Jon ran his hands down his doublet, smoothing it and ensuring it was as free of wrinkles as he could make it. He had been down in the training yard sparring with Uncle Benjen when Alyn found him and told him that his Lord Father wished to see him in his solar. Jon had acknowledged him before rushing up to his rooms to strip off his soiled leathers and grey ringmail and rinse the sweat from his body. He then pulled on a pair of soft, black wool trousers and a grey doublet trimmed in white satin. He wore the colors of his father's house, but not his sigil. Well, for now he wore his father's colors. If father allowed it, he'd soon be dressed all in black.

By the time he reached his Lord Father's solar, Alyn was back at his post outside the door and some of the servants were moving through the halls of Winterfell replacing and relighting candles that had burned low over the day. In parts of the castle, that was a near constant task, for there were halls and rooms that little to no natural light could reach. In other far larger rooms with soaring windows, servants lit candles that had been replaced that morning to provide light as the evening fell and the sun began to sink below the horizon. Jon wished he could say that he knew them all by name, but Winterfell had need of so many smallfolk just to maintain the castle that he would be lucky to name one in ten.

Tapping on the door to Father's solar when he arrived outside it, Alyn called out, "Your son Jon has arrived, My Lord."

From beyond the door, Jon heard a muffled, "Send him in." At his Lord Father's command, Alyn wordlessly opened the door for him while giving him a respectful nod.

Entering his father's comfortably appointed solar, Jon said, "You sent for me, Father?"

"I did Jon." Gesturing to one of the chairs in the room, his father told him, "Take a seat, son."

Once Jon sat, his father sat across from him and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees while his grey eyes seemed to bore into Jon's very soul. At last, seemingly satisfied with his examination, Father spoke:

"Jon, Maester Luwin came to me last night and told me that you asked Benjen to bring you with him to Castle Black, and that you wish to take the Black. Is that true?"

Jon tilted his head back somewhat defiantly and said, "It is, Father. I've thought about it for some time. I'm ready to find my own way in this world, to leave my own mark on it. While I can't do that here, I can do that in the Watch." Jon paused for the merest breath of a moment before finishing bitterly, "Besides, even a bastard can rise high there."

His father smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Jon but you reminded me of my brother Brandon just then. He was much like you. Once he had his mind made up about something, it was nearly impossible to talk him out of it. I could hear his stubbornness in your voice just now."

Drawing a breath, Father continued, "Jon, why do you want to join the Watch? And give me the honest truth, not the summer dreams of a boy, but the stark, honest truth of a man."

Jon opened his mouth to reply, and closed it almost as quickly. Could he tell his father the truth without hurting him? Judging by the look on his father's face, he didn't have a choice. Jon steeled himself as best he could, and said bitterly:

"I'm a bastard. I have no other options open to me. Other than to become a sellsword, and what honor is there in that? What place is there for me here? Lady Stark despises me and will never allow me to be in a position where she thinks I might threaten my brothers, regardless of the fact that I'd never do that. Father, I'm no fool. Once you head south, I'll be ordered from Winterfell at the tip of a spear the moment you're out of sight. Even if I were allowed to remain, I'd never be treated as your son without you here to enforce it. I know that I'll never inherit your lands or titles, and I've accepted that. But Father, I'll never even be named Castellan of Winterfell, let alone its Lord.

"Father, you trained me and educated me as a Lord and I thank you for that. But what good will that do me as a landless bastard? At least on the Wall, they won't care that I'm a bastard. I can put to use what you taught me. There's honor in the Night's Watch, I've heard you say that hundreds of times. At least on the Wall, I can be useful."

When Jon finished speaking, Father dropped his head down, buried his face in his hands and groaned. When he spoke, his voice was muffled by his hands but Jon could still hear the regret in his voice. Father said:

"Jon, if there's one thing in my life that I've come to regret, it's that I haven't been clearer with you about your place in this world and the options that you have. I fear I've let my Lady Wife have too much say in your upbringing and remained silent too often at times when I shouldn't have. It's time I correct that, son.

