Disclaimer: ASoIaF/GoT belongs to George RR Martin and HBO, I'm merely playing in their sandbox.
Kings Landing, 297 AC. Robert Baratheon."Your Grace."
Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm looked up from the heavily laden plate of roasted boar in front of him, his hand making an instinctive move towards the goblet of wine near his left hand. Before him stood the Hand of the King Jon Arryn, a man who had been more of a father to Robert than his own had ever been, also there was that effeminate spider Varys, Master of Whispers and a relic from the time of the blasted Aerys II Targaryen, truthfully if it wasn't for the fact that the eunuch was so damn effective Robert would have had him removed ages ago. The last man there almost caused Robert to swear loudly. His grim, sullen brother Stannis was also there, looking as grim as ever.
"What is it Jon?" Robert sighed as he gestured for his squire Lancel Lannister to fill his goblet with more wine, 'Lancel, pah. Golden haired shit,' he thought to himself.
"A letter from Ned."
That certainly got Robert's attention. He hadn't spoken much to his friend Ned since the Greyjoy Rebellion, with the exception of that moment when his bastard boy gave the Drumms a fucking bloody nose a few years ago. How Robert had laughed at that. His bitch of a wife had wanted the boy killed and the valyrian steel sword he'd taken, no doubt so she could give the sword to Joffrey or her fucking father. But Robert had just laughed, the sheer nerve and audacity of the then four-and-ten or five-and-ten year old boy to take five ships of men and women and fuck the ironborn right up the arse during the night was too fucking funny to punish him for, and still never failed to give Robert the chuckles, and make him wish he could just saddle his horse, pick up his hammer and ride out to kill something.
"What's gotten you in a tiff Stannis?" Robert asked suddenly as he saw Stannis looking surlier than usual when the letter was mentioned.
Stannis threw the letter onto Robert's desk, causing Robert to raise his eyebrows in surprise, the letter was torn in half. "I was on my way to post a letter to my wife when I spotted Pycelle," he spat the name out, "tear the letter in half. I was intrigued and demanded the letter to be turned over, he tried to refuse so I had two of my guards hold him while I took the letter and then threw him in a dungeon."
Robert closed his eyes in preparation for the headache to come. Pycelle, another Lannister lickspittle, and also a relic from Aerys' time. He had once asked the Citadel for a new Grandmaester but they had refused him, but perhaps now he'd have the chance to finally be rid of the old fucker.
"ROBERT!" and there was his wife the fucking Queen, Robert sighed. "Do you know what your brother has done?" Cersei demanded as she stomped into the room, her face twisted in fury.
"Stannis did exactly what he should have done," he barked back at Cersei, had had as of yet not consumed as much wine as he regularly did, and so was actually in the mood for a fight for once. "Stannis came across Pycelle ripping up a letter sent to me. READING the King's mail from one of his Wardens without permission is sufficient enough grounds to have his head for treason, and he also chose to rip the letter apart and try to hide it, KINGSLAYER," he yelled to the Queen's brother who stood guard outside his rooms, causing the smug bastard to enter. "Escort your fucking sister back to her chambers, I don't want her in my sight".
Fuck it was pleasing to watch the Kingslayer drag his fucking wife away while she almost foamed at the mouth in fury and yelled after him. Picking up the pieces of the letter and trying his best to focus on the scrawny letter he suddenly spat a mouthful of wine all over his desk (and his displeased brother) before laughing uproariously.
"Your Grace?" Ser Barristan who stood guard inside his chambers questioned.
"It seems like Ned's little bastard has gotten himself a bastard or two of his own," Robert sniggered as he pounded a meaty fist on his desk. "He requests that I legitimize the boy and the boy's son."
"…"
"He intends for the boy to marry some Karstark girl apparently," Robert explained at the questioning glances he received. Taking another sip Robert stood up suddenly. "Well that decides it, I gotta see this myself. Stannis you'll stay here in King's Landing with the Kingslayer," Robert almost crowed at the displeased look Stannis gave him, there was no love between those two. "Jon, you and me are going North."
"Robert?" Jon questioned as he furrowed his brow.
"What?" Robert said as he spread his arms. "It's Ned's son that's getting married, he named the boy after you for fucks sake. We're going and that is final."
Jon sighed, no doubt the prospect of both the Hand and the King leaving the capital did not sit well with him.
"Oh and make sure to send a letter to the Citadel for a new Grandmaester, Pycelle is taking the black after all."
"Robert," Jon said warningly.
"No Jon, the man committed treason, and make sure to let the Citadel know that the next Grandmaester better keep his nose to himself, and arrange for a permanent guard of the ravenry, men we can trust. Gods know how much of my correspondence the old goat has read before."
Sighing Jon nodded before trotting off, no doubt his old foster father had a thousand things to deal with before they left. A good man, no doubt and Robert loved him for it, but damn if the man didn't worry.
"You'll serve as regent while I am away Stannis, and don't fuck it up."
"Of course Your Grace," Stannis said before he too walked off, suddenly leaving Robert alone with Varys and Ser Barristan, Lancel the fucking boy had probably run off before Robert could divert some of his temper towards him.
"A curious gesture, for Lord Stark to want his son to be legitimized after all this time," Barristan said as he rubbed his chin, causing Varys to let out an involuntary titter.
"What?" Robert asked the spymaster.
"I am surprised that you haven't heard the rumour Your Grace," Varys said.
Robert and Barristan both furrowed their brows. "What rumours?"
