He did not like it. Even as a boy, his father had told him not to put too much stock in a Bolton. Their words were famed yet it was their saying that made them the more feared. "A naked man has few secrets, a flayed man none". It made them as infamous as the Lannister's saying on how they pay their debts.

From what he could gather, Lord Roose's bastard, Ramsay Snow, had come around the same time as his father passed. That could not be a coincidence. A Stark in the Dreadfort, even a Stark bastard, would not be a good thing. He heard little from Roose's son and heir Domeric, only that the young man had a love of horses and riding that rivaled even his brother and sister.

Jon. Jon. He could never forgive himself if anything happened to him.

While the castle itself was quite a fearful sight, the grounds were quite beautiful. Lush and green and well-kept.

He often trained with Nage, a Dreadfort man-at-arms and Mychel Redfort. The Redfort boy, who was a year older than him, had told him that he is still a squire for Ser Lyn Corbray of Heart's Home; a fearsome knight who had slain a Prince of Dorne during the Rebellion. Mychel made for a good sparring partner, and if the way he fights is any indication, he may just be one of the best young swordsman in the Vale.

"You're good, Jon. Very good, natural talent and swift movements. You might be the best swordsman in the North. Well, next to Dom."

"Really? Thank you. I'd like to meet up on that challenge," Jon said wiping his brow.

"You just might. If he ever stops talking to that brother of his."

Ramsay Snow. Something about him irked Jon, and it wasn't that they bore the same surname. "What do you think of him, my good ser?"

"I'm not a ser, not yet anyways. But something about him does ... unnerve me. I got chills just being near him."

"It's just the chill of being a Snow, Redfort," Waymar said, sauntering toward him.

"For once in your life, can't you remember to shut your mouth, Royce? Unless of course, you want Jon Snow to kick you in the snow again!" Mychel mocked him. Waymar grimaced at that, seething at his defeat at my hands.

"What's going on around here?" the young Lord of the Dreadfort said as he came to the grounds with his lovely sister in arm.

"Not much, my lord. Though you may want to put this upjumped bastard in his place. He's been going on making claims that he's the best sword in the North!" Waymar exclaimed with his smug smile armed on his face.

"That was not what I said. I didn't even say that?!" Jon exclaimed while Mychel shot Waymar an incredulous look. Waymar's smugness did not leave his face.

"I wouldn't dare say that I'm the best in the North, but I'd like to take you up on that challenge!" Domeric said with a smile on his face.

Nage then came to them bearing swords for them to take. The steel was unblemished; feeling fresh from the forge.

He and Dom began to circle around one another until one of them made the first strike. It was almost like fighting Waymar, but much different. Dom's strikes were quicker and used with deadly precision. Dom is also lithe and slender, much like Jon except taller and older, and slightly more muscled. But he was undeniably more skilled than Jon. Jon barely brought his blade to meet his opponent's, parried, and spun on his feet, placing space between him and Dom. It didn't do much, as Dom simply turned towards Jon, swinging his sword and taking advantage of the momentum of his sharp turn.

He deflected Domeric's blow once again, grimacing while he did so, but forcing him to shove him away. He couldn't afford the newly dubbed Dread Knight to get into a rhythm of strikes, where he might overpower Jon if he continued to swing at him with the same strength as he did with the last two.

"You're good."

Jon didn't humour the "Dread Knight" with a reply, instead lunging at him.

To his satisfaction and surprise, and managed to land a blow on Dom's side. The Bolton grimaced, giving Jon a strong strike in retaliation, knocking the air out of Jon's lungs.

The Dread Knight lifted his sword up once again, and brought it down to hit Jon again. Jon parried and deflected the blow, and tried to return it, only for it to be blocked by him once again.

The two swordsman traded blows, both blocked each other's strikes with equal skill. Just as quick as him, Jon was amazed at his own abilities for helping him fight Dom for as long as he did.

Their fight must've seemed like a storm of swords to any onlooker, as their blades sang and flew. Jon had not realized he had been grinning, This is the type of fighting I live for. The kind of fight I've yearned for.
They slashed and lunged at each other, for how long Jon didn't know. He didn't care, as all his attention was focused on blocking and dodging Dom's sword. They were both in their own rhythm of strikes, though neither of their strikes landed a good blow.

Jon never found himself thinking, he didn't have any time. All he could do was let his body guide his movements and actions. At this point, he didn't care whether who won or lost, he would have been satisfied with seeing the end of the match…

Suddenly, Lynara Bolton flung herself between the two. Domeric immediately stopped himself in the middle of his lunge, as to not hurt his sister, and Jon stilled himself at the sight of a pedestrian caught between thee.

"Enough, good sers!" Lynara cried out, "Let us call a draw. Well fought, both of you, but I'm afraid the Wall will melt before we see the end of this dual."

