(Location: Winterfell)

2 moons later

Ned Stark

Dinner was quiet. It has been this way for a while now. The table, for the most part, was reticent and if someone had to say something it was in hush tones and they would fall back into silence. Arya had a dark scowl on her face as she looked at her plate. Bran looked pensive as he picked at his food with a fork. Robb was taking small bites of his food, face set in a hard line. Sansa was eating her food with her usual courteous of a lady as Rickon who sat to her right was smashing his carrots into small fragments. Catelyn has the appearance of her normal self as she helped Rickon eat his food. Theon was the sole person missing at the table.

"Where is joywn?" Rickon asked at no one in particular as he looked around the table to find his cou-brother.

"Stop asking that. He is not here," Arya snapped, still looking at her plate.

Rickon looked at her in curiosity. "Bu-"

"Stop asking!"

Rickon looked hurt, tears filling his eyes. Sansa looked to her little brother before looking at Arya and said, "Don't talk to him in that way. He is only a baby!"

Arya looked up from her plate to glowering at her sister. "He has been asking the same question too much. It's annoying me."

"Everything is annoying to you, like sewing dresses which is a requirement for being a lady."

Arya stood up from her seat and slammed her hands on the table, causing the utensils on the table to rise in the air and fall back on the table and making a slight ringing sound.

"Arya Stark!" Catelyn called out. "Sit back down!"

Arya sat back down and crossed her arms, scowling. "I don't like sewing," She muttered.

Bran stopped picking at his food and glanced at her. "It's something you have to be good at."

"Not if I don't want to." Arya glared at her younger brother until he shied away from her gaze.

"You have too." Catelyn gave her daughter a strict look. "It's proper for a lady to excel at sewing."

Sansa placed her fork on her plate and clapped her hands together. "If I can sew well enough, there's a chance that I will be able to make dresses with princess Rhaenys." Her eyes were glowing with enthusiastic dreams.

Arya looked at her sister with incredulous clear on her long face. "You sound stupid."

Sansa blinked and glared at her. "What are you talking about?"

Arya rolled her eyes as if it was simple. "You keep going on and on about this. It's never going to happen. It's like saying I'm going to marry prince Aegon."

Bran chuckled and Arya slapped his arm.

"It is possible!" Sansa hedged herself. "I can sew with the princess and talk about all types of enjoyable things!"

"A Stark is never, ever again going south," Ned said, seriousness coating his voice. "We Starks are not going to be subjected to their abominable games again." His father tried to play the game, and his brother and sister died for it. If Ned could, his children are never going to see the King or any other southerners.

The table descended into silence with Sansa seeming to be downhearted at his will. Ned saw that Arya was fidgeting in her seat, and her lips trembled as if she wanted to shout out something.

He was right as Arya leaned on the table and shouted, "Why are we talking about stupid sewing and the stupid south?! Jon is missing!"

Everyone turned to Ned and he can see the fire in Arya's, Bran's and Robb's eyes. Catelyn also looked worried. Ned knew she didn't like Jon's presence, but that didn't mean she wished for him to die. A 14-year-old who is all alone in the world is not favorable.

"The search party was not successful," Ned admitted. His childrens face soured as he continued. "I sent every raven to every house in the north. They did not see him I'm afraid. He is still mis-"

To everyone's shock, Arya grabbed her plate and hurled it to the wall behind her. The plate shattered as it made contact and the broken pieces crashed to the floor that made Rickon whimper at the sound it had.

Arya had her back facing them, shoulders shuddering. The table was too benumbed from shock to react immediately and they all stared at the youngest Stark girl.

"Arya?" It was Catelyn's whisper that broke the dome of silence.

There were now sniffing to be heard and a few deep hiccups that jerked her body. Arya slowly turned, instead of showing her face to them like Ned thought she would, she ran out of the room.

Robb and Catelyn stood to go after her, only for Ned to signal for them to sit back down and they did it falteringly. I should be the one to comfort her. It is my fault that Jon is gone. He was not a person that would balk at conceding when he was wrong. He was wrong now, and he would say that to the faces of every one of his bannermen without having to think twice. Ned took the responsibility to take care of Jon, to teach him his sums and make him feel that he has a family. But he failed. He failed as a father and a brother.