"At first I didn't put much stock in them, but the timeframe fits, especially when couple with the looks and behaviour".
Robert growled, why couldn't anyone in the entire fucking city speak plainly.
"The boy is Lord Stark's nephew, not his son."
Time stood still for Robert a moment as he suddenly imagined Lyanna having a boy, but as soon as that horrible thought hit him he remembered the boy's previous actions and it all made sense. He was obviously Brandon's spawn by some wench or other that the former Heir to Winterfell had bedded.
"I have not been able to find out who the mother is but I have my suspicions," Varys continued, and Robert saw a shadow sneak over Barristan's face.
"Ashara Dayne," Ser Barristan said hoarsely and Robert felt a moment of kinship with Barristan. Barristan had been as much in love with Ashara Dayne as Robert had been with Lyanna.
"I was under the impression that Ashara Dayne had given birth to a daughter, stillborn wasn't she?"
Robert shook his head. "Unsubstantiated rumours. They met at Harrenhall, and must obviously gone farther than one would think," Robert said with a small grin. "It also explains why Ned claimed the boy as his own."
"What do you mean Your Grace?" Barristan asked.
Robert looked at Barristan for a moment. "You may not know Ned like I do Barristan, but do you honestly think Ned to be one who would speak ill of the dead?"
"No Your Grace," Barristan said as he shook his head.
"Exactly, Brandon was already bethroted to Catelyn Tully when he put the boy into Dayne's belly, and trust me, Ned is the sort of man who would have no problem telling his wife that he had fathered a bastard, rather than to besmirch his brother's name," Robert shook his head in fond remembrance, it was after all a typical Ned thing to do. "Come Barristan," Robert said suddenly, "I'll be damned if I don't give Brandon's boy a kingly gift."
Barristan shook his head slightly, no doubt amused at Robert's suddenly high spirits as they walked down to the street of steel to find a suitable wedding gift.
"We can't get him a sword, the boy's already got valyrian steel," Robert said to Barristan as he looked at an impressive Warhammer that was displayed outside on of the shops.
"Perhaps some piece of armour Your Grace?" Barristan said. "Tobho Mott certainly has the best pieces," he pointed out the shop that was but a few yards away.
Robert nodded, Tobho might as well be a highwayman with the prices he collected, he was also an honourable man, not taking a single penny above what his work was worth, and the work he did explained why he was able to afford to set his prices so high, besides, there were some advantages to being the King. Walking into the shop Robert was met with a lovely sight. Armour and weapons of all shapes and sizes. Intricate plate, sturdy mail, lethal pieces of steel that looked to be more at home on a wall than in a man's hand, yet he knew that every single piece of steel in the shop would do its job better than most other pieces of castle forged steel in the Seven Kingdoms.
"Your Grace," Mott said as he stepped forward, bowing slightly as he did. "You honour me by visiting my humble store."
Robert and Barristan both snorted. Tobho's store was not only the largest, but also the only one on the Street of Steel to have a full two floors. "I find myself in need of some armour," Robert said.
"Of course Your Grace," Mott bowed again before turning towards a door at the back from where the sound of steel hammering on steel sounded. "BOY! Get out here."
As the door opened Robert almost felt his world spin as one of Mott's apprentices stepped out. It was like looking at a mirror into the past. The boy was tall, very tall for his age, almost comparable to Robert's own height. His bare arms were corded by muscles, earnt from painstaking hours of hammering steel into shape, his thick black hair had a thin sheen of sweat that also covered his slightly soot stained face, and a pair of storm blue orbs stared back at him.
"Your Grace," boy stuttered slightly before bowng low.
"You have a name boy?" Robert asked weakly. He knew he had bastards out there of course, little Mya n the vale, though he supposed she wasn't so little any longer, and Edric at Storm's End, who he had fathered on a Florent girl in Stannis' own marriage bed, but never had he seen one of his bastard children almost grown into adulthood, and the resemblance was frightening. Had the boy been wearing fine clothes and sporting a finely trimmed beard he could have passed as a twin to Renly.
"Gendry, Your Grace," the boy said.
"Hmm," Robert nodded slightly. "And what will you do once you've finished your apprenticeship?"
The boy shrugged casually, causing Mott to slip him over the head.
"There is little else I can teach the boy Your Grace, I just keep him here as he does good work, better than any of my other boys at least."
Robert nodded again, before a glimmer of a bright idea crept up on him. If Cersei ever found the boy he'd probably be in trouble, and with little coin of his own he stood no chance of opening his own smithy. " I'm leaving for the North later this very day, you'll be coming with me."
The boy's eyes widened, 'no, Gendry,' he reminded himself.
"Your Grace?" he asked in wonder.
"The son of my friend Lord Stark is to wed and become Lord of his own castle. He'll need a smith, and if you're half as good as your Master you'll be set for life."
Gendry's eyes almost shone, so happy and awed was he at his luck. "Th-thank you Your Grace."
Robert waved away Gendry's words, it would do the boy no favours to tell him he was the bastard son of a King, but at least he could make sure the boy had a future, far away from any Lannisters. Turning back to Mott who seemed somewhat pleased Robert rubbed his hands. "Now about that armour."
Mott turned to Robert again. "Follow me Your Grace, if the boy is a Stark I think I have just the thing."
Now curious Robert and Barristan followed Mott up the stairs to the second floor and eventually stopped in front of a suit of armour that had a light layer of dust on it, but seemed to be in otherwise pristine condition. "Another Stark ordered the set from me sometime before the Rebellion, he never picked it up."
