, belonged to one of the Houses, or one of the Rangers from the Night Watch.

The man's eyes met Jon's- eyes so pale blue that they were almost silver in this light.

"Excuse me," the man said in a soft voice. He stood a few feet shorter than Jon, a stern look upon his face. Jon nearly jumped at the sound, so intent was he on spying. Ghost beside him gave a little growl, but quickly became quiet at Jon's touch. The man's face looked a little worn from travel. His voice hoarse as he spoke: "I seek the Lord of Winterfell on urgent business from the Wall. Could you take me to him?"

Jon stood from his perch. He suddenly remembered his manners and offered a half-bow. "Certainly, mi-lord." His tongue was tied awkwardly in his haste and excitement. He had forgot that mi-lord was common and that the stranger was probably not a lord.

He hoped had not that offended the stranger.

The young man laughed, kindly. "Do I look like a lording to you?"

Jon looked down at the young man. It seemed to him that despite the garb the man wore, that grime and sweat clung to his robes, boots and hair.

Jon shook his head uncertainly. In companionable silence, the pair walked to the main hall, where it was likely his father would be at that time. Around them, the business of Winterfell continued, except at a more frantic pace.

King Robert was going to be visiting very soon and it meant that Winterfell must look its' best or bring shame to the Stark name. Woodworkers were sanding and painting at doorways, giving the wood a fresh stain. Stone masons chipped away at offending stones with single minded intensity. The blacksmith's hammer rang out in the yard, creating trinkets to sell in celebration of the King's visit. Smoke rose out the chimney's, up into the grey morning sky.

Jon and his companion walked past these men, hard at work, into the warmth of the main hall.

Decorations were still being hung from the walls in the harsh stone castle. Great tapestries that normally were kept under lock and key were being hung, and fires lit throughout the hall to keep it warm for the King's southern Lannister Queen. Already it was roaring in the hearth, flames flickering shadows across the walls. Apparently, she was very beautiful to behold, if the tales were true. Jon thought that Lady Stark, for all her unintended cruelty towards him, with her practical sense of dress and mind, was quite beautiful with her simple taste. He did not have time, really to think about girls, although Robb and Theon teased him mercilessly about it.

His father was sat at the head of the room, at the large wooden table. As a child, Jon had carved his name alongside his brothers into the very wood of that table. Candles already lit for luncheon sat on the table.

Lord Stark looked weary and was stroking his greying beard. He wore his simple robes, a quilted jersey over it. At least today he did not wear Ice, the giant Valyrian sword that belonged to Stark House. The sword was used when his father cast judgements, something that Jon had witnessed many times before. It was not a duty that he would want to have, and was glad for that unlike Robb, he would not inherit it. Beside his father was Maester Luwin, dressed as he usually was, in robes of heavy grey, the thick metals chains of his knowledge hanging around his old neck. They were speaking in hushed tones, a conversation that was not his to hear.

His father's head looked up in surprise when he saw Jon and the stranger walking beside him enter the room. Suddenly his father's expression changed from one that he knew to the one of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell.

Usually, Jon tried to stay out of his father council's. He would much rather watch from afar. Or even go to Maester Luwin's lessons. Not that his father banned him from the council as such, but it was not a bastard's place. He felt awkward there, in amongst the council, and with Robb, the true Stark heir.

He was not a Stark.

His father's deep voice rang within the room: "Speak, stranger."

The young man bowed slightly in a better fashion than Jon did earlier. It was not a full bow, though, one that bannerman would give, but more a bow of respect and courtesy.

The stranger found his voice: "Lord Stark. I seek a man who deserted from the North a few days ago to question him."

His father's brows furrowed, and he shared a look between Maester Luwin and Jon. It was only a few days ago that his father had taken Jon and the rest of the Stark boys to see the King's Justice be done. The man was long dead now, buried in a pauper's grave outside the bounds of Winterfell.

"That man was executed a few days ago. There was nothing he could have spoken to you, except madness."

At his father's words, the young man sighed and swallowed, speaking: "Then I ask your Lordship permission to look at the body, for there are many signs I can read from the Dead."

There was a certain way the man said the word 'dead', it hung heavily from the stranger's lips, filling the hall. Jon could not help but shiver, thinking of Old Nan's tales.

His father looked at the man sharply. "Why are you so keen to see this man? Are you one of the Night's Watch?"

For a moment, the young man did not answer. The hall filled with the sounds of the workmen outside. Both his father and Luwin waited on the answer.

"No, I am not of the Night's Watch."

The young man raised his head. His words echoed loudly, over the stone masons and the wood cutters in the hall. "Winter is coming, Lord Stark. That is why I seek that man."