"Jon, you may not have my name, but you have my blood. Bastard or not, you are a part of my House. Do you know what that means, Jon? What it truly means?"

"I'm...I'm not sure, Father. I...I know I've had a better life than a bastard born to a commoner would have. But..."

"I thought not. Jon, what you've just said, in a way, makes me proud. Too many sons of high lords, bastard and trueborn alike, are arrogant beyond belief. They act like the world owes them just because they were raised in a castle instead of a mud hut. But neither you nor your brothers are like that, thank the gods.

"But I don't think you fully appreciate the position you hold Jon. Because I've openly acknowledged you as my son, because I raised you right here in Winterfell alongside your brothers and sisters you have prospects that even most lordlings can only dream of. Seven hells, most of my bannermen would give their left arms to arrange a betrothal between you and their younger daughters, even if for no other reason than to forge closer ties to My House. Jon, you have options before you other than the Wall. What would you say if I offered you one of those option? A way to leave your mark on this world without having to go all the way to the Wall?"

"How?"

"Jon, the North is rich beyond belief in resources. But we lack the people to take advantage of them. Too much of our land has been abandoned and left to rot. It's been in my head for awhile now to try and resettle the parts of the North that have been neglected and left to rot for far to long. To do that, I need capable men, trained men, to oversee that effort and to protect the smallfolk that resettle those lands."

Jon felt his breath grow shallow and his heart speed up in his chest. Was his father about to grant him the only thing he had ever wanted since he was old enough to want anything? Was his father about to name him a Stark and give him an official position in his House? One where he could do just what his Lord Father was asking of him?

His father continued, "Jon, if you accept what I'm proposing, this is what I'll do. I intend to give you the lands of the New Gift to rule over with the holdfast of Queenscrown as your seat. It is an ancient seat and is strongly built. Once there, you will establish yourself as a Lord in your own right. Your House will be recognized as a cadet branch of House Stark, though any claim you may have to Winterfell will come after both Sansa's and Arya's.

"Your House will be sworn directly to Winterfell. And if I or your brother ever call the banners, it will be your duty to respond the summons. But, the taxes on your lands will be paid to the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. It's a bit complicated, I know. But there is an ancient agreement between the Night's Watch and Winterfell about this. And as part of My House, you must be seen to honor that agreement. And as you develop your lands, more houses will be raised to defend them and you will have the Overlordship of them. If you accept this honor, I expect you to treat them as you wish to be treated, with honor and respect.

"But don't think being a Lord is all boon. It's hard work and you will have many a sleepless night when the weight of your responsibilities will weigh heavily on you. None more so than when you are called upon to deliver the King's Justice or when your Liege Lord calls his banners to serve him on the battlefield. Then you will know fear, watching the smallfolk you are charged with defending march into battle on your orders, all the while knowing that some will not march back home with you.

"So Jon, that is the option I have for you. Should you still choose to take the Black, you'll do so with my blessing. I will never dishonor a man for devoting himself to the Watch. But you deserve a place of your own, son. I want you to help me make the North live again."

Jon was floored. What Father was offering was immense in scope. In one fell swoop, he would become one Winterfell's principle bannermen, with vast lands of his own to hold and develop and maybe even lordlings of his own to rule over one day. Jon looked at his father and asked the only question that really mattered to him:

"Will I be named a Stark, Father?"

The pain was clear on his father's face when he answered:

"No. You'll found a new House, with a new name. But you'll be legally recognized as my son and you'll have a place in my House."

Jon bit his tongue to keep himself quiet. He wanted to shout, "But that's not fair!" Somehow, he doubted that Father would consider an outburst like that worthy of a Lord. Instead Jon just nodded his head. When he finally did speak, Jon asked:

"How...how will I establish myself there? Will I have to find my own people to settle the lands? And what about a...a wife? I...I don't even know where to begin on that." He started blushing heavily at that last thought.