Robert and Barristan's faces darkened, there could be only two persons who matched that description, and looking closer at the armour, taking note of the size Robert was sure that it had been made for Brandon's somewhat larger bulk, than say his father Rickard who had been a smaller man than his sons.
The cuirass still had a shine to it, despite the dust, and the raised edges were shaped so that it seemed as a snarling direwolf was prepared to jump out and take a bite at you. Every edge was banded by bronze that had been riveted into place, and various runes had been carefully engraved on every piece. The knuckle guards on the gauntlets continued past the fingers in the shape of claws and as Robert ran a finger along the underside of one of the claws he swore as he cut himself on the sharp edge. Last was a helmet, shaped as the head of a snarling direwolf that gave even Robert a few chills at how lifelike it seemed, from the sharp teeth that Mott had manage to somehow colour white, to the almost glowing amber that had been set into the 'eyes' of the helmet. Other parts of the armour had also been coloured in various shades of grey, white and black to mimic the colouring of a wolf, only the cuirass itself retaining the silvery sheen of perfectly forged steel, and at that moment Robert knew, he had to get it. Brandon's boy had lived his entire life as a bastard, not knowing who his true father was, not knowing his mother, it was the least Robert could do.
"How much?" he asked Mott.
"Oh no Your Grace," Mott shook his head. "The armour is already paid for, and since you are taking it to the owner's family I couldn't possibly charge you."
Robert narrowed his eyes. "What are you playing at Mott?" he asked suspiciously.
Mott gave a sly grin. "If Your Grace was to have a large retinue of Knights or Lords with you when you collect the armour, and told others who ask where you got it…"
"Then you would receive a fair amount of increased business," Robert finished with a grin. "Very well, have the boy and the armour ready for later today, I'll be leaving shortly after midday."
Winterfell. 297 AC. Jon:
It had been two days since Jon's life took on an abrupt change. First the shock of learning that he was a father. That had a son by ALys Karstark was shocking enough, but that he also had a daughter, from a woman whose name he could not even recall to his shame. He was to be married, legitimized and made to be a Lord of his own castle, it was all too much for him.
He had waited for the rest of the castle to fall asleep before riding out into the Wolfswood to hunt, and to think. As he rode swiftly between the trees he let his mind wander. All his life it seemed, ever since he learnt what it meant to be a bastard and he decided to rise above it and take what pleasures he could in life, he'd been a free spirit.
Take his sword and axe and ride off for a few days? Sure, what duties did he have that bound him to Wintefell? He had always had a temper (much like his aunt and uncle, he'd been told) As a boy that had been solved easily enough but going out into the practice yard and beat the stuffing out of a practice dummy with whatever 'weapon' he could get his hands on. He'd started doing that regularly after his fifth year, and Robb joined him soon enough, though at Lady Stark's insistence Robb was given the more 'formal' education.
Ser Rodrik and his nephew Jory spent far more time teaching Robb the nuances of swordplay, how to stand, how to move his feet, how to use a blade or keep a cool head, not that Jon minded. Rodrik and Jory thought him more than enough, but whereas Robb was certainly a more technical or tactical swordsman, Jon was more akin to a force of nature. Little finesse, but raw and sudden fury.
Jon would be the first to acknowledge that Robb was far better than he when it came to using a sword and shield, but that was Robb's way. He was more cautious, and patient enough to fight defensively while waiting for an opening, Jon was the opposite, hurling himself on his opponent with either a greatsword in hand, or a longsword and axe combination, and the two brothers found that it worked. Robb was the shield, and one day, Jon would be his sword, the Bloody Wolf to be unleashed upon Robb's foes.
Their relationship cooled ever so slightly when Theon Greyjoy was brought back to Winterfell after their father had gone to war. The Greyjoy who was five years their senior quickly earnt himself a place amongst Robb's list of favourite people. While Jon didn't like it he understood. At five years older Theon was somewhat exciting as he was more experience in life, bigger and the like, truth be known, if he hadn't tried to assert his dominance over Jon and treat Jon as scum simply for being a bastard, then Jon would probably count Theon as a friend to the same degree Robb did.
Alas, Jon was a bastard and as such he was beneath Theon, at least according to Theon himself. Jon had quickly (and viciously) tried to remedy that belief by facing the five years' older boy in the practice ring. The end result was a broken nose and cracked arm for Theon, a half-hearted warning from his father, and a lot of approving grins from other residents in Winterfell. Theon, well Theon had never forgiven Jon for showing him up, so they had for the most part stayed away from each other. Robb spending more and more time with Theon as Jon refused to stay long around the young kraken, and Jon spent more time for himself, or with his younger sister Arya who apparently had decided that Jon was the bestest brother in the world.
Of course people change. Jon grew bigger and started to notice different things. Hair started to grow in unusual places, his voice turned deeper and his shoulders started to broaden. He woke up to things getting 'harder' and overnight it seemed that girls had become the most fascinating creatures in the world.
While he had never truly discussed the subject of girls with his father, he had learnt more than enough from various whispers or suggestions from other conversations to know that girls could make life very pleasant for a young man, and he had eagerly stepped up to the challenge.
As the cold had never bothered him much, he had no problem dressing up in a bit less clothing than he usually did, often wearing shirts that showed off his arms, he also gradually shifted his place of sparring from the practice yard (where he had to share space with others) to make his own little practice are outside the walls of Winterfell, and it became a usual occurrence for giggling young maidens to follow him and watch from some distance away as he removed the clothes covering his torso as he worked himself into a sweat with the sword or axe.