I'm so sorry Lyanna. Ned mentally lamented. This was his entire fault; the blame couldn't be aimed at anyone else besides him. If only I hadn't taken Jon from that tower…

Years ago, Rhaegar winning the battle of the trident was well known as was the death of Robbert Baratheon who Ned considered to be his brother in all but name. Lyanna passed away in her bed that was full of winter roses and full of scarlet blood that seemed to stick to her clothes. Amongst all the blood was a baby wrapped up in a red and black bundle. All of these deaths served him as a reminder and Ned took the baby away…

Jon could've had a loving mother in queen Elia. He could've had two loving siblings in the form of Prince Aegon and princess Rhaeyns. He would've had been a prince instead of being a Snow. And the most important of all…he could've had a better father in Rhaegar Targaryen. Ned did not like the man. He can say that he loathed him. But the king was reported to be a fair father to both of his children and Jon missed out on that. Having a fair father does not drive any child away from his home and so, Ned Stark was not fair to Jon by any means.

Ned traveled through the castle to arrive at Arya's door. The sounds of sobbing behind the door made him pause and press his ear on the wooden surface. He just stood there, listing to the way she let out her sorrow in the collective sound of gasps and more cries. Ned's shoulders slumped. I'm only good at causing other people to pain it seems. His child was hurting, the king was hurting, and Jon was hurting all because of him.

When he couldn't stand hearing his daughter's cries anymore he conservatively opened the door in order to not disturb the poor girl and entered. Arya continued to bawl on her bed with her face down on her pillow, oblivious of his intrusion.

"Arya?" Ned closed the door behind him and barred it to have privacy that he did not want to be disrupted.

Arya ceased her sobs and hiccups in her pillow and shouted, "Go away!" She hiccups again and continued to sob.

Ned tiredly sighed. Consoling his daughter will not be easy as some people may think. Arya is wild, almost as wild as Lyanna in her days. She was a passionate and loving girl. She was nicknamed 'Arya underfoot' because of her tendencies to roam around the castle night and day despite her mother's complaints. She can be headstrong at the wrong time, like the argument she had with her sister earlier. Though, Arya can sometimes be too lured in her emotions. Out of all his children, Arya took Jon's disappearance the hardest, with Robb following close at second place and Bran at the third spot.

"Arya, look at me." Ned sat on the bed, giving Arya his outmost attention.

Arya sniffed, wiping her nose as she picked up her head from her pillow to look at him. Without her stuffing her head into the pillow Ned can properly see her face. Arya's eyes were the color of red from the shiniest of rubies, and tears of grief flowed down her pale cheeks like the unruliest of rivers. Her breath came out uneven and her braided hair was in shambles, though it was always a mess, to begin with.

"You made a raucous at supper tonight," Ned casually said, stroking her hair.

Arya flinched as if she was going to get punished, but he had no intention of doing so. "I didn't mean to," She murmured. "I don't know what came over me. It's just…"

"You miss your brother," Ned finished for her.

Arya nodded slowly, a choke coming out of her throat as tears re-entered her eyes. Ned hastily shifted closer to her and wrapped her in his chest as tears drenched his cloak.

"Jon is gone!" Arya cried from his chest. "Why did he leave?"

Because of me. Ned thought instantly but he said, "I don't know."

Arya gripped his cloak and looked at him, a scowl crossing her face. "It's because of mother isn't it?"

That is most likely a part of the reason. Ned admitted. His wife never loved Jon like how she loved her children or even liked him like how she did Theon. It was understandable. Ned did claim Jon as his bastard did not like Jon since the day he carried him through the gates.

Ned forced out, "Maybe."

Arya wrinkled her nose. "She always hated Jon! She always treated him unfairly. If I was him I would run away too!"

"The matter about Jon is…complicated. Don't be too harsh on your mother. There are other problems that drove him away too."

"It's because he is not hers. And because he is a bastard." There was anger in her reply.

Ned inclined his head. "Aye, you have the right of it." Her words stuck true. He didn't like how Catelyn treated Jon. She mostly ignored the boy or scolded him. But it had to be this way. If he told his wife the truth she would treat the boy like he was her own, in which it was not a good thing. Keeping appearances for disguise was gold. Though he was now reconsidering the decision about everything.

