Disclaimer- This is a work of fan fiction using characters from George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series. I do not claim any ownership over any characters or the world of A Song of Ice and Fire. I'm only borrowing some of his characters and settings to practice fiction writing. This fanfiction story is for entertainment only, I will make no money off of it, and is not part of the official story line.
Cover Photo: Lamia and Soldier by John William Waterhouse (1905)
Cross-posted on ao3.
AN: This story will be very AU in part and sticks to canon in others. One change is that I've stretched the action out to cover six or seven years or so instead of three or four.
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Jon Snow stood silently off to the side as his father said his goodbyes. King Robert and the royal entourage had left an hour past but would travel slowly, restrained as they were by the Queen's wheelhouse. Lord Eddard Stark and his hundred mounted swords should catch them up quickly.
His father's face appeared carved in stone as he kissed Lady Catelyn's brow. "Be well, wife," he whispered, his voice thick with grief that his face refused to betray.
Lady Catelyn's eyes were red and face puffy from tears, but her head was high and back straight as she returned her husband's kiss with one on the check. "And you also, husband. Return to me as soon as your duty is complete, Ned." Her voice cracked in barely suppressed emotion.
He nodded abruptly and then moved to his heir, Robb. Jon saw the anger and self-loathing that danced in his brother's eyes.
Bran's death had hit the family hard. They all blamed themselves for his fall. They'd not minded him as well as they should, they'd indulged him, they'd grown too confident in his ability to climb. Brandon Stark never fell. Until he did.
Now his brave, bright eyed brother of seven years would never be a knight. He would never travel south and be a page for the king, as intended. He'd never live the adventures that had captured his dreams. Instead, his small cold body was interred in the crypts of his ancestors.
"Robb, I leave Winterfell and the North to your care. Keep our people and our family safe," his father said sternly. He would not let sorrow keep him from his duty nor allow his son to falter in his.
Lord Stark was well used to death, Jon knew. Seventeen years ago he and Robert, his sworn brother, led by Jon Arryn, their foster father, had called their banners south. Lord Stark to avenge the deaths of his father and brother, and avenge the rape and later death of his sister, who was Robert's betrothed. The Mad King had killed Jon Arryn's nephew and demanded he bring him the heads of his foster sons, which he refused. They'd brought war to Westeros, killed a prince and cast down a king.
And they'd raised another in his place. Robert Baratheon, Lord Stark's sworn brother and later brother by marriage. It was thought that they should have been brothers if not for Lyanna's death, and so they two became brothers through their marriages to the daughters of Hoster Tully.
Now Jon Arryn was dead and King Robert demanded that his dearest friend, his brother in all but blood, travel south and serve as the King's Hand. Eddard Stark being the man he was, the death of a son would not deter him from fulfilling his duty.
"I will, father," Robb responded stoically. Jon wasn't fooled by his brother's grim face. Inside, he knew he raged against the injustice of Bran's death and cursed the gods, old and new.
His father rested his hand on Robb's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I know you will, son."
His father turned to Arya, his youngest daughter. Her face was wooden and her eyes as hard as flint. She stood silently and refused to meet their father's eyes or respond when he tried to speak to her. She did not want him to go and blamed him for listening to the man she called the 'fat king'.
The eldest daughter, Sansa, traveled with the Queen and her ladies, as was only proper for the betrothed of Jasper Arryn, the eldest son and heir of Jon Arryn. It had been intended that Arya would travel to King's Landing with them, but Bran's death had resulted in a change in those plans.
Lady Catelyn in her grief had demanded that she stay. She would not risk another child being let out of her sight. Her husband had acquiesced, supported by the equally grief stricken Queen, her sister, rationalizing that Arya was only ten. There was more than enough time to make a marriage for her.
Father eventually gave up and moved to face the youngest of his true born children, Rickon. Jon's youngest brother looked more Stark than Tully, as did Arya, while Robb, Sansa and Bran had shared the auburn hair and blue eyes of their mother. Lady Catelyn's youngest two children favored their father greatly, with dark hair, grey eyes and a wild lean look to them.
A look that Jon shared with them. That the bastard looked more Stark than Lady Catelyn's trueborn son and Lord Stark's heir was a constant source of friction. It only fed her paranoia that Jon would someday challenge Robb for the lordship of the North.
As if he'd ever try to take anything from his brothers and sisters. While Jon was a Snow, as all bastards in the North were named, Jon knew he'd never betray his family. Despite what Lady Catelyn thought, and the septons preached.