He had been almost three-and-ten, just about a man grown he reckoned due to his bastardry, when he first stuck his cock into another woman. It was so good, and awkward, over way to quickly and much too exciting to let it be a one-time occurrence. Fortunately, the girl he had lain with, had been understanding enough to realize that it was his first time, so she had taken the time to explain things further, and as they say, practice makes perfect as more than one girl could attest to.
He knew of course that fucking girls could result in his very own bastard, but somehow he had just never acknowledged it. Surely it wouldn't happen with him? And by the time he started to use his head for more than just deciding upon which woman he'd stick his cock into next it was apparently too late. Barely ten-and-seven and already he was a father twice over. He considered himself fortunate that his son with Alys would at least have the Stark name, and he'd make damn sure that his daughter wouldn't be treated as anything less than just that, his daughter…provided Alys was not a stuck up prickly bitch like Lady Stark, though he doubted it. Bastards weren't exactly something to be proud of in the North, but unlike with how it was in the south they weren't seen as sinful abominations either, which was already loads better than how Lady Stark had seen/treated him, should things become too bad he could always foster the girl on Bear Island, Lady Maege would have no problem taking her in Jon knew, neither would Lyra or Jorelle mind.
And now he was to marry and become a Lord. He sighed. He didn't mind the idea of wedding Alys, far from it. Alys was a very beautiful young woman, tall like himself, long dark-brown hair that she kept in a single thick braid. A long face with elegant cheekbones and grey-blue eyes. She was, perhaps a bit skinnier than many men would prefer, but her full teats were enough to make any man drool (he should know considering how he'd ravaged them the time they fucked each other) and she had proven to be able to birth children, and lastly she had an old and respectable name. Alys Karstark was perhaps one of the best brides available in the North in his age bracket, and she would be his.
Still, the idea of being trapped in matrimony to a single woman for the rest of his life was not something Jon had ever imagined, though he never imagined that he would become a Lord or a father either, so perhaps it was for the better. His father and uncle certainly seemed to think so, and Jon could see their point.
While he had participated (for the most part) in Robbs lessons over the years, he was still far from ready to truly take up a Lordship, he was still too wild, too fond of simply saddling his horse and ride off to somewhere, not to mention that he enjoyed a good scrap and it had been some time since he last had a really good one. So again it was a good thing he was wedding Alys.
He knew her well enough from the week she had stayed at Winterfell during the meeting of the Lords, to know that, while she had a sense of duty when it came to marriage, she was not a meek little southron flower who would sit back and whimper and bawl if her husband dishonoured her. As soon as his father had told him he was wedding Alys he knew that his life of…liberty was at an end. If Alys ever found him in another woman's bed he knew damn well that shed cut of his cock and feed it to him raw.
She knew how to run a household, and while sensible enough about her duties to not disagree with him in public, he knew that she should be able (and probably would) council him in private, though for Jon it was still too soon. One moon from now? He hadn't even fully digested the fact that he had a son and a daughter before his father told him that shortly after he would be married and a Lord.
Looking around him he saw nothing but trees, pine, elm, oak and even the rare ironwood scattered here and there. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath as he let the scents and sounds of the forest to fill him. Jon's closest held secret was that he 'knew' there was something to the whole 'wolf blood' saying. Or perhaps it was the blood of Winter Kings. Either way, he was…different from other men.
He was more in touch with the North than any other he had heard about, shared a strange kinship with the North and its dwellers. His senses were far sharper than should be possible. In moments like this, surrounded by the wildness of the North and with his blood up, his gaze could pierce that gloom of night without effort. He could smell where a trio of forest mice had crossed not six feet away from his two days past, could hear the soft steps of the large wolf stalking him.
Widening his eyes he threw himself from the saddle and narrowly avoided the giant direwolf from tearing his head off. Calmly rolling to his feet he drew his dagger as he remained crouched, ready for any eventuality. His horse however was not so calm and fled in full panic, taking with it his sword, Jon was all alone with nothing more than his fists and a dagger, hardly comforting when standing face to face with a beast that was almost as big as his horse.
The direwolf itself was snarling at him, teeth longer than his fingers almost shone in the moonlight, ready to tear him apart. Like he had done with countless other animals, (mostly birds, cats or dogs) Jon pushed out with his mind as he gazed into the amber eyes of the wolf. He grunted as his head suddenly rang like it did whenever Rodrik Cassel managed to clip him over the head with a tourney blade, and it was mere instinct that saved him as he weakly dodged to the left, losing his grip on his dagger as the jaws of the direwolf snapped down a few shy inches from his right arm.
With his head clear again Jon leapt onto the back of the direwolf and locked his powerful arms around its neck and squeezed. The mighty beast growled, yipped, jumped, twisted, bucked and rolled, trying as best it could to shake Jon off but eventually it lost its strength and collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily as it did.
Jon let go and grabbed his dagger, intending to finish the animal before it could summon back its strength, only to stall as the wolf let out a painful whine as it locked its gaze with Jon, and Jon could suddenly understand why the mighty animal had braved coming all the way down south.
The belly of the wolf was swollen, but he could also spot from the slightly emaciated frame of the wolf that most of whatever food it had gotten had been spent to keep the pups inside of her alive. Digging into his satchel Jon took out a handful of dried jerky. As soon as his hand got closed the wolf snarled and bit after his hand, causing him to withdraw it. It took several attempts before the wolf allowed him to offer it food or pet its fur, but in the end he considered it a triumph.
