Jon I

The day was young, and the fast had not been broken when Torrhen Snow would arrive with an escort of an older knight with a great beard- each on a horse. Father, Robb, Theon, and Jon had gone out to meet their guests in the courtyard. When Jon met him for the first time when he was younger, he thought they were brothers since they shared the same surname of Snow. Later, Father discussed with him what Snow meant.

"Ser Marlon," Father greeted. "And this must be young Torrhen. I pray your journey was smooth." While the knight stood upright, the boy gazed at the earth beneath his feet.

"Rough at first," Ser Marlon described. "Young Bryan Snow was a fledgling rider on his pony. The lad couldn't stay calm and kept pulling on the reins."

"Forgive me, Ser Marlon," Father declared. "While still a Snow, my cousin and his lady wife had decided on the name Torrhen during their last visit. While at Winterfell, I will respect his wishes for his sake and the boy's namesake." Torrhen looked up at Lord Father.

"I understand," Ser Marlon agreed. "No one wishes to dishonor their kin, as I don't wish to dishonor my cousin's decision on the matter. It's been a long ride since our last stop. Might the boy and I grab something to eat after he settles down?"

"Certainly," Father agreed. "You will receive bread and salt, among any other needs you have. Boys, would you show Torrhen to his room? Meet us in the hall after."

Three years had passed since Jon had last seen Torrhen. He stood taller than any of the boys, even the eldest Theon. His dark brown hair was similar to Jon's, but his moon colored eyes could light the night. His stature was tall, but his posture felt grieved. When they were younger, he spoke often and loudly. Now, not a word was said as Robb led them to Torrhen's room. Its heavy brown door was a short stretch past Jon's own place.

"Here is your room," Robb declared. Torrhen nodded sluggishly.

"Not even a thank you?" Theon prodded. "The bastard has no manners." Jon winced. He didn't quite understand why a bastard was disliked, but people threw the word out as an insult at him, and now Torrhen too. It felt cruel to poke fun of a boy who will never know his mother.

"Even you barely spoke a word your first day, Theon," Robb laughed. Robb was a kind older brother, even to those he was not. "He's not rude, just shy."

The boys walked into the plain room. Everything was tidy yet untouched from the emptiness. Torrhen set down a small, deflated pack, looking as empty as the room. Father had told Robb, Jon, and Theon concerning what happened to Torrhen. His parents died, but because he was called a bastard, he wouldn't inherit Sterling Castle or anything of his fathers.

"Thank you, my lord," Torrhen mumbled. He looked at his three peers, not moving anything but his wandering eyes between their own feet. "I don't know what to do now."

"We'll go eat," Jon enthused. "I'm sure the cook made something good."

"Aye, Father and Ser Marlon expect us in the hall," Robb agreed. Quietly the boys walked. Robb occasionally gazed to Torrhen, wishing to jump at a chance to speak to him, and Theon wistfully smirked and snickered to himself down the hall. Torrhen walked beside Jon pace for pace, struggling to keep his eyes ahead.

At their varied paced arrival the boys ate together with the rest of house Stark. Torrhen was still quiet, barely saying a word. Father and Ser Marlon went on about the Stark children and bits of the periods when Torrhen would stay at Winterfell and White Harbor. Lady Stark was missing, nursing baby Brandon. Probably a good thing too. Her stare was a tantrum. She didn't like Jon because he was a bastard, so she'd dislike Torrhen also. It was pleasant to know her fiendish gaze wouldn't harm them on his first day.

After eating Ser Marlon and Father continued to speak at length and the boys were instructed to show Torrhen around all of Winterfell. Toddler Arya wished to follow but couldn't keep up, so she and Sansa stayed behind with the septa while Lady Stark was busy. The day was dull and long, where they marched around Winterfell with purpose as they had done with Theon months ago, only interrupted by a leaving Ser Marlon. As the journey finished at the Godswood, Torrhen finally reacted before the heart tree, mesmerized by its face, his lips carrying no words while his eyes read the tree's stance and perked his ears as if hearing the voice of a kind stranger. The boys began playing, Torrhen too at their prodding, until supper and bed. The day ended with Jon feeling that both everything and nothing occurred- a silent cousin to live with them.

Horrifying screams sieged Winterfell's castle, bouncing off the hall outside in an unspeakable screeching whisper that sounds like blades of ice crashing into each other. Old nan had told the boys the stories before. The Others, giants, wildlings, monstrous spiders, snow bears, and many a creature would like to eat all in the castle, yet whatever made the noise sounded wounded and scared. Jon managed to trudge his feet to the door and peek outside, the scream only getting louder.