Arya slammed her hand on her bed and shouted, "It's not fair! He did not choose to be born this way. He did not choose who he wanted for a father or a mother. So why is he treated like this?"

"I do not know my little wolf. It's just the way it works in this world." Ned sighed and gently rubbed his daughter's hair.

"The world is stupid," Arya muttered bitterly. "Jon ran away and is probably dead somewhere." Her voice caught in her throat as she said those last words.

"Don't speak that way," Ned said, lightly chastening. "Jon is a smart boy and more than capable of taking care of himself." Am I trying to reassure her or I'm trying to reassure myself?

Arya glared up at him through her watery gaze. "But he is alone out there! He can't survive by himself! 'The lone wolf dies but the pack survives'. He is the lone wolf! He has no pack, father!"

Ned swallowed as Arya resumed her sobs in the place of his arms. For a moment he listened to her gasps and her rattled hiccups and then looked outside the small window to see snow falling to the ground.

Oh, Jon. Where are you? Ned thought with despair as the snow continued to blow.

Jon

(Location: Vessel)

He cannot expel the sickness that thickened in his stomach and neither can he banish the waves that crashed against the hull of the ship. My stomach and the sea do not agree with me. Jon thought in twisted dry humor before feeling another urgency to throw up all his bile he had been reigning in for the past few weeks. He tightly covered his mouth and swallowed deeply until the unpleasant sensation-that harassed him for the entire travel-retreated to the depths of his insides.

Looking at everything around him, the people who were underneath the deck seemed to be just as miserable as he. Men and women alike sang soothing songs to their wailing babies to no avail. Their cries were in tune with the cracking thunder as the juxtaposition was proven to be true. A few people vomited in their personal barrel as it was full from the bottom to the top with puke. Jon's throat tingled with nausea and he had to look away.

"It's a shitty day for a shitty vessel," Was the dry comment from the bunk beside him. The man lay on his with his hands behind his neck as he stared upwards, just seeing but not the intent.

His name was Bronn. The man told him that when they first settled into this vessel. He was crude, impudent, and says many curses that the septa back in Winterfell would faint from horror. But Jon had no one to talk to, and so he responded.

"How so?" Jon asked, turning in his bunk to face him.

Bronn snorted and grandly swept his arms to the view of their neighbors. "Just look for yourself, and tell me how this isn't shitty."

Jon did not look. "Do you always have a complaint about everything?"

"No. Not really," Bronn casually said. "I save the ones that needed to be said for the good of the others. You will be agreeing with me if some of that dirty vomit touches you."

Jon glanced to the side to see barrels being tipped dangerously as the ship crested another wave. Some grabbed hold of their barrels while others merely let it spill to the floor. None spared a glance at the leaking bile and neither did Jon but he did keep an eye out if it gets too close.

"I'll keep that in mind," Jon said.

Bronn hummed and glanced at him. "You know, I never caught your name, boy."

"Jon Snow."

"Snow…" Bronn thoughtfully murmured to herself. "What's a northern bastard traveling to Essos for?" He asked.

Jon clenched his hands at being called such. Bronn saw this and chuckled. "Why are you getting all cranky for? Is it because I called you a bastard?"

He just stared at him. Bronne laughed and said, "If you're getting so offended now, imagine stepping on Essos. You are going to get your ass eaten up. Trust me on this, bastard."

He's right. Jon grudgingly admitted. He was entering unknown territory with nothing but the clothes on his back and the meager supplies he had brought with him, he has to be better. If he wanted to make a name for himself and to survive more than a few moons he has to have more control if someone calls him a bastard.

"What's a young lad like you going to do in Essos?" Bronn asked after he made his point through.

"Join the ranks of the Golden Company," Jon said. He had been pondering on this for a great deal while he has been traveling to White Harbor and after when he secured passage on a vessel. The Golden Company was acknowledged as the finest Sellsword Company in many cities. They were occupied by exiles and other low-born folk like him. What's a better way to improve than being with the best?

Bronn laughed at him again and Jon was starting to get irritated. "What do you find amusing?" Jon demanded.

The man stopped his laughter to answer. "Aren't you a bit young to sign for them?" Bronn eyed him up and down.