The wolf was sceptical of him, but at least trusted him enough not to eat him, and also trusted him enough that he could pet it, the wolf particularly enjoyed it when her rubbed her head or scratched her ears, her tail making a 'thump-thump' sound as it thumped back and forth, hitting the ground now and then. Again he attempted to connect with the animal, going much softer this time. He was wary, after all, the head of the direwolf was in his lap and could easily bite his head off if it so chose, but other than a few warning growls whenever his mind touched upon her far more primal one, nothing happened until he could finally slipping from his skin and into her own.
Like any animal, the first time you slip into the mind of one it is a confusing and mind boggling moment as you are bombarded with different smells, sounds or even instincts. Jon had learnt enough from Old Nan's stories to know that he was a Warg, someone who could slip in to the mind of an animal, yet the old tales weren't even close to describing how amazing the sensation was.
Once you bonded with an animal you 'became' part of it forever. To this day Jon could close his eyes and correctly point in the direction where his faithful crow that he had first domesticated when he was ten. The crow that he had named 'Beak' shouldn't even have lived this long, but still it did. Perhaps due to being a part of Jon. It would come when he asked, could understand his commands, and he could slip into its mind from quite some distance away, and like a few other crows, was even capable of speaking a few words, though Jon was certain that he must have tried to teach it when he was drunk, as Beak's favourite word by far was 'Ale'.
Revelling in the sensation of being inside the direwolf he was pleased to note that as he spent time, caressing its mind with his own, the wolf shifted its instincts towards him from 'friend' to 'pack'. While the shewolf would always be her own creature, she would also be loyal to him, as he would be to her, like a pack should be. Looking down at her, she was mostly white, with some grey or brown scattered through her fur, no doubt to better fit in into the much harsher climates beyond the wall. "I'll call you winter," Jon said as he closed his eyes and lowered his face towards her muzzle, quickly breaking into laughter as the wet and rough tongue of the wolf started to lick all over him.
The joyous moment ceased abruptly as the sky suddenly opened and a torrential downpour of water started. "Shite," he mumbled as he and Winter got to their feet and started to trek back towards Winterfell. If he was lucky his father would send men after him, but considering how many times in the past Jon had ridden off during the night he wouldn't count on it.
Rarely had he ever been as pleased as he was now that cold didn't affect him as much as it did others. His riding leathers were completely soaked and clung to his flesh and the biting wind didn't help much either. TO his fortune at least the downpour didn't last very long, perhaps an hour or two, so he was almost dry when he finally saw Winterfell in the distance. "You ready for this?" he asked Winter as he studied the wolf that was perhaps a head shorter than he was. The wolf gave him a piercing look before bumping his head with her own, and a long wet lick across his face, causing him to laugh slightly. "Then let's go," he said as he started to walk briskly towards Wintefell, the direwolf at his side.
It took longer than he'd expected to reach Winterfell , though he shouldn't have been surprise that it took longer without his horse, it was past midday when he came to the edges of Winter Town, where more than one man or woman gasped or pointed and whispered when they saw 'The Bloody Wolf' walk calmly as all that with a giant direwolf at his side.
"What the?" Jon hear one of the guardsmen manning the gatehouse say.
"Call for Lord Stark, Snow is back," another called.
"What's the lad done this time?" Jon could hear from behind the wall, much to the amusement of several other guardsmen who broke out into laughter.
With the gate (and the courtyard on the other side) now firmly in sight, Jon put on his best grin as he sped up his stride, Winter walking next to him with her ears twitching this way and that to take in all the new sounds.
"Yeh got tae be shittin' me!" Rogg, one of the guardsmen standing by the open gates said as he laid eyes on Winter.
Jon smirked as he ruffled Winter's head for a moment. "I found this one in the woods," Jon said.
"What has the boy done-BY THE FUCKING GODS!" Rodrik Cassel had apparently gone to check up on Jon only to lay eyes on the direwolf by his side.
Walking through the gates and into the courtyard Jon could spot his father, uncle Benjen, Robb, Bran and Arya as well as Alys, her brothers and father. As soon as his father laid eyes on Winter he sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Why do you do this to me Jon?" he said, exasperation clear in his voice.
Looking over at the assembled people Jon decided to try and mend bridges with Alys, who couldn't have been pleased that his first action after finding out they were to wed was to run off without word. Walking over to her be bowed low and took her hand gently.
"I apologize sincerely if I offended you by leaving My Lady, it was not my intent to give you insult," he gave her a winning smile before placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.
"Should have thought of that before he took her to his bed," her eldest brother Harrion grumbled, his black eye quite prominent on his face.
Alys looked at him with narrowed eyes for a moment before she caused most of the people in the courtyard to gasp as she delivered a painful smack to his cheek, the exceptions were his uncle, his and her siblings who sniggered or grinned at seeing Jon in trouble with the ladies for once. "I assume you won't run out on me again once we are wed My Lord?" she asked pointedly with a raised eyebrow.
Jon grimaced as he rubbed his red cheek, she was certainly stronger than she looked. "I will endeavour not to My Lady," he said as he tried his best to ignore the grins of the people around him.
"And who is this?" she asked as she pointed at Winter who was sitting calmly on the ground, with Jon holding a steadying hand on the scruff of her neck.
"This is Winter," Jon said as he took her hand in his right and led her over to the wolf who snuffed cautiously at Alys. 'She is pack, Winter,' Jon thought as he focused on Winter, trying to share a feeling of belonging at the wolf who tilted her head to the side before nuzzling her muzzle into Alys' hand.