"Haien," the voice screeched. It was otherworldly.

Father marched down the hall shortly with the maester and Ser Rodrik both rustled from bed followed by a night guard clutching his sword.

"How long has he been like this?" Father asked.

"I've been hearing him do this for close to ten minutes now, m'lord," the guard whimpered. "He sounds like he's possessed by an Other."

"Don't be ridiculous," Maester Luwin declared. "He's a boy. He's probably having night terrors." Their voices faded as they reached Torrhen's room. The screaming ended shortly.

As the week went on, Torrhen grew quieter as his shouts loudened. No one could do anything. Robb tried his best to be inclusive, Theon wanted to make him laugh, while the little siblings attempted small acts of kindness, but everything faltered when they stopped getting decent sleep. Father was shaken by the screams. Nothing in Jon's life have he could imagine would make his father anxious, but as he found Father speaking to Torrhen once, he heard mutterings of a towerand Father has been pacing ever since. Maester Luwin treated him with different medicines, yet nothing could appease his mind.

After a week of terror in the night, the screams suddenly vanished. Out of habit, Jon awoke in the darkness. Hearing nothing, a curiosity overwhelmed him. He hadn't seen Torrhen scream. Was he ok now? Against his memories forcibly staying awake from the terrifying sounds he got up, lightly stepped down the hall, and entered Torrhen's room to find the bed made with no one resting inside. Instead of going to father or getting a guard, he left for the only place he thought Torrhen could be. None wanted to be woken once more on his behalf.

Amidst the Godswood, before the great weirwood was Torrhen covered in shadows as the first hint of sunlight began taking a peek at Winterfell. He rested against the heart tree, moving slightly as Jon grew near.

"Why have you come here?" Torrhen asked wearily.

"To make sure you were alright," Jon stated. "I didn't want to wake the others. They've gotten little sleep as it is."

"We hold the same reason for coming here then," Torrhen spoke. "Your family is annoyed by me, and Lord Stark doesn't wish me to tell him my dreams. I didn't wish to keep everyone up, so I resolved to stay awake, but it was impossible in my bed, so I came here."

"Our family," Jon corrected. "Why come to the Godswood?"

"I sense something from the tree," Torrhen mumbled. "I feel safe."

"What are you dreaming that makes you afraid?"

"My parents," Torrhen lamented. "Not just their deaths, but the worst parts of their life. I dream of my father losing his father, mother doing that which she does not want, and a monster who curses their existence."

"A monster? What about the monster was scary?" Jon questioned. He knew he couldn't talk about his parent's deaths with no idea what to say.

"He controlled winter," Torrhen elaborated. "Blizzards swarmed at the wave of his hand. His sword could strike down mountains with loyal soldiers which numbered like snowfall. Dragons fled his presence. He wore a silver crown atop his head."

"Not what he looked like? Aren't monsters supposed to look scary?" Torrhen was silent, keeping his tongue at bay knowing the answer.

"I guess," Torrhen said. "Not this one though."

"He sounds like a mighty king if he has a crown," Jon suggested. "Maybe he will protect you instead?" Torrhen's head straightened for a moment before resting.

"The Old Gods will protect me then," Torrhen told him. Jon couldn't tell if he was making a jest, but he hoped Torrhen was true. His eyes began to slip as the sun lifted its light into the sky. "What if I'm the monster?"

"Then you're an idiot," Jon declared. "For only an idiot would think you're a monster. You look far from scary, and the only thing you hurt is the castle's sleep." Behind him were soft footsteps crunching in the snow.

"I thought someone was missing," Father said, appearing beneath out of a tree's shadow. "Two someones apparently. It's good to see him rest." He closed the distance with gentle steps.

"Lord Father, do you think Torrhen is a monster?" Jon asked. His father gazed at the boys.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jon," Father assured. Torrhen rustled to his feet. "The farthest thing from it. He's having a hard time, but he will grow, for winter is coming."

"And rebirth comes in winter dreams," Torrhen spoke.

"Aye," Father agreed. "Winter changes people, for better or worse. Even a monster can become noble when starving in a winter, and a noble Lord can become heartless if it means his castle skips a meal. It matters not if you are a monster, although you are not. It matters who you become." The godswood whistled from the breeze between the multitude of branches, rising in a faint song stretching between the trees. "If nothing else, pray. Search the godswood for assurance, for we are safe here."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Torrhen said half-hazard. "I think I understand. The nightmares are only real if I let them be."