Father chuckled at how red his cheeks had gotten and it took a moment for him to be able to speak. He told him:

"You leave that part to me, son. As for people, eventually yes, you'll have to work to find people to settle your lands and find ways to make it enticing enough for them to leave where they already are. But at first, we'll send people with you. Some to settle your lands, some only on loan to help you rebuild. But those are details we can figure out later. Come, let's go down to the Great Hall for dinner." With a wink, his father said, "We wouldn't want the King to eat all of it, now would we?"

Jon laughed for a moment, then grew serious again. He said, "With your permission Father, I would rather go to the Godswood. I'm not that hungry and I have much to think and pray about."

Clapping him on both shoulders, his father said, "As you will, Jon. Now be off with you."

When Jon reached the Godswood, the sun still hung low in the western sky, yet the Godswood itself was nearly as dark as night as the canopy from the closely packed trees blocked out what little light there was. He breathed deeply as he entered this sacred place. The smell of the damp dirt combined with the odor of fallen and rotting leaves mixed with the sharp fragrance of the pines to fill his nostrils with a rich medley of scents. Was it any wonder that the Children of the Forest felt closest to their gods in places like this?

Jon carefully made his way through the dark and ancient wood until he stood in front of the pale white trunk of the thousands of years old weirwood tree with its hideous carved face. When he dropped to his knees before the massive heart tree, he felt more than heard a low wind moan through the branches above him. As he did every time he heard the moaning of the wind in this place, Jon felt a shiver run down his spine. The old gods were here and they were watching.

He didn't so much as pray to the ancient, nameless gods of House Stark as he did talk to them. Jon poured out his heart to the gods and begged for their guidance to make the right decision. As he spoke with his gods and the hours passed, the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars began to sparkle above him. It was only when the silvery light of the moon cast a beam of light down upon him that Jon rose from his knees, before promptly falling back down as his legs had fallen totally asleep and refused to support him. Jon cursed savagely and then laughed at the spectacle he must make. No matter, the old gods had given him the wisdom he needed to choose. In the morning he would visit both Father and Uncle Benjen. In the meeting with his father, he would accept Lord Stark's offer. His discussion with Uncle Benjen was sure to be more painful and prolonged. For he would have to inform his Uncle that he would not be accompanying him to the Wall. But he would need guidance on how best to support the Watch in his new position as Lord of Queenscrown. And who better to provide him that guidance than the First Ranger of the Night's Watch?

When Jon retired to his rooms that night, he felt more at peace than he had in a long time. For possibly the first time in his life, he had a clear path laid out before him. As he lay in bed with his hands behind his head, he stared up at the richly embroidered canopy that was just faintly visible in the moonlight that streamed into his room while a small smile played across his face. On the morrow, he would be Lord Jon Snow. That caused his smile to turn into a frown. "Lord Snow" just didn't sound...well, it didn't sound like a Lord's name should sound. Frankly, it sounded almost mocking. He hadn't really thought about what he would call his new House.

He started running through different names, trying to see what felt right on his tongue. Lord Crownstark? No, that didn't feel right, not to mention the freak out that the name was sure to cause Lady Stark, not that he wouldn't pay good coin to watch that. But his Father would likely care what his Lady Wife had to say about it. What about Direstark? Ugh, no, that was even worse. How about Snowstark? That one could work. It shouldn't make Lady Stark throw a fit since it would acknowledge his origins as a bastard and his status as a cadet of House Stark. Or maybe he should make a clean break and start fresh? His father did say that he wasn't actually being named a Stark after all.

Jon thought for a bit and tried a few more names. Maybe Lord Jon Snowhill? After all, Queenscrown was up against the Northern Mountains. But that sounded more like something he and Robb would have built in the last winter. Gods, this was more difficult than he thought it would be. Lord Jon Queensnow? That one made him burst out laughing. There was no way in all Seven Hells he would name his new House that. What about Snowcrown? That, could work actually. It would appease Lady Stark's sensibilities and it would also give him something of a unique name. While he didn't truly care about Lady Stark's thoughts on his new name, he knew Father would and he would most likely appreciate the fact that Jon had considered that.