Alys giggled slightly as she scratched the wolf behind the ears, causing it to whine in pleasure and close its eyes. "She will not be sleeping in our bed," Alys said suddenly causing Jon to laugh slightly.
"As you wish My Lady," holding out his arm to her he said, "Shall we?"
Alys smiled slightly as she took his arm. "We shall." Then he, Alys and Winter walked into the keep, smiling at the dumbfounded looks of the others.
*L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R*L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R*L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R*L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R*L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R*L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R
That was then, and now it was nearing the time for his and Alys' wedding. His father had informed him that the King himself would even be attending, as would the majority of the Northern Lords, many of them bringing their sons and daughters. The direwolf had brought a lot of talk and rumours apparently, and everyone were eager to see a living specimen of the Stark sigil, even in Winterfell itself the wolf had caused something of an uproar.
Lady Stark had almost had a nervous breakdown when she had come to Jon's room to apologize of all things for her past behaviour. Needless to say, that coming face to face with a wolf almost as tall as she was, was not something she had expected, and Maester Luwin had been forced to serve her a goblet of some strong northern aquavit, a drink distilled through potatoes and then had some cinnamon or dill added for extra flavour. In large dozes it hit like a hammer and taste even worse, but it did the job.
Sadly Lady Stark did not care for Winter, so Jon had to keep the wolf in his bedchambers for the most part, she was also close to whelping so she didn't like to move much at any rate.
While most of the castle was on its feet in order to prepare not only for the wedding but also for the arrival of the King, Jon was thankfully free, under the guise of getting to know his bride. So he and Alys spent most of their days walking about the castle, visiting the godswood or even taking short riding trips, while a wetnurse took care of Torrhen and Lyarra.
"You know," Jon said suddenly when they were on the way back to Winterfell after a horsetrip. "We never spoke of Lyarra."
"What do you mean?" Alys said as she furrowed her brow slightly.
"Well, most women wouldn't be pleased their husband had a bastard, especially if he was raising that bastard amongst his own trueborn children."
Alys looked over at Jon. "You intend to raise her yourself?"
Jon nodded slightly. "Her mother is dead, and there is no way I will expose any children of mine to Lady Stark's 'tender mercies' any more than I need to," sighing Jon wiped a few loose strands of hair away from his eyes. "She is my blood, and my responsibility."
"Do you intend to father more?" Alys asked casually.
Jon growled slightly in irritation. "I may not have been the most…well behaved of men," Alys snorted contemptuously at that. "But I keep my vows. Once we speak the words in front of the heart tree, I am yours as much as you are mine, I will not stray."
Alys reached out her hand to entwine her fingers with Jon. "Then that is good enough for me. I cannot fault you for Lyarra, especially not considering the circumstances of Torrhen's birth." Loosing her smile slightly she placed her hands back on the reins. "I am not some southron septa like…others Jon Snow, you need not fear that I will treat your daughter like Lady Stark did you."
Jon let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Thank you."
While they never spoke ill of Lady Catelyn directly, neither Jon nor Alys, or a lot of other northerners approved of the way she acted sometimes. For all that Lady Catelyn loved her children, she was a southerner. She kept to the faith of the Seven, which with the exception of a few houses like the Manderly's was for the most part looked down on in the North. And while she tried as best she could, treating everyone courteously, it was clear to see that she thought of many northerners and their customs as savage or barbaric. Few blamed her, she was after all a product of her upbringing, but while some hostility to a bastard was expected, no woman liked her husband dishonouring her after all, treating a bastard like Lady Catelyn had treated Jon was very much frowned upon.
"Have you spoken with your father?" Jon asked.
"Yes, he has agreed to supply us with two hundred men at arms, and has agreed to let Edd stay with us for some time."
Jon nodded, Edd, or Eddard was Alys' youngest brother, a mere year older than Jon, and as the third son didn't have much more to look forward to in ways of inheritance than a small holdfast in Lord Karstark's lands, so sending him off with Jon and ALys, not only allowed Alys to have family close, but also to let Edd have a chance to make something of himself away from his father and brother's shadow. "We will need someone who can act as Castellan or Captain of the Guards, and Edd is skilled enough for both," Jon said.
"Also he doesn't hate you for despoiling his sister," Alys said with an impish grin, causing Jon to laugh.
"There is that yes," he agreed.
"And you?" she asked.
"Father spoke of offering us four hundred men, there will most likely be more offered by other Lords. A rebuilt Moat Cailin is important to everyone, so we can expect men from most of the Lords, though I doubt it will be in the same numbers as we are getting from our fathers."
"We will probably be able to call on more as well, after they started getting the rice fields going more and more have started to move to the Moat and surrounding villages have they not?"
Jon nodded. "Most of them are simple farmers though, the usual people who get drafted into levies whenever war calls, they're not soldiers by any sense of the word, still it's better than no men at all."
Alys didn't say anything, just rode. That was one of the things Jon liked about Alys, she understood him, at least somewhat. She wasn't the sort of person who had to be in constant conversation, more than content like Jon to be silent and enjoy the moment. That's not to say she was constantly silent, she liked a bad jape as much as the next man, and had a wickedly sharp tongue when the situation called for it.
She was also very fond of horse riding and archery, though didn't care much for a sword, unlike his sister Arya, though she had admitted to carrying a dagger on her person, one never knew when a dagger would be necessary after all.