Besides, he thought grimly, the Northern Houses would never accept a bastard while a trueborn Stark lived. Lady Catelyn lacked the wit to see how loyal the North was to her lord husband. Starks had ruled for eight thousand years and Jon had no doubt they'd rule another eight thousand.
Jon broke out of his musings as his father gently but firmly detached Rickon from his leg. His youngest brother was crying inconsolably as he shrieked for his father. Old Nan quickly gathered him up and carried him away, Rickon's face awash with tears and arms stretched out toward Lord Stark who stood firm as his youngest son vanished into the depths of Winterfell.
Finally, his father stood before Uncle Benjen, Jon standing at his side. Lord Stark looked at his younger brother, clad in the black chain and leather of a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. None of those present could doubt they were family. Eddard and Benjen appeared to be mirrors of one another, with Jon standing at his uncle's shoulder was cast from the same mold, almost as tall albeit more slender and less powerfully built than the two older Starks on account of being a mere boy of not yet fifteen.
"Benjen, stay safe and keep a weather eye out when ranging. I'd hate to receive a raven that the First Ranger of the Night's Watch walked into a wildling trap."
Benjen snorted. "I'm too wily for that, brother. You'd best keep your wits about you while in King's Landing. The South is no place for a Stark. Keep your eyes open and your sword sharp when dealing with the vipers at the Red Keep."
The two brothers stared at each other for a moment, then Eddard held out his hand and Benjen grasped it. Each pulled the other into a quick embrace. Jon was shocked. Neither of the two older Starks were prone to displays of emotion.
Eddard whispered something into Uncle Benjen's ear which Jon could not make out. The younger brother nodded decisively as he pulled away and said, "Of course. Never doubt it."
Jon saw relief flash across his father's face before it was quickly suppressed. His father's mask back in place, he moved to Jon.
He kept his eyes straight ahead and stood tall as his father inspected him. Despite being a stain on his honor, Lord Stark had raised him as if he were a trueborn son. He would not embarrass his father.
Many lords would cast their bastards aside, leaving them to starve. Others would have provided but sent them away. Not Eddard Stark.
Despite the tension it caused, he'd brought him back to Winterfell as an infant and insisted that he be raised as his son. That had not endeared him to his bride, Catelyn Tully, who was nursing her own infant son. No matter how she raged, his father had not bent. Lady Catelyn had to endure the humiliation of raising her husband's bastard, alongside her sweet Robb.
Worse, she had to raise a bastard who looked more like his father than her own son. A bastard who rode better and fought better than the heir, though to be fair Jon admitted that Robb was better with a lance.
A bastard who had worked his way into his half-siblings' hearts. None, not even Sansa, shared their mother's fears. Robb and Jon were closer than most brothers, and were inseparable both on and off the training yard. Arya worshipped the ground he walked on. Rickon followed him about the castle as Bran had demanded additional sword training. Even Sansa would ask him to escort her when she went riding. His siblings knew he'd give his life to protect them.
This did not reassure Lady Catelyn. With the Septa whispering poison into her ears, she only saw a well laid, long term plot. All who followed the Seven knew that bastards were born in sin and prone to deceit and treachery.
Never mind that toddlers weren't known for their scheming, Jon thought scornfully.
Jon sometimes wondered why Lady Catelyn had not arranged for an accident years ago. Many infants died young. No one would have batted an eye if he'd succumbed to some childhood illness. Now it was too late. He was almost fifteen, strong, and growing stronger.
Though his relative health no longer mattered. Lady Catelyn had cried her fears to her sister, the Queen. The Queen had commanded that he take the Black. A sworn brother was sworn to celibacy, could take no wife, father no children and could hold no lands. With a word, Queen Lysa had answered Lady Catelyn's prayers and resolved her fears.
It hurt more than he'd thought it would when his father had not protested.
"Jon," Lord Stark intoned gravely as he peered at his baseborn son.
"My lord," Jon replied indifferently. While Jon loved his brothers and sisters, and respected his father for not casting him aside, being sent to the Wall still hurt.
Eddard grimaced. He placed his hand on Jon's shoulder and tried to give it a reassuring squeeze. Jon continued to stare into the distance, like a soldier at attention. Finally his father dropped his hand and sighed.
"It is an honor to serve in the Night's Watch, Jon. You can rise high."
"Yes, my lord," Jon replied again without inflection. It was an honor to serve. All the singers agreed. But it would have been nice to have been given a choice.
Eddard looked at him a moment longer before nodding. He turned to Benjen. "Keep him safe, Benjen."
His uncle looked between the two of them. Jon suspected that he was beginning to realize Jon's volunteering for the Night's Watch may not have been so voluntary. "I will," he said quietly, looking at his older brother with a frown. "From everyone." Benjen's eyes narrowed when his older brother flinched.
