The last