Coming up on the last hill before Winterfell they stopped for a moment. A long train of horses at various distances were closing in on Winterfell. Various Lords of the North most likely, as this was they day they had been invited to arrive at. A few like the Cerwyns, Glovers and Tallharts had arrived a few days past, while most seemed to be making their arrival now. Speeding up their horses Jon and Alys caught up with the closest retinue of men, who, if one went by the brown moose with black banners on an orange field had to be Lord Halys Hornwood, his son Daryn, the man Lord Karstark had tried to arrange a marriage to for Alys, and his wife Donella.
"Lord Hornwood, Lady Hornwood," Jon greeted as he bowed his head respectfully once they caught up with them.
"I'll be buggered," Lord Hornwood said as he took in Jon's appearance. "I'd heard the rumours but I didn't believe…" he trailed off, before shaking off whatever thoughts ailed him. "It is my pleasure to meet you young Stark," he said.
"I'm not a Stark yet," Jon said. "At least not until the King arrives."
Bah," Lord Hornwood waved off the excuse. "Looking at you, I'd say you've been a Stark most of your life. Just like your father you are," he finished causing Jon to raise his eyebrows sceptically. From what Jon knew, his father hadn't been near as adventurous as Jon himself, still he supposed that Lord Hornwood would know much better than Jon did.
"Thank you My Lord," Jon said with another small bow of his head.
"And you must be Lady Karstark?" Hornwood said as he gave a respectful nod of his head.
"I am My Lord," Alys said.
Halys Hornwood nodded in approval. "She'll make a fine wife for you young Stark, though from what I hear she's already proven that she can bear you children," he japed slightly, causing both Jon and Alys to chuckle slightly, not at all embarrassed.
"You can say that we got some practice in for the wedding night," Alys said with a grin, causing both Lord Hornwood and his son Daryn to laugh, while Lady Donella kept her mirth to a pair of quivering lips.
"Not unheard of," Halys said before a smirk stretched across his face. "Though one usually waits with such activities until one has become betrothed at least."
Jon coughed nervously as he rubbed hand across his neck. His first instinct had been to lash out, as that last remark could have been seen as an insult, and from the looks in both Alys' and Lady Donella's eyes he could see they didn't approve of that last comment either.
"Well I for one, husband, think that to be better than to get in practice with another woman after having said one's wedding vows," Lady Donella said sharply, causing Lord Hornwood to wince, while his son tried to hide his chuckles, lest his mother discover him laughing. "Don't you laugh my son, if I ever discover that you dishonour your wife after you wed her I'll take you over my knee like I used to when you were a boy," those words did at least stop Daryn from laughing.
It was no secret that Haly Hornwood had been unfaithful to his Lady wife whenshe was off visiting her kin in White Harbour, and had fathered a bastard named Laurence who was now fostering with the Glovers as a result. From what Jon knew she treated the boy well enough, not loving as a mother, but more like an aunt, far kinder than most bastards in Westeros could hope for, and she had been the one to arrange for Lord Glover to foster the boy after he turned eight, as was practice for many noble sons.
The next few minutes were highly uncomfortable. Lord Hornwood was doing his best not to raise his Lady wife's ire, Daryn was in the same boat. While Jon and Alys both had their fair share of witty comments, but had to hold them back, it wouldn't do to insult guests who were bringing gifts for their wedding.
Conversation soon picked up again at least as they spotted another group of riders who rode over to them, Jon didn't even need to look at their sigil to spot them as Umbers. The smallest of them looked to be closer to seven feet, and as they neared Jon saw to his shock that the two 'shorter' ones were both girls, probably Lord Umber's daughters. The Greatjon himself was flanked by two of his three sons, both of them with a shock of reddish-brown hair and beards, while the Greatjon's beard was almost entirely grey with a few specks of brown still mixed in.
"Jon the bloody," the Greatjon boomed when he caught up with them. "Look at you, more like your father every day from what I hear," the giant man laughed as he slapped Jon on the back, almost sending Jon careening off his horse.
"So people keep telling me," Jon said confused.
"Let me introduce ye to me boys, this one here is my firstborn the Smalljon as people call him," though Jon couldn't for one second understand why, as the man on Lord Umber's right, was at least as big and broad as his father. Pointing to his left he continued, "My other boy Beron, and my two daughters Becka and Lyssa," he finished, pointing to his two daughters, who while certainly large were far from fat nor ugly. They weren't likely to be crowned Queen of Love and Beauty at a tourney, but one hardly needed to be drunk to bed them either.
"My Lords, My Ladies," Jon greeted them with a nod.
"So finally Brandon's little wolf is getting married eh?" the Greatjon asked with a laugh. "Was about time someone tamed the Bloody Wolf of the North," he said with a wink to Alys. "How did you manage it girl?"
Alys uncharacteristically blushed as she mumbled something.
"What was that Girl?" the Greatjon asked while Beron who was the closest to her laughed.
"She said she got lost and found her way into his bed and decided to keep him," Beron said, causing the rest of the party to snigger at Jon and Alys.
"Ah, young love, just like me and your mother when I was young," the Greatjon said to his younger son. "Did I tell you about that time…"
"NO!" both of Lord Umber's sons yelled. "We do not care to hear any more of your sordid tales about mother."
The Greatjon shared a grin with Jon and Alys but refrained from further storytelling. The rest of the ride to Winterfell was spent with conversation back and forth, though markedly more lewd as the Umber's were not ones to restrict their language to polite conversation. Their party was one of the last to arrive as every other Lord, their families and his own father, stepmother and siblings all stood in the courtyard when they dismounted.