"Are you questioning my sword arm?" Jon asked, more than a little offended. He tweaked and polished his swords play for all of his life. When he was in the courtyard with a sword in his hands, he became another person. Jon took it seriously and was hurt that somebody spat dirt on his talent.

"No. I question your balls." Bronn's face was rid of its teasing and seriousness replaced it. "Joining the Golden Company is not going to be as you thought it will be. You don't look like a man preparing for battle but a green boy who is too frightened to take a life."

"I am ready. I'm not afraid," Jon said with most of his rigidness clear in his voice. "I know what I'm heading in to."

"No, you don't." Bronn shook his head. "You don't know what's in store for you in that company. There are going to be nights where you will get no sleep and wondering if you survive to get your meal the next day. You will be sweaty and exhausted like hell in their golden armor of theirs and will be unable to take it off for days. You will be forced to kill, and sometimes you have to kill the people you know are innocent. The battle is going to be an entirely different scenario."

"Whatever training that you had will not make you qualified for this. There will be actual fighting and there will be death. You'll be terrified and for a good reason. There are always men that piss themselves before the battle commences."

Jon paused to process what Bronn said. He was shaken. The man's words painted a different portrayal in his mind. From the way the words were said, the man had some experience being in a Sellswords company himself.

He clenched his jaw hard and shook his head just as hard. This is going to be his path, his journey. He was tired of people telling him what or not to do, he had enough of that in Winterfell. He was the man of his own destiny and he will prove the world that bastards have worth just like the highborn does.

I'm not turning away. Jon thought with determination. He looked at Bronn with steel in his eyes. "You have my thanks for telling me this…information. But this is what's best for me now."

"Don't say that I didn't tell you so. If you aren't already dead that is," Bronn scoffed.

"I'm not going to die. You know what? If I ever meet you again I will prove my point."

"You don't know that," Bronn sharply countered. "You are signing for war, boy. There is a chance that you will die before even slaying a single man in combat.

Jon shook his head and Bronn sighed again.

Bronn asked, "Why are you even leaving the north? From what I heard the northerners are not typically fond of leaving their frozen lands."

"The north is not just frozen lands," Jon defended. Bronn snorted. "And I had to leave." He said those words softly.

"Why did you have to leave?" Bronn asked, curious.

For a lot of things. Jon thought. This was the same question he has been asking himself ever since he was assigned to a bunk on this vessel. But the answer never disappointed into emerging when he thought he lacked the justification. He was a bastard. He was an outsider. Catelyn has a suspicion that he plotted to take his cousin's inheritance because the south viewed base-born folks like him as evil and vile creatures. And if he had stayed, his father's relationship with his wife would continue to spoil. Jon has no intention to tarnish his family. He couldn't stay.

"That's between me and the gods," Jon said.

"Whatever you say, bastard." Bronn looked away and placed his hands behind his head and started whistling an unfamiliar tune.

XXX

(Location: Myr)

Jon slugged his baggage over his shoulders as he walked through the thin hued grass. The sun blazed down at him and he sighed. Why is it so bloody hot? He was not from here; he was from the north where the cold was almost a part of him. The cold has been with him for so long that experiencing a different weather first hand had him disorientated from the heat.

I have to get used to it.

When Jon arrived at Braavos, the first he had done was to ask where the Golden Company's camp was stationed. To his relief and to his ire, the camp was located around the city of Myr. And that meant he had to board another ship to endure another round of days feeling pathetic and he even vomited on himself along the way.

But now I'm here. Jon thought as he smiled. A steep hill lay in his wake and he climbed through the soreness of his legs and stopped at the top. He breathed the fresh air and looked down.

The Golden Company's camp was enormous and, unsurprisingly, it was organized. The gold tents were lined up in rows and it stretched down the land that his eyes cannot see. To his left was a large field where he supposed was the place to spar and practice. Jon's eyes widen as Elephants were led by men with long ropes. The animals were strong and muscled as it lumbered side-by-side with their human counterparts. One of those Elephants barked a trumpet through its trunk as it was raised in the air.

Jon stared at the gorgeous animals before he snapped out of it and slid down the hill. He brushed himself free of the dirt and the stray grass and approached the camp. He was near the first of the tents when two sentries, wearing a full set of golden armor, strode to him.

"What brings you here?" One of the sentries demanded, grabbing the sword that was in his sheath but not drawing it.