With one last look at his children, Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Lord Paramount of the North, and Hand of the King, mounted his horse and rode out. His men followed behind in a column of two, lances upright and banners flying. He spared neither a word nor a backward glance for his family or guests.
Robb kept them in the courtyard until the column vanished into the distance. It would be years before Robb saw father again, Jon knew. Longer for Jon, considering the distance between Winterfell and the Wall.
After he dismissed the castle folk, and Arya unwillingly followed her mother into the castle kicking pebbles in anger as she went, Robb approached him and their uncle. "Will you be leaving on the morrow?" he asked, everything from his tone to posture communicating his regret.
Benjen shook his head. "There is daylight still. I'd not waste it."
Jon heard a groan from behind him. Turning he saw the Lannister brothers, Jaime the Kingslayer and Tyrion the Imp standing there. It was the Imp who had groaned.
"I had hoped for one more evening of wine and warmth," the misshapen dwarf complained.
Benjen's face was stern and unforgiving. "You asked to accompany me to the Wall. I have agreed. But I will not be slowed down, Lord Lannister. I have my duty."
Tyrion rolled his mismatched green and black eyes. "The Seven forbid that I keep you from your duty, Ser Benjen," he japed. "The Wall might fall if you were delayed."
Benjen looked at the two brothers uncertainly before turning to Jon. "We leave within the hour. Are you packed?"
"Yes, and my horse saddled," Jon replied.
Benjen smiled in approval. "There is a matter or two I still need to address. I'll return shortly. Be ready to depart."
He turned Robb and pulled him into a hug. "Nephew, I bid you a good day."
Robb looked embarrassed. "And you, uncle."
The two Lannisters and Starks watched Robb hurry into the castle. Robb looked at the two golden hair brothers, one the picture of a perfect knight and the other not. "My lords, I wish to speak with my brother alone for a moment," he said quietly.
The Imp spoke again. "Of course. We need to gather our things anyway."
"We do?" Ser Jaime responded with amusement. "I thought we had servants for that."
Jon couldn't but be jealous of Jaime Lannister. While men mocked him as an oathbreaker and kingslayer, they did not do so to his face. His temper was mercurial and he had a reputation as being one of the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms. Jon thought the white cloak of a Kingsguard looked far finer than the black he'd be wearing before long.
Tyrion turned without a word and left, his stunted bandied legs causing him to waddle as he left the courtyard. Jaime sighed as he followed. "The things I do for the love of my brother," he said mockingly. "A knight of the Kingsguard packing like a common servant. My father would rage if he were to hear of it."
His father might rage, Jon thought, but the king wouldn't. He'd probably roar with laughter. Jon remembered that King Robert had been quick to command Jaime to accompany his brother in his exploration of the Wall. The fat king had no love for Jaime Lannister.
Robb scowled as the two Lannisters left. "I don't trust them, Jon. Be careful on the road."
Jon smiled tightly. "I'll be fine. I'll have Uncle Benjen, and Yoren and his recruits, to see me safely to the Wall," he said bitterly. "Besides, you're sending a dozen guardsmen to protect our guests." The brothers shared a brief grin. Robb made little secret that their escort was less for their protection and more to prevent the two Lions from causing mischief in Stark lands. "No bandits will give us problems."
They stood companionably for a few minutes in silence. Robb finally broke the silence.
"You don't have to go, Jon," Robb said hesitatingly. "I can talk to my mother. I can get her to change her mind. She's just sick with grief. Even if she doesn't, I'm Lord of Winterfell now. I can command her to keep silent."
This time it was Jon's turn to scowl. "No you won't, Robb. She's never wanted me here. Bran dying just made her more angry, more blatant in her efforts to exclude me. And you heard the Queen. It would only cause problems if I stayed. Besides, it might be the right thing to do. At least I'll belong."
They stood quietly, neither knowing what to say. "You'll always have a home in Winterfell, Jon. Always." Robb finally said, looking away embarrassed.
Jon swallowed. "Thank you, Robb. I'll be able to visit. Benjen does and I'll be able to also."
"See that you do, little brother," Robb said, hiding his desire to cry under a layer of mischief.
Jon laughed. Their father had told them that Jon was six months younger than Robb. Despite being younger, Jon stood a hand taller than his older brother, though Robb was stouter. "I'll show you little," he smirked as he wrapped his arm around his brother's neck.