"No, the nightmares are real," Father coldly promised. Torrhen turned towards the tree, clutching the bone-colored bark. "What matters is where you go from there, and that is why you will be my ward. I am not content to leave you in weakness."

Jon knew not what to say, nor did Torrhen he guessed, for not even low mumblings came from his tongue. Only the sounds of the early morning whispered beneath forest's face, with the birth of a faint chirp in the distance and a rustling courtyard wakening into daily activities.

"Thank you," Torrhen spoke bittersweetly, averting his eyes to the weirwood. "I will work hard, as I did for Father and Mother."

"Let's go eat," Father smiled.

The castle continued to rest, and in a few days, the dawn had come has it always has. The sun leaned weakly in the sky when Jon, Robb, Theon, and Torrhen entered into the courtyard, still slippery from a slightly muddied ground by a light snow dew. Four dummies had been set up near a castle wall, bits of hay protruding from its worn sacks.

"Grab a wooden practice sword," Rodrik commanded. "It's time to practice wielding a sword." Jon could see Robb's excitement. They had practiced hitting each other with sticks but barely grasped a practice sword. Father promised they were nearing the age to start practicing regularly, but the lessons were irregular at best. Now, they could pick up a wooden sword again.

"We have to use wooden swords," Theon groaned. Rodrik didn't say a word, only raising his eyebrows as if returning his question with another question.

"We haven't been allowed to hit dummies yet," Robb enthused. "Is it finally time?"

"Yes, my Lord," Rodrik said. "Your Lord Father and I spoke about it. Since Torrhen's never wielded a blade in his life, he needs to begin training immediately. And we agreed it's better to have you three start at the same time."

"He's never wielded a sword?" Theon laughed. "What was he learning?"

"How to be a Lord," Torrhen stated. "Father said managing our money was more important than fighting. When war happened and he road south, he picked up the basics of sword fighting easily enough.

"A bastard being a lord?" Theon asked. "Are you sure he didn't let you wield a sword because you would hit yourself in the head?"

"Perhaps picking up a sword and wielding it battle for a time could help drill the basics into him," Rodrik contended. "But mastery takes years, and Lord Stark wishes you all to have mastery in the sword when it's needed. Like all skills, learning from an early age helps root the basics for the rest of life."

"What is complex about mastering swordsmanship?" Torrhen asked. "Father always just wielded a sword with no problem. Aren't the basics obvious?" Jon's ears piqued with interest. Something in him tightened at the question. He noticed Robb listening intently beside him as if any distracting thing Theon would say was unintelligible.

"A master swordsman has many qualities," Rodrik explained. "Being in excellent shape, fighting with wit, caution, self-certainty, a calm attitude, timing, knowing your reach, and lacking a predictable rhythm among other qualities. The ability of a master starts with the basics." He bent his knees ever slightly, digging his feet lightly into the ground with the crumbling mud whispering readiness. "Having a firm stance yet remaining nimble is critical. A trained soldier can dig his feet into the ground to strike or parry but move again in a moment's notice." The northern knight unsheathed his sword swiftly, the steel echoing off its leather sheaths. "Wielding the blade itself takes time. Blades come in different weights and lengths. Building up the strength to where its effortless is paramount when entering into a battle." He rested the blade to his side, maintaining his grip, ready to strike. "And then there's breathing. Exhaling in and out periodically to regulate your bodies' state. Being of clear mind is important in choosing strikes, as well as avoiding hits. An anxious man is too focused on the sword to notice a kick or enemy attack from behind. Letting fear take over your thoughts can kill you." Torrhen's face turned downcast, a sour thought which seemed to hang on his tongue left unspoken.

Jon wielded his wooden blade in his right hand. They were to practice holding the sword proper hand placement and strike the air, and if they showed enough endurance, they could hit a dummy. The weight of a wooden sword felt nearly unbearable for longer than a minute, setting it down into the engulfing ground. They were expected to do this for a while.

"It's heavy, isn't it Jon?" Torrhen asked.

"Aye," Jon said. "I can't believe Father does this with steel."

"Valyrian Steel," corrected Robb. "It's a bit lighter, but Ice is enormous for a greatsword."

"My father was larger than most," Torrhen said. "I don't think holding a sword was hard for him because he was so big, but he never trained with it because it wasn't hard."

"The gifted don't always take advantage of their opportunity," Rodrik elaborated.

"I'm surprised it's heavy for you, Torrhen," Robb reflected. "You're bigger than Theon." Honestly, it was strange. Of everyone here, Theon had the least difficulty holding a practice sword despite Torrhen easily being the biggest one. His timing in maintaining possession, dropping the sword to his side to rest on, and picking it up with renewed vigor was barely better than Jon's own rhythm. At their pace, when they are Torrhen's age, they will be vastly superior.