Jon straightened his back and said, "I'm a recruit."

They looked at each other. Instead of laughing at him like how Bronn did, the one who spoke to him walked off into the camp. Realizing what he was doing, Jon followed him at a respective distance.

Men with hard expressions watched him as he and the guard passed. Some were outside of their tent cleaning their armor, and others were sharpening their swords, but they all watched him. Their gazes felt critical, almost like there are judging him as if he was not ready to be a recruit. I'm ready.

Jon breathed in and out before holding his head high as he followed the sentry. They passed three tents before stopping in front of another one. Jon ceased walking as he stared at the ring of pikes that surrounded the tent. The Golden-dipped skulls on top of the pikes seemed to stare right into his soul, even when it lacked the eyeballs to do so. It was unnerving. The rumors about the skulls are true. Jon thought as he examined the artwork. He heard that they decorated the skulls of previous leaders and set them on pikes. Jon didn't believe it back then, but now he did.

The sentry stepped to the side and swept his hand to the tent. "In there is the captain-general and where you will sign." Without waiting for a response he walked back to where they came.

Jon gripped his baggage tightly and calmed his breathing and entered the tent. In the tent were a couple of chairs and a table in the center. A tall man, blond and wearing fine armor, stood from the table with his hands crossed behind his back.

"Welcome," Harry said smoothly, his accent strong. "By my reckoning, you wish to join my company?"

Jon forced a nod and Harry said no more. The captain-general merely pointed at the contract on the table and the quill and stood on his feet silently. Jon pulled up a comfortable chair and looked at the paper on the table, his purple eyes zipping through the information. If he signed, he will be in the service for two years at maximum. After those two years were done he had a choice to leave or sign for another couple of years.

This is acceptable. Jon decided to himself as he grabbed the quill and dipped it in some ink. He placed the quill over the place where he should put his name but he paused, his arm hovering but not touching the paper.

If he signed this, he will be in close proximity with those that are killers. Not just killers, but killers who take pleasure into taking life. But he will be welcomed. He always wanted to be welcomed without having to shy away from mocking stares or the glares from Lady Stark.

Thinking of Lady Stark made him muse over his siblings back in the north. What will they think about me leaving? Will they care or would they rejoice that I'm finally gone?

Arya's teary face flashed in his mind. His hand that gripped the quill tightened, still, his hand stayed where it was.

Do I want to make a name for myself or go back being the bastard of Winterfell that will inherit not a damn thing? He then thought of the slights that he was given for all his life. He thought about Theon's hurtful jests. He thought about the anger and contempt in the eyes of the northern lords that thought he was a living symbol that brought shame to the great and honorable Eddard Stark as they saw him. He thought about how Sansa was so distant with him, feeling that she was slowly moving from his reach as time gradually passed. It was painful and heart wrenching thinking about this, but he has to. He needed the motivation to leave his household that he had been living in for years or else his plan would blow up in a cloud of dust and he will be reduced to nothing but ashes.

With a flick of his wrist, the name was signed.

"Good," Harry said. He picked up the contract and narrowed his eyes. "You're from the north," He stated.

"Aye." Is this a problem? Jon hoped not. But his hopes were being chipped away piece by piece as Harry looked at him with a new eye.

Harry dropped the contract on the table and watched him. The captain-general sat in his seat without taking his eyes off him. "You are the bastard son of Eddard Stark."

Jon stiffened. How did he know? "I am." Those words were hard to say.

"The warden of the north is turning every hovel and every rock on their sides in the north looking for you."

He's searching for me? A flicker of warmth filled his heart before he turned it away with a faint whisper. Jon didn't want his father looking for him. He wanted to be away, being his own man for once. It has to be this way.

"Are you going to send me back to the north?" Jon asked casually.

Harry rubbed his jaw before he shook his head. "No. You traveled all away from the north just to be a part of this company, to be part of our cause. At this moment, you are going to find your own tent and your own armor in this camp."

Jon let out a quick breath of relief. He stood up, grabbed his baggage and walked to the entrance of the tent.

"What's beneath the gold?" Harry called out, stopping his walk.

Jon paused. He licked his lips and replied in a strong voice, "The bitter steel."

He can imagine the captain-general nodding as he left the tent.