Benjen found them tussling in the yard, the servants pretending not to notice. He coughed and Jon pulled away from Robb. The two brothers were covered in dirt and leaves. "Some lord you make, Robb," he lectured. "You should remember you command Winterfell now. You need to act the part and put aside boyish things."
"Of course, uncle," Robb said with a short bow. "I was only making sure that your newest recruit knows how to defend himself. It wouldn't do if some wildling maiden snuck into Castle Black and carried him away."
Jon's sour mood had evaporated. "Nonsense," he protested, half laughing. "It would take at least two wildling maidens to kidnap me. I would never embarrass the family by allowing myself to be overwhelmed by only one spearwife."
Benjen gave his two nephews a small smile. "You'll find that there is a scarcity of women, maidens or otherwise, in Castle Black. But it's good to be prepared," he ended with a grin.
It took some time more, but finally the party was together and rode out of Winterfell. Unlike his father, Jon turned and waved toward Robb as he left. To his surprise and delight, Arya and Rickon were on the battlement, waving and calling his name. Jon didn't stop waving until he could no longer make out their faces and then turned to sit back in his saddle.
"You miss them already," Ser Jaime said as he dropped back to ride by his side.
Jon refused to let eldest son of Casterly Rock see any tears. For the three weeks the King and his entourage had stayed at Winterfell, a week longer than intended on account of Bran's death, the Kingslayer had taken an interest in Jon. It made him uncomfortable, though he did appreciate sparring with him in the practice yard. Jaime Lannister was one of the finest swords in the kingdom. Only a fool ignored his instruction on swordcraft.
"Yes," he replied shortly. He kept his eyes straight ahead. To his surprise, the Imp rode next to Uncle Benjen. They were engaged in an animated discussion. His uncle was actually laughing.
"It gets easier," Ser Jaime continued conversationally. "A knight is at the service of his lord and must obey his call. It's hard on loved ones, but people can endure if there is true affection. Genuine love won't diminish despite the passing of time."
Jon thought Ser Jaime sounded unsure, as if he was trying to convince himself of something. "I'm no knight, Ser Jaime, and will never be one." Grey eyes met green and the green quickly looked away. Jon continued, sensing both weakness and a mystery. "You sound as if you speak from personal experience," he offered.
Let your companions speak, he remembered his lord father advising. Men who spoke betrayed their inner thoughts, knowing or unknowing. Only men who kept their mouths closed betrayed no secrets.
"My sister, Cersei," Jaime responded after a moment. "My twin. She's married to Stannis Baratheon, the King's brother." Jon was surprised to hear the hate in his companion's voice. "He keeps her away from her family, closely confined on Dragonstone. I miss her. I know she misses me. I haven't seen her in over five years. It's hard."
Jon was surprised. While Ser Jaime was a master of the sword, his only other skill of note was his ability to mock and ridicule. The betrayer had a heart after all.
"I'm sure it's as you say, Ser Jaime. You and your sister will be reunited and it will be as if you were never apart."
They rode silently, side by side. After a time, another black brother joined them. He drove a wagon that had been waiting by the roadside. A group of men, wretched looking and half-starved, were chained to its bed.
"Your future sworn brothers," Ser Jaime said, amused as his eyes locked on Jon. He inclined his head toward the prisoners. "Murderers. Rapists. Thieves. Poachers. The occasional rebel and traitor. All to be transformed when a black cloak is placed over their shoulders into gallant warriors defending the realms of men from wildlings, giants, grumkins and snarks." He smirked. "I'd learn to sleep with one eye open if I were you, Ser Jon."
"I'm no Ser," he snapped, as he looked away from the Kingslayer.
"No, you aren't, Jon Snow. Not yet, at least," he replied cryptically.
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AN: For those who didn't spot it, Robert Baratheon married Lysa Tully, not Cersei Lannister, after Robert's Rebellion, though their three children bear the same names for convenience sake. Jon Arryn was not available for marriage to secure the Tully alliance as his second wife (Rowena) did not die of a chill (per canon) but instead gave him two sons, Jasper, named for Jon's father and about a year older than Robb and Jon in this AU and Ronnel, named for Jon's younger deceased brother and two years younger than Jon and Robb. The alliance with the Tully's was secured by Ned's marriage to Catelyn and the promise of the best marriage in his power for Lysa (which happened to be Robert, once Lyanna was known to be dead). The Lannister influence is nowhere near as prevalent in King's Landing as in canon, to Tywin's great frustration. That's the major turning point in this AU.
A minor turning point is that Jon did not speak off the cuff about joining the Watch to Benjen. Instead he swallowed his hurt and remained silent. Jon going to the Wall is Queen Lysa's idea.