"I'm glad it's heavy," Torrhen decided.

"Talent can rob discipline," Rodrik declared. "It will not be like that here. This will be hard work, but after getting used to swinging practice swords, you can begin fighting each other."

"We'll finally fight each other as men, Jon," Robb promised.

"You're still boys," Rodrik said. "You can fight each other as men when you've grown some more."

"Still, I want to face you, Jon," Robb spoke. "We won't have to war with sticks forever." Jon struck upwards into the air, the wooden blade skidding off the ground whispering into the sky above, delighting with the prospect.

At the edge of the courtyard, above on the castle's walkway, was Father watching and smiling with gentle curiosity out of the corner of Jon's eye. Valor filled Jon's spirit, each swing with as much as strength as he could muster. He wanted to learn how to fight with a sword to fight Robb in courageous single combat, yet murmurs buzzed in the back of his mind to be like Father, a noble warrior capable of defeating the greatest swordsman who ever lived. That would make Father the best, Jon realized. To fight with his brother and be like his Father were his heart's simple desire. The day felt well spent.

Years seemed to fly by. Torrhen's fourteenth nameday had just passed when Ser Rodrik was going to take Robb, Torrhen, and Jon hunting. The southeastern tip of the Wolfswood was only two hours away by horse. They had to get up early to arrive by dawn, shortly before the first feeding. Hunting for sport was a treat not to be done frivolously, as much of the North's incomes come from game. While, as Lord of the North, Lord Father could go hunting as much as he wanted on his own lands, he refused to accept zealously hunting for sport anything but irresponsible and a detriment to future incomes of the people he serves and Winterfell outside of special occasion. They were never prohibited from it, but they all knew Father's attitude. But today, the three boys would hunt together in competition freely, guided by Ser Rodrik. They would hunt bucks, no more than one for each of them, as they would take home whatever they could carry. Whoever had the buck with the biggest rack would win. Delight settled in his heart. The day could only be better if Father were here.

Dawn had yet to even crack over the horizon, as the night sky had begun to slightly change color from its pitch black to adding minor tints of blue and yellow through clouds covering the heavens above. Steps were taken with caution, as the crackling of branches and leaves could alert prey. It was lucky the wind was flowing against them. No deer could smell them coming.

"Look for what doesn't belong, the slightest movement, and be watchful of unseeable places," Ser Rodrik reminded the three of them, as they began to hike in. While he was no Lord Father, Jon had grown to respect Ser Rodrik greatly as the master of arms at Winterfell. Under Ser Rodrik, the four boys grew as warriors, each with a different talent in swordsmanship.

Each day had become a treasure to Jon, and the wild little Arya would come to follow them around wherever they went, interested in whatever they did all day long. Robb would always love and chastise her- she had to listen to mother no matter how much he enjoyed playing with her. He was disciplined. Theon paid little attention to her- or anyone not Robb or Lord Father for that matter- he seemed far more interested in girls older than himself. Whatever he did was done confidently. Jon himself adored his little sister, and while Lady Catelyn didn't like the two spending time together, they found a way to play through his careful observation. He would always find a way.

With Torrhen, Arya was initially ignored by him, but he rarely spoke, to begin with. Even as time went on, the childish gregariousness he once had permanently departed. He would only talk with an initiative to Jon and Father for many a moon's turns until one day Arya had vanished. The better part of two hours was spent searching for her, with Lady Catelyn quite livid, questioning all the children she could. At one point, she was found praying with Torrhen before the heart tree, hair and clothes covered in dirt. The entire Stark family was there to watch.

"How could you not tell us you knew where she was?" Catelyn asked indignantly. Jon could still hear the frustration and motherly wrath in her voice. The scene from a year ago felt clear.

"I didn't know she was missing, Lady Stark," Torrhen responded, Arya, hiding behind like a pup ready to bolt.

"The entire castle is searching for her for how long, and you didn't know?" Catelyn retorted.

"I've been praying, Lady Stark," Torrhen stated.

"For two hours?" Catelyn asked. Jon, not wishing to worsen the situation with his presence, stayed a slight distance away, yet he could feel her eyes roll with enough force to turn over the castle.

"Aye, Lady Stark," Torrhen said. Jon could feel his stomach in knots while simply watching the scene, yet Torrhen was calm before her. "She wished to pray too, so I've been showing her how."

"Then show me," Catelyn demanded. "Arya, show me how to pray to the Old Gods." Not a second later, Arya sat on the ground, mumbling before the weirwood.

