The next day, Jon realized that he hadn't yet had the chance to talk to his father alone. There was much they needed to discuss, but their respective duties kept them apart most of the time, and during meals they were always surrounded by other people. After a frustrating few days, Jon managed to negotiate with his brothers to trade shifts with him so he and his father were assigned to guarding the wall on the same night. They rode up in the winch cage together in silence, as neither were talkative men by nature. But when they reached the top and stood together beside a fire Jon's curiosity won out.

"What really happened in King's Landing, father?" He asked.

"Much happened," Ned sighed. "And none of it good."

"You're not a traitor," Jon said firmly.

"It depends who you ask," Ned told him, and explained all that had happened since he became King Robert's hand.

"So you lied," Jon said when his father had finished talking.

"Yes, Jon. I lied," Ned sighed. "I had a choice. I could have done what honor demanded, stand by what I said, and fight to see the rightful king crowned. But the cost… I couldn't do it, Jon. If I hadn't lied, if I hadn't said Joffrey was the rightful king… my head would be decorating a spike on the walls of the Red Keep, any hope of making peace with the Lannisters would be lost, and the gods only know what they would have done to your sisters. My being here is the best chance we have at avoiding another long and bloody war. What I did was wrong, Jon, but the alternative was far, far worse. Can you understand that?"

"Yes," Jon said. "A year ago I don't think I would have, but now…"

"Things have changed," Ned finished. Jon nodded in agreement.

"What about Arya? And Sansa?" Jon asked after a pause. "Are they hostages now?"

"Sansa is still betrothed to Joffrey, as far as I know. The Lannisters will want to use her marriage to control the North. Arya is with Yoren- have you met him?"

"Yes. He went to King's Landing to recruit new members to the Watch."

"He's bringing her North. She'll be safe in Winterfell soon, if the gods are good."

"They rarely are," Jon muttered. Ned looked at him across the fire, face distorted slightly by the heat rising from the flames. He remembered Pyp's joking question the night he'd arrived at Castle Black, about Jon being a "grim bastard". It was true what Ned had told them: Jon had always been serious. But he could see now that this boy he called son was different now. No, he thought. Not a boy anymore.

"What of you, Jon? What's happened since you left Winterfell?" Ned asked.

"Much happened," Jon echoed Ned's earlier statement. Ned listened as Jon explained his training, everything he'd learned, how he earned the friendship of his fellow recruits, and how he had been assigned to the stewards instead of the rangers, like he'd wanted. "I was angry at first," he said. "I almost left then and there. But Sam convinced me to stay."

Then he'd taken his vows, only to be tempted to leave again when he heard that Robb was going to war. Again, it was his friends that kept him there. Finally, he talked about the wight walker who had tried to kill the Lord Commander and how he'd stopped it with fire.

"I thought they were a myth," Ned said, thinking of Old Nan and her stories. "Or else so long gone from the world that it made no difference."

"We all did."

"Direwolves south of the Wall, a red comet in the sky, and now the dead walk," Ned murmured.

"Winter is coming," Jon said solemnly.

"Aye. Us Starks are always right in the end." Jon looked up at his father.

"I'm not a Stark."

"No," Ned said. He met Jon's gaze, and in that moment Jon reminded him so much of his mother that it almost broke Ned's heart. "Not in name, but in every way that matters. You are my blood, Jon, and you are of the North. Never forget that."

"I won't, father."

Father, Ned thought. Will he still call me that when I tell him? Is it time? How will I find the words? I made a promise and I've kept it, but I never planned for this.

They were quiet for a time, huddling close to the fire and watching snow fall over the edge of the world.

"Father?" Jon said suddenly.

"Yes, Jon?"

"There's something else I wanted to ask you." Jon couldn't seem to meet Ned's eyes. "When we left Winterfell, you said... you said when we met again, you'd tell my about my mother."

"Aye. I did," Ned agreed. He remembered that conversation, remembered thinking that that windswept hillside outside of Winterfell, moments before parting ways for what he thought would be years, was not the time or place for such a revelation. At least, that's what he told himself when he replied, knowing full well that this could be the last time he ever saw Jon. It was craven, what I did, Ned thought bitterly. I should have told him years ago.

"Who was she, father?" Jon asked, desperation coloring his voice. Ned let out a long breath and watched it rise in a silvery cloud before him.

"She was highborn," he began, "but no southern lady. She was strong. She could shoot a bow as well as any knight, and ride a horse better than most. Some called her wild, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Her hair was long, brown like yours. She hated brushing it when she was a little girl. She had gray eyes like the sky before it snows." Ned swallowed hard and struggled to keep his voice steady. "She died too soon. I was there when it happened. She'd just given birth to you."

"Is that what killed her, then?" Jon asked. He seemed to be avoiding looking at Ned, and his voice shook slightly.

"Yes."

Jon nodded stiffly. "And her name?"

Ned took a deep breath. It was time.

"Lyanna Stark."