Getting out of bed again, Jon grabbed the flint and knife he kept on his desk and used them to light a candle. Taking some paper and a piece charcoal that he kept close to hand, he began to sketch out a sigil for his new House. He started with the outline of a kite shield. But then he paused. This was something that was important. His descendants for hundreds, if not thousands, of years would wear this sigil on their chests. It had to be perfect. His lands had been gifted to the Night's Watch hundreds of years ago to provide food and sustenance to the Watch. He should acknowledge that in his sigil. Shading the shield in black would cover that. But he he needed more than just a black shield. He needed to show his status as a cadet branch of House Stark. But how? The obvious answer would be to incorporate the direwolf into his sigil somehow. Frowning again, he thought long and hard how best to do that. While he was thinking, Ghost padded up to him and jumped up into his lap. The snow white pup was growing like a weed and was already bigger than any of his litter mates. As Jon scratched the wolf pup behind his ears he continued to consider his options.

Suddenly Jon smiled. He wouldn't incorporate a direwolf on his sigil, he would put Ghost in it. Instead of the grey direwolf of House Stark, he would put his white direwolf. But where? The point of the shield, maybe? What about putting a border of direwolves around the border? Sketching out another kite shield, he left this one white then drew a series running direwolves around the edges. He liked that. But it needed more. Tapping the charcoal stick against his chin, he pondered it. What about putting a tower keep in the center? Wasn't that what Queenscrown was anyway? A tower keep on an island? So a tower keep in the center of his sigil. Drawing that out, he decided he liked that. It just needed a finishing touch.

Finally, it came to him. Snowcrown. If that was too be his name, why not give his tower a crown of snow? Sketching that in, Jon smiled again. It was a rough sketch, but once it was cleaned up, he thought it would work well. Maybe he could ask Sansa to draw it? She was very good at things like that. Well, if father allowed it anyway. Laying his charcoal down, Jon blew out the candle and got up from his desk with Ghost still snuggled up in his arms. Climbing back into bed, the albino Direwolf curled up next to him and yawned as he laid his head down. Ruffling the wolf's fur one last time for the night, Jon finally closed his eyes and went to sleep.

It wasn't long before the servants were waking him with the morning light streaming through his window. He and Ghost stretched simultaneously and that made him bark out a short laugh at the timing of it. Sometimes it felt almost as if he and the snow white direwolf shared a single mind. Jon dressed himself quickly this morning and made his way down to the Great Hall to break his fast. His stomach rumbled and his mouth started to water as he caught the scent of fresh fried eggs, bacon, sausage, fried potatoes, freshly baked bread smeared with melted butter, and porridge. Sitting near the rear of the Hall he told one of the serving girls to bring him four eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, bread and butter, and a mug of weak ale. Wolfing down his breakfast, he was already finishing as he saw Father and Uncle Benjen walk in together.

Jumping to his feet, he quickly swallowed the last of his breakfast and moved to intercept his father and uncle. Nodding his head in a respectful greeting he said:

"Father. Uncle Benjen. After you've broken your fasts, may I speak to you both privately?"

Father smiled at him and said, "Of course, Jon. I'll send someone to find you after we've eaten."

"Thank you, Father. I'll be in the Godswood."

Jon could use the time to order his thoughts. His mind was racing with what to say and he needed time to harness his thoughts to make some kind of sense out of them. He'd go to the Godswood to sort his thoughts out and into some kind of order. He wasn't there for nearly as long as he hoped he would be when Jory came and told him that his Lord Father was waiting for him in his solar with the First Ranger. Nodding his thanks and bracing himself for the conversation that was sure to follow, he made his way into the Great Keep and to his father's solar. Destiny awaited.