"I think Lady Stark wishes to hear the words, Lady Arya," Torrhen chuckled.

"To the gods of the weirwood, I pray for peace for myself," Arya declared. "I don't remember most of what Torrhen spoke, but he said you were always listening, and that there were no special words for prayer." A gentle breeze inconspicuously flew underneath the godswood, whispering a wordless response. "I pray for my mom, that she's not angry, because no one enjoys being angry. I pray that Torrhen doesn't get in trouble for teaching me how to pray to you. I don't know what else to say. Thank you for hearing my prayers." Lady Stark smiled at her daughter.

"Next you'll learn about the Seven," Catelyn determined. "They'll be happy to hear your prayers too." She had begun to walk Arya back to castle.

"I don't really care about praying," Arya said. "I just wanted to see what Torrhen was doing, and he promised to play with me later." It was only a moment before they and everyone else were out of earshot.

The next day, Torrhen kindly kept his word and was convinced by Arya to keep playing with her long after, while she began to pray with him on occasion. Nothing spectacular happened, but it awed Jon that Torrhen was able to take Lady Stark's anger. Yet Arya's persistent curiosity had performed the more significant task of warming Torrhen up to others, albeit slightly, since then. The early makings of a knotted stomach and an angry Lady Stark led to balance.

As the grey sky and forest top covered the sun's gift of light, the four of them had each found a position relatively close to each other, vigilantly watching for the slightest movement. Jon felt eager to see the biggest deer. Finding whatever animal they were hunting by the size and shape tracks came easily to Rodrik with a lifetime of experience. Robb was an excellent shot and didn't need to close as much distance once an animal was spotted. Torrhen was the worst shot, but he had luck like no one would believe with animals. Animals couldn't notice his presence. Jon and Robb watched him take a doe once. They both swore he could have killed it with a blade before it saw him, but he- and everyone else they told- thought they were jesting. The others had won enough; it was Jon's time to take the largest buck.

A bowstring smacked the air. The wailing of a dying deer accompanied the sound carried by the breeze. To his right was Robb, who he spotted moving swiftly after his prey.

"I got the first one," Robb shouted. They gathered at Robb's prize. On his right were one tine and two more on his left. "He has six points."

"Not a very big buck," Torrhen said. "It won't be hard to beat."

"Bigger than your buck, Other Snow," Robb assured. Jon laughed at his jest, as it was one of his favorites. As the second bastard to live in Winterfell, Torrhen wasn't deserving to be called "Snow" correctly, for it was Robb's blessed name for Jon. Gutting the animal right there and leaving it's unnecessary parts behind and keeping its head, Robb kept what he could in his pack.

"Well done, my Lord," Ser Rodrik said. "A quick find. If speed mattered in your competition, you'd have won for sure."

"Certainly," Robb agreed, "But now the hunt is already over. I must enjoy the forest while I still can."

"Your hunt is over," Jon said. "Our hunt is only beginning." The boys helped Robb out with disposing of the carcass and trekked away lest a predator stumbles upon them while smelling poignant guts.

A few hundred yards away was Robb's early success, as they now stood atop a slight hill surrounded by trees, with a clearing at the base of both short hills. Behind the hill, there was a brook, with high grass all around. Game trails cleared small pathways from the creek to the edge of the clearing which fed back into a thicker forest. Jon and Torrhen both watched the back side of the hill into the clearing, each with their own half. Rodrik spotted down the area they had previously come from. Jon and Torrhen were further blessed with the wind still against them compared to Rodrik's hiking musk traveling to ward off all animals.

Hours passed, and soon it was close to lunch. The boys regathered at Rodrik's position, ready to gorge on bread made when they awoke early for their journey. It was no longer fresh, but on any empty stomach it satisfied.

"I don't know how we haven't seen anything yet, Jon," Torrhen puzzled. "You would think we could see one out of range coming for a drink."

"It's a shame," Jon admitted. "How can I win if there's nothing out there? If it weren't for Robb, I'd think deer were as real snarks and grumkins." Rodrik rustled for his bow.

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about that or Robb winning the day," Rodrik snorted. Walking straight towards them was an enormous buck, waving through the smaller clearing Robb took his in. His antlers were siege weapons, capable of busting down the gates of Winterfell. At least five tines were on each side, with twenty points. "That's the damn largest buck I've ever seen here." Rodrik's shot was readied. The Buck continued his path straightforward.

"Come on," Robb whispered. "Turn. Show him your broadside." The buck stopped well within range and slowly turned, cautiously watching, as if grasping the air's scent.