"Hurry and get changed into finer clothes, the King will be arriving along with the Manderly's before the hour is past," his father said, causing both Jon and Alys to widen their eyes, though Jon had it easier than Alys as he merely had to change his clothes, unlike ALys who started to fret about gods knows how many things. She was fortunate however as a veritable horde of northern Ladies descended upon her to offer help.
Jon didn't know how they managed it, but by the time he had taken a quick bath and changed into his finest clothes, a pair of dark leather trousers, a brown tunic with a grey direwolf on the chest, and a heel length cape topped by the fur of a black wolf, Alys had already been washed, done her hair into a collection of soft ringlets and braids, donned a black and silver dress, decorated with the blazing white sun of house Karstark, and managed to apply makeup to her face. When he had first laid eyes on her where she was standing next to her father in the courtyard he had been struck dumb. He had always known she was a good looking girl, but neither had he seen her be described as beautiful, cold like the North, but undeniably beautiful as well, with red lips, khol had been applied to draw focus to her eyes, and just the faintest hint of red on her cheeks.
"THE WOLF'S BEEN STRUCK BLIND," the Greatjon roared suddenly, causing an outbreak of laughter.
"You look beautiful My Lady," Jon said hoarsely as he laid a kiss upon Alys' hand.
"You clean up well too My Lord," she grinned as she curtsied ever so slightly.
Taking his place at her side, next to his father, Jon tried as best he could to keep still as they waited for the King and the Manderly's, already the sound of their horses could be heard, until after what seemed like an age the Royal party came riding into the courtyard.
Leading the procession were a pair of Stormlander Knights, carrying banners of the black crowned stag of House Baratheon on a field of gold, another pair of Knights carrying the merman of House Manderly followed. Next in line were twenty Knights in Baratheon or Manderly colours, riding in a column of two's. Then came the Kingsguard, In the front was none other than Barristan Selmy, the greatest Knight in all of Westeros, his white plate gleaming in the sun. Behind him, ride side by side were another two of the Kingsguard, and then came the King and Jon did all he could not to gape, as did many others.
Gone was the legendary warrior who had broken Rhaegar at the Trident, the man who won three victories in a single day at Summerhall, in his place was a man with a great black beard, peppered with grey. Had it not been for the fact that he wore a crown, Jon wouldn have thought him to be a kinsman to Lord Wyman Manderly, who was himself so fat he couldn't ride a horse, and true enough, beside the king and a richly carved carriage of mahogany was Lord Wyman. Behind the King and Lord Wyman were another pair of Kingsguard, followed by two heavyset men who had to be Lord Wyman's sons Wendel and Wylis, while Wyman's granddaughters Wylla and Wynafryd and his goddaughter Leona Woolfield rode with Lord Wyman in his carriage.
As one the men and women in the courtyard fell to one knee before the King, who had to have a wooden pedestal placed next to his horse in order to dismount it. The King walked over quickly, a grim look on his face. Stopping before Lord Stark he stopped and gestured for the people to rise. "You've got fat," he stated as he looked at Lord Stark.
Jon felt red creep up his neck as he let out a cough, while thankfully his Lord Father distracted the King by raising his eyebrows in amusement and nodding towards the King's own considerable bulk.
The King and his father stared at each other for a few seconds before both broke out into laughter and embraced. "Gods be damned Ned, it's been too long since I saw the North," Looking over at Jon his eyes widened. "So this is him then? Brandon's bastard?"
Jon furrowed his brows in confusion, again someone called him his uncle Brandon's bastard. "Your Grace?" he asked.
The King frowned. "Gods Ned, you haven't told him?"
His father shook his head slightly. "I will explain later Jon, you have my word."
Something fishy was going on, Jon knew it, but accepted the fact that right here and now was probably not the best place to question it.
"Well boy, let me have a look at you," the King said as he stepped in front of Jon.
Straightening slightly Jon kept silent as the King looked him up and down, before surprising Jon by grabbing him in a hug and ruffling his hair. "I'll be damned if you don't look like him, and this is your wife to be?" he said as he shifted his gaze to Alys who curtsied deeply before him.
"Your Grace," she said.
"Hmm, you're a pretty lass," the King said. "And your boy? I heard there was to be two legitimizations done," he said.
"My son is asleep Your Grace," Jon said. "The wetnurse looks after him".
The King nodded, "Very well then. Jon Snow, take a knee."
Jon gulped slightly as he went down to one knee and bowed his head, 'this is really happening,' he thought.
"In my authority as King, I Robert of the House Baratheon, First of my name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, hereby name you as Jon Stark and Lord of Moat Cailin, and henceforth, in a line continuing down to your son and their sons it shall continue to be so, starting with your son Torrhen of House Stark. Do you swear to uphold your vows as a Lord of the Realm, to honour your father, your liege Lord and your King?"
"I do you Grace."
"Then rise as Jon of House Stark."
Standing up he caught his father smiling at him, before the King grabbed him in another hug and gave him a nookie with his big paw of a fist. "Come, there's drink and food to be had, and tomorrow a wedding," the King yelled suddenly, causing the men to cheer, and with his arm slung over Jon's shoulder the King led the way into the keep of Winterfell.
AN:
Seemed as a good a place as any to stop, and surely with a chapter at nearly 10k words you can't begrudge me for ending it here can you? Next up will be the wedding, moving into Moat Cailin and eventually the King's eventual return to Winterfell.