Jon I

No winter at Griffin's Roost had ever been quite as cold as summer north of the Wall. Even after so many years, Jon Connington had not grown accustomed to the fierce cold he experienced while ranging in the lands the Wildlings called home.

"Why are we riding so fucking fast, Connington?" Cried out a young man by the name of Martin who was new to ranging. Before his arrival Martin had been a farm hand in the Riverlands who'd fallen for a farmer's daughter. The young man claimed he and the girl were lovers, but the farmer had said that he was a raper, who'd beaten the girl bloody and had his way with her. Jon didn't know Martin well, he didn't really care to either, but he expected that the farmer's story was more true than Martin's was.

"It's Lord Connington, you fuckin' raper," Ser Roland Flowers responded.

"Who de fuck really cares? It's fuckin' freezin. I wanna slow down," Martin whinned.

"We'll be at Castle Black sooner this way, boy!" Jon gruffly shouted through the rags that covered his face.

The former Lord of Griffin's Roost had hoped that he would be back at the castle by midday, but they had been held up at Craster's Keep. Martin had let slipped information pertaining to the visitors that the castle would soon be hosting, and the disgusting old man had wanted to know more about the prince and the Stark boy. He'd wanted to know if they would be coming ranging, but Jon had dissuaded him of the idea that such an event was happening. It was more than likely that the swill of a man would tell Mance Rayder about the boys if they were to be taken ranging by the Watch. That would certainly give the oathbreaker something to think about. He'd likely send a great host to try and take the boys captive. The heirs to the Iron Throne and Winterfell would make powerful bargaining pieces for the man who styled himself King-Beyond-the-Wall. The Old Bear would never allow the boys to do such a thing, Jon would never let them do such a thing either. He'd protect Little Rhaegar the way he never could protect his father.

As they raced through the snow, the trees began to vanish and the base of the Wall came into view.

Before the High Lords Rebellion, before the Dance, before the Conquest, and even before the Andals made Westeros their home, the Wall and the Night's Watch had stood as sentinels against against the White Walkers, the snow spiders, the giants, and any number of other beasts that terrorized the nightmares of men. Princes had given up kinghood to join the Watch, the second sons of houses great and small had joined the ancient and honored order, and kings bestowed upon the order great gifts. Perhaps no greater gift was given to the order than the lands of the New Gift turned over by good King Jaehaerys I. Yet, that was the Watch of old. An organization filled with men of honor and great standing; an order that enjoyed the support of a continent, but those days were done. Now it's ranks were filled with rebels, rapers, and murderers. Few men of the Night's Watch were men of honor and high birth and few of those were at the Wall because they wanted to be. Lord Jon Connington was among those men. He was not a man of Watch by his own choice, but because he had been sent to the Wall upon his return to Westeros at the end of the High Lords Rebellion. The men he had fought against and the men he had fought with would not suffer his return to the Stormlands or King's Landing. He had been presented with a choice that was not truly a choice at all. He could take the black or he could return to his exile in Essos.

He had chosen to take the black.

He could have returned to Essos and joined a sellsword company, maybe even made something of a life by taking the lives of others in the disputed lands. Yet, he had chosen to forgo the prospect of wealth and a sort of freedom for closeness to a fragment of his prince. He had failed Rhaegar the Elder when he had not captured the wounded rebel, Robert Baratheon, at Battle of the Bells. Because of his failure, Baratheon had caved in his prince's chest when he'd delivered a killing blow with his own sword. But, even after his failure, the Seven had seen fit to give Jon another chance. The woman that Rhaegar needed, she'd given him a son. The stupid girl had caused so much harm and caused the prince's fall, but she had born him a son, a second Rhaegar. A prince that Jon had been given the opportunity to know and watch grow. Unlike Ser Arthur Dayne, he had not been allowed to stay by his prince's side, but it was more than anything he could have hoped for in Essos. Rhaegar the Younger was a sweet boy, soft spoken and quiet like his father had been, but in a different sort of way. Though Jon was sure that the little prince had more of his father in him than of that wild woman who had stolen the elder Rhaegar, there was no denying that the prince's son had her look. Every visit, the son looked less like the father and more and more like his rebel uncle, Lord Eddard Stark. It pained Jon to see the boy prince adopt more and more of the Northern stylings, when he should have been so much more than that.

I wish I could send him away. Jon would think at times, but he knew that selfishly he wanted his little prince close. He wanted to be able to see little Rhaegar. He wanted to know him and help him like he could never do if the little prince were to be sent off the King's Landing with his brother, or High Garden with his sister. No, for all the faults that came with the prince living with the woman's family, the fact that he could see the boy and try and remind him of who he truly is was more important.

He thought of the prince, often when he was ranging, and worried about him. Yet his thoughts of him had grown increasingly more common since learning that the prince would soon be arriving at Castle Black. Though he had worried that the boy was meaning to act on the notion he had once mentioned in passing of joining the Night's Watch, the presence of his cousin alleviated his concerns. The boy isn't meant to be a winter rose hidden away in a chamber of ice. Jon knew this as he knew his own name.

The gates opened and Jon and his men were allowed to pass through the ice tunnel. As they emerged from the other side they were greeted by the Old Bear.

"Lord Commander," Jon bowed his head to the old warrior.

"Jon, I've to speak with you."

"Yes, Lord Commander," Jon dismounted his horse and handed the reins to Ser Roland, asking him to take the animal to the stable.

Jon and the Old Bear walked in step with one another.

"Prince Rhaegar and Lord Eddard's son are here. With their uncle at Eastwatch, I need you."

"What do you need, Lord Commander?"

"I'm sure that Lord Eddard understands our problem and is doing his best to aid our cause, but it's not enough. You are close with the boys, if you could get Prince Rhaegar to write a letter to his brother, the king, maybe it'll gain enough notice for the king to send proper men to our cause."

"I will do what I can, Lord Commander," Jon knew that the prince would write the letter, with little prompting. He'd probably write the letter after he looked at the state of Castle Black with no prompting at all. Though what good that would do with Lord Tywin Lannister as the power behind the throne was an uncertainty.

Jon made his way to where the Prince was being housed and knocked.

The door opened and the stocky Stark pup smiled at him.

"Lord Jon," the boy hugged Jon. "At least we get to see one of the people we came all this way for

"Bad timing, is all lad. Your Uncle wanted to be here, I'm sure of that."

Robb is a warrior, or he will be when he grows up. Maybe the boy would help inspire Rhaegar with his bravado. The Stark boy may have been the son of a rebel and been blood of that woman, but Jon was glad Rhaegar had him.

"Where's your cousin?"

Robb sort of chuckled. "Gone to see Maester Aemon. He couldn't leave the poor old man alone until morning."

"And Arthur?"

"Supping with some of the men of the Watch. Rhaegar wanted to be alone with Aemon, I think. So Arthur begrudgingly let him."

The two talked more, speaking of Winterfell, of the boys siblings, and of Robb's desire to travel more. After the two shared a few laughs, Jon went off to find Rhaegar. Aemon's steward told him that the prince had already left, but that he had spoken of looking out from the top of the Wall.

The winch elevator creaked and groaned as it raised raised Jon to the structure's summit. After he had made it to the top, Jon followed the the ramparts for a bit before he saw the what looked to be the prince about to throw some sort of stone off of the Wall.

"Prince Rhaegar?"

The boy jumped a little, presumably out of fright, and fumbled to put the large stone back into a knapsack.

"Lord Jon?"

Jon received his first good look at Rhaegar in nearly a year. He was growing handsome in his own way, a way that was very unlike his father. His face was getting long, losing it's childish roundness. His eyes, illuminated by the full moon, were such a dark shade of grey that they appeared almost black.

His father had had dark eyes, as well. Though his were like deep purple pools.

"Aye, Your Grace," Jon bowed.

Rhaegar shook his head, "Jon you don't need to do that."

"I want to, Prince Rhaegar."

Rhaegar sighed slightly and looked out upon the untamed lands beyond the Wall.

"Robb wants to keep going."

"Aye, he told me about how he wants to keep traveling."

"Not just traveling. He wants to go North of the Wall. He's got all these ideas about us. On our second night at Last Hearth, he talked about slipping away from Ser Arthur and becoming hedge knights."

Rhaegar let out an uncomfortable chuckle at his own words.

Robb's ideas worried Jon, but the overall idea behind them was something Jon felt he understood. "I'd council against venturing beyond the Wall, but making a name for yourselves is something commendable. You're an excellent swordsman for someone of your age, and Robb is a rider of excellent prowess and wields the lance well. Going from tourney to tourney for a year may be a good way to win the adoration of the people."

Rhaegar shook his head again, "I don't want to win their adoration, Jon. I've all I want at Winterfell."

"But you could have so much more. You should have so much more."

"I've a good home, and a family that loves me, Jon. Why complicate things? Why give Lady Catelyn any more reasons to believe I put put her son in danger?"

"I know what they call my father, Rhaegar the Unworthy, or Rhaegar the Raper…"

"Lies!" Jon shouted. "Lies, every last one of them. No one was more worthy than your father. He would have made a great king. The greatest, in fact," the anger of his words had an almost frantic tone to them.

"Maybe, Jon, but rumor spreads almost as fast as ravens fly and I know they speak of me like as if I were a new Blackfyre. Uncle Eddard forbids talk of it, but I know that there are those in the South who call me a bastard because my parent's vows were said before a heart tree and not a septon."

"Scum, the whole lot of them."

"They aren't scum, Jon. They're people who suffered because of me, and because of my father."

"No, they suffered because they were too small to understand your father."

Again the prince shook his head and mournfully gazed out at the great wilderness. Jon wanted for nothing more than to comfort the boy, but he didn't know how. Everything he said seemed to be the wrong thing.

"I don't want to make people suffer, Jon. I don't want to be the second coming of Daemon Blackfyre or the Half-Year Queen. I want peace and to live with the family that I love, but maybe it would be better if I came here like Aemon did all those years ago."

Jon placed his hand on the prince's shoulder, "This place isn't for you, Rhaegar."

"Mayhaps, Jon. Mayhaps."