"Perfect," Ser Rodrik determined. The string smacked his arm as the arrow soared towards its target. Faster than lightning instinctual reflexes pulled something deep within the deer, who had jumped forward simultaneously as the arrow released from the bow. The arrow whiffed behind the deer's anxious first stride, cutting through several blades of grass like a stainless blade. "Seven Hells."

"Do the old gods have seven hells?" Jon jested.

"They do not," Robb laughed. "But after that luck, it certainly feels like they do."

"As a miracle comes for me, so it does go against me," Ser Rodrik lamented.

"The deer moved exactly when you had shot quick enough not even to graze him," Jon said. "I've never seen such bad lack."

"Torrhen could have killed a doe once with a blade," Robb said. "Certainly we can see the exact opposite?" Jon nodded in agreement. For every stroke of luck, someone somewhere probably has equally bad luck.

"I'm surprised there's been no comment from Torren," Rodrik pondered as he sat back down. Torrhen was still standing up, taking in the events.

"It's like he's in awe," Robb described.

"How are you not in awe?" Torrhen asked. "If that happened a thousand times, he will at least hit the deer all but a couple." Together they all sat once more, taking in bread before the next stage of their hunt.

Jon and Torrhen stayed in their spots, overlooking the clearing. It was a wondrous sight, even with the sun hiding amidst the clouds above. Wilderness expanded before him; it was wild, untamed land ready to be explored. The smooth flow of the stream poured on the bed's rocks, bubbling back up as it went further south. Few birds chirped in the distance, thankfully none nearby alerting others to their presence. The world was at peace. For a moment, Jon felt like he could close his eyes as he sat beneath a tree, taking it all in.

"Jon," Torrhen whispered. "Jon," he repeated, shaking him. Jon opened his eyes. Torrhen was crouching over him. "How long have you been asleep?"

"I fell asleep?" Jon asked. "Aye, I guess I did."

"Grab your bow," Torrhen commanded quietly. "That enormous buck Rodrik missed has been standing at the stream for a couple of minutes now." Jon rustled up, grabbing his bow. Before him, in the same scene as before he shut his eyes, was now a magnificent creature. His glory for all the world to see, with his antlers resembling a crown for him to be considered the king of the forest. He stood perfectly still.

"Why didn't you take him?" Jon asked. "You saw him."

"He's right where you have been looking," Torrhen said. "I figured you saw him and were waiting to show his broadside." Lining the air on his bow, pulling back the string, Jon looked down sight, waiting for the creature to turn, but it never did. It never moved.

"I need to get closer," Jon said, moving parallel with the stream a good hundred yards behind the deer, inching closer until he was within range. The high grass covered the buck's chest, making a clear shot to the lungs or heart impossible. Each step Jon took to get closer felt like the Buck would prance away, gracefully dodging another shot like Rodrik's. Soon, the distance closed was within the range of the buck's charge. If he missed and pissed the deer off, it could be his life, but something was off. Whatever he did, it felt like he was unseen. The deer quietly stood still, gazing at the game trail he came from, frozen in time. Readying his bow, Jon fired fearlessly expecting the Buck to react, but the reaction never came. At least, running away or charging at Jon wasn't the reaction, for the buck keeled over and fell to the ground instantly as if the creature was already dead.

"You got him," Torrhen cheered, rushing over. Robb and Rodrik heard and seemed to be shortly behind.

"It seems you won this day, Snow," Robb said.

"Torrhen and Rodrik haven't gotten anything yet," Jon assured. "I haven't won."

"You were asleep a while, Jon," Torrhen responded. "It's nearly dusk. We don't have much time left. We don't want to be here with venison in our packs at night." Pride swelled in Jon's heart. He had won. Winning wasn't like he thought it would be, since Torrhen spotted the Buck and woke him up, yet victory was as delicious as the venison would be.

"He's right," Rodrik said. "As soon as you boys gut and pack the Buck, we're heading home." Jon understood. Not long before the hide was taken off, the excellent cuts stripped with a clean knife, and the head removed as a prize had the sky settled to a faint orange behind the clouds.

Walking back to camp wasn't quick and near the distance being closed light thumps tapped on the ground like a group of wrestling squirrels fighting over acorns behind thick brush. Robb and Ser Rodrik kept moving on, but Torrhen stayed behind, hesitating at the bushes.

"I need to see what's behind here," Torrhen said.

"It's probably some squirrels or something," Jon responded. "Let's hurry. The sun's nearly down. We need to get back to Winterfell."