He didn't realize how tired he had become, until he shook hands with Domeric. Peals of laughter flooded around the two, as men and women clapped their backs and complimented them on their skill.

"Well fought, you two. Well fought!" Mychel said as he clapped his hands in celebration. Jojen had cheerily slapped him on the back.

"You fight like a true knight, Jon Snow. Are you though?"

"I fear not, my lord," he said humbly, feeling himself blush for having received such praise. He then took a look a Waymar, who's smug smile turned into a fierce and ugly scowl filled with scorn. Lynara then gave him a incredulous look filled with mirth.

They had nearly reached the Dreadfort, and should be there within another hour or so.

Robb looked sorrowful to say the least. The relationship between them had been a bit strained due to Theon's actions. It was all he could want and ask for, when he had thought to bring Jon to Winterfell. That they grew close as brothers.

He knew that Arya and Rickon wanted to come with him to bring Jon back. Seeing his youngest daughter and his nephew together reminded him so much of his sister and brother and him. The wolves part of a pack.

Meera. Meera had come with them as well. While she claimed it was because of her brother, he could somehow sense it was about Jon as well. Ned Stark could hear the worry in her voice. Something was occurring between the two youths.

But he could pay to that matter another day. Right now, he needed to see how this new lord fared. And bring Jon back to the safety of Winterfell.

This weirwood was so different from Winterfell's. Whereas the face of the tree in Winterfell was solemn and melancholy, this weirwood was angry and in agony.

"Not exactly a pleasant sight. isn't it?" a rather cheeky voice called out. He then turned to see Domeric's sister Lynara. In the dim light of the godswood, her skin looked like soft porcelain; delicate to the touch.

"Not exactly, but each godswood and heart tree does have its own unique beauty, I think," Jon replied, trying not to blush.

"I guess you're right. But you haven't seen many godswoods, have you? I'm certain the Neck doesn't have an abundance of them," Lynara japed.

That was true. The swampy grounds made it fairly difficult to grow certain plants. "No. But Greywater itself is made of a giant weirwood tree. If you'd like, I can show it to you. I'm certain Jojen and Meera wouldn't mind showing their home as well"

"Truly? I would love to see the Neck in all its glory!" Lynora said with a smile on her face. "So, were you praying for something?" she asks

"I prayed what I always prayed for. The safety of both Meera and Jojen, but lately also the safety and protection of my brothers and sisters," he explained.

"You hold them that dear to your heart?" she asked. That he did. Though he felt as if Robb hated him, he was and will be his brother and would like to get to know him more. He never even knew just how much he wanted a younger sister until he met Arya, and she was all she could want in one: easy to love, fierce, free-spirited, kind, protective. Sansa, a perfect southron lady meant for southron courts, ever courteous and kind, yet paid little to no mind to him. Not that he minded much anyway. Rickon and Bran, such lively and rambunctious children, though he felt as if Rickon were more the warrior in spite of his very young age. He could tell that Bran tried his hardest in his training. "Yes, I hold them all quite dear to my heart"

"They're very lucky to have a handsome protective older brother in you then. It warms my heart and gladdens me so. I had been quite lonely since Dom had been sent to foster at the Redfort. I had spent most of my time with my cousins at Barrowton. You should come some time! I'm certain Uncle Willam and Aunt Barbrey would love to meet you!"

Before he could respond, a Bolton man-at-arms came by. "My lady, Lord Stark has come"

Lord Stark? Himself? He knew that he was likely informed as to where he and Jojen was, but why would he come himself?

Lynara then linked her arm around his as they walked to the castle grounds. As he came to them, he saw that Lord Stark looked quite worrisome? Why would he be worried? I'm just his bastard. From what he knew and learned, high lords don't care about their bastards. Yet, from what he did know, he cared about him enough to leave him behind at his loyal bannerman. That is what most lords do.

Just as he bowed, Lord Stark came close to him. He must be angry I left without leave. For all he knows, he likely thinks that I dragged Jojen along. But suddenly, he felt Lord Stark's strong arms wrap around him. A sigh of relief came out of him.

He then saw Robb who looked remorseful to say the least. Robb then gave him - or tried to give - a bone-crushing handshake. Then drew him into a hug. It felt ... strange to say the least.

Meera then gave him a longing look. That look which always meant that he was loved and safe. The look that always told him that nothing could happen to tear them apart. But what if it were wrong? The last thing he'd want to do is hurt her.

"I'm glad you're alright and safe. You too, Jojen. Don't leave without consulting me next time. Just ... don't leave," Lord Stark said. This was something different. He sounded almost like Howland. Such a sadness filling his voice. On instinct, he wrapped his arms around him, and he returned the gesture.

This is what if feels like ... the warmth and love of his father. It feels so ... nice. In that moment, no doubts clouded his mind.