"No," Torrhen said. "You can catch up with the others. There is something I must do." There were moments as if for no reason, Torrhen acted haunted. His face was stern, with a voice slightly thicker than usual, a furrowed brow, and a tense stance. Jon had moments too when people brought up his mother, and he grew serious in heart, downcast in spirit. Being called a bastard, for all its pain and frustration, paled in comparison to not even knowing who birthed him. The surname Snow latched on to him, and it hurt him daily; he could still take a jest from Robb, brush off the insults of Theon, and even take Lady Stark's angry looks and while those did hurt, something felt different than when his mother was brought up. The treatment of a bastard felt like sword fighting, where he would end up with bruises, cuts, scrapes, or worse until he was skilled enough to defend himself. His mother was the soreness after sword fighting, an ache no one saw everyone expected him to shake off until he grew so used to it he failed to realize what was there. He always wondered if Torrhen felt something similar if that was why his moments occurred.

"I'll wait for you here then," Jon said. "It's not safe by yourself."

"Catch up with the others and leave without me," Torrhen commanded. "I'll be back at Winterfell before morning." He began crawling in the brush on his hands and knees, leaving his bow and arrows behind.

"We can't leave without you," Jon said. "You're being a fool."

"I am a fool," Torrhen assured. "But I'm four and ten and nearly a man. I don't need to be coddled."

"Why are you acting strange?" Jon asked angrily.

"Leave," Torrhen demanded. Jon wanted to punch him, but with his last comment, he was finally out of sight. With a pack of venison on his back, there was no chance he could get through the brush. Fine, Jon thought. He picked up Torrhen's bow and arrows and left, meeting up with Robb and Ser Rodrik quick enough.

"Took you long enough," Robb said. "Where's Torrhen?"

"He crawled through thick brush and refused to leave," Jon exclaimed. "He's being a dick. Told us to leave without him, that he's a man now and can do what he wishes. He said he'd be back by Winterfell in the morning."

"That's all there is to it then," Ser Rodrik said. "Let's start back to Winterfell before the meat rots."

"We're not going to find him?" Jon fumed. It felt like everyone was unreasonable.

"It's dark," Ser Rodrik stated. "We can't wait forever. Lady Stark will kill us if the young Lord stays out here. And if Torrhen won't listen to you, he won't listen to us."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked. "Robb is his future Lord. You're his teacher."

"Aye," Robb agreed. "I'd name him a good friend myself, but he values your opinion more than anyone if I'm his lord then you're his king. Besides, he never has broken a promise, no matter how small. If he says he will be back to Winterfell before morning, then he will be."

"Forgive me, Robb, but this seems ridiculous," Jon said.

"That's because it is," Ser Rodrik said, "But it's something ridiculous we have no control over. When he gets back to Winterfell, Lord Stark will give him an earful. If Jon's a king, then Lord Stark is a god." Reluctantly, Jon rode with them beneath the starry night. Darkness covered the land. It was dangerous to be riding in the countryside late. Jon had no idea where they were going. If not for Ser Rodrik, they'd be lost and have to make camp.

Back at Winterfell, the deer parts were stored and to be given to the butcher at the crack of dawn. Most of the castle was asleep, but Lord Stark was awake and waiting for the party. His face long, staring down the castle walls.

"You finally return," Lord Father said. "Did you bring us our dinner for tomorrow?"

"Aye, Father," Robb said. "Jon took quite the prize too."

"Truly?" Father asked.

"Aye, my Lord," Ser Rodrik promised. "It was the biggest buck I've ever seen." Father smiled briefly.

"Good work, Jon," Father said. "I may not care for hunting as much as other lords, but taking a great beast is always an accomplishment."

"Thank you, Father," Jon said. "Although Torrhen didn't come back with us."

"I know," Father said. "He mentioned to me yesterday he'd be coming back before morning." Jon's thoughts swirled in his head. He felt like he no longer understood what was going on. "It seems he didn't let you know until it happened. Don't worry. He'll be fine. For now, you boys should get cleaned up. You smell of deer blood."

Long after the bath, Jon lay awake staring at the ceiling. Something felt off about today, and he hated that he didn't understand this unruly knot in his stomach. Uncertain, Jon rose to his room's window and stared in the pitch black northern sky. Few stars could be seen above Winterfell in the current hour, and most hours for that matter, for some clouds which grey the sky also hide the stars. Without Rodrik, Jon knew he and Robb couldn't have made it back to Winterfell.

Gazing at the courtyard beneath, the guards began moving, the gate opening, and a rider in the night arrived on horseback in Winterfell's courtyard. He couldn't make any details, but he knew it was Torrhen and rushed down to the castle's entrance through the halls. Lord Father was already there, sitting in the same spot in the castle's main hall as he did earlier. Hesitant, Jon stayed in the shadows of the side-hall out of sight.

"Welcome back, Torrhen," Father said tiredly. The figure from earlier stepped into the hall, taking off his cloak. "I trust your excursion went as planned."

"It did, Lord Stark," Torrhen said. "I dreamt, and the dream came true," Jon recalled something like this before, in the wild stories old nan would tell them. Tales of greenseers, people who could dream of the future.

"What did you bring back with you?" Father asked wearily. Torrhen reached to open his bag, lifting open the top and four small balls of fur poured out.

"Wolf pups," Torrhen said. "Not direwolves, but wolves none the less."

"What are their names?" a friendly high pitched voice spoke up, right beside Jon. It was Arya. He hadn't noticed her. They were caught. She ran up to the pups to begin playing with them.

"What are you two doing up?" Father sighed. "You should be in bed. It's bad enough Torrhen is up."

"I couldn't sleep," Jon said. Father did a slow half-nod. "Torrhen, why didn't you tell me what you were doing? I could have helped."

"I needed to know I didn't need help, Jon," Torrhen said. "Sorry I was mean. I didn't wish to be, but I knew you wouldn't understand. There are some things you have to do on your own." Part of sickening feeling left, but he still felt hurt. Torrhen wasn't the best talker, and Jon had to accept that. He knew at Torrhen's core, and he didn't intend to cause Jon distress.

"It's alright," Jon said unsurely. He didn't understand, but he supposed it wasn't the time. Torrhen apologized as well, which mattered far more to him than trying to understand the action itself. An explanation would come soon enough.

"What are their names?" Arya repeated herself. She was pouting slightly from being ignored yet too excited at the pups before her to sound angry. "Can we keep them?" A wolf was no dog. Father would never agree.

"Torrhen will raise them," Father said, picking up Arya. "It's time for bed."

"Forgive me, Lord Stark," Torrhen said. "I have decided on the names, Arya." He gathered the pups in his arms. "The first is a boy, Onyx." He was the largest of the pups, with black and grey fur and a snow-white underbelly. He had multi-colored eyes, one like Torrhen's own blue eyes and another brown like the dirt. "Then there's a girl, Shadow." He gestured to a pup thinner than the rest with a longer frame. Her fur was pitch black with bits of brown. Her underbelly was lighter than the rest of her coat, like her siblings, but resembled charcoal. Both of her eyes resembled Torrhen's own. "Then there's a boy, Griffin." His fur was a tough grey with bits of brown, with a middle-sized frame and a shorter snout. His stomach was a lighter shade of grey, and he had brown eyes. His tail puffed at the end into the shape of a mace. "And lastly, there's Lycan." His fur was black with bits of gray, with a brown cloud for an underbelly, a longer snout, and brown eyes.

"I want to play with them more," Arya groaned.

"Maybe tomorrow, little wolf," Father said. He carried Arya to bed, with her quickly resting her head on his shoulder.

"I am sorry, Jon," Torrhen said. "I don't always know how to say something." Jon nodded in understanding. He wished to hear more about the dream, but being awake for too long has taken a toll on him. Making his way towards the hall, he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Goodnight," Torrhen said. Jon looked back to respond, and he caught Torrhen smiling down at his pups with a glad heart.


That's chapter 3. Let me know what you think. I haven't read through ASoIAF in a long while now, so I'm not sure how I did with Jon's POV, especially since his age varies in it.

Again, it may feel a little rushed, because its skipping years at a time. I took more time to write out this chapter than the others, partly because school was hell on me during the fall. I'm getting my master's degree and work full-time. It wasn't hard persay, but it was very time-consuming. I'm hoping I'll have more time this semester, but I don't know. But concerning the chapter, I wanted to give you guys broad brush strokes of Winterfell life for Torrhen through Jon's perspective.

Torrhen also got four wolves! I originally wanted to give him another direwolf from the AGoT litter, but I decided against that for thematic reasons. I'm also not sure how I did with Ned. I tried to make him seem slightly more affectionate/fatherly than others portray him because his children always have normal dad-like perceptions of him.

For those who don't know, tine are the forks in a Deer's antler. Each individual branch is a point in hunting deer for sport. Game is the word to refer to animals who are hunted. While I didn't use it, "gamey", is the equivalent word for "fishy" with wild animals.

If you guys have any questions, feel free to ask. I hope you have a good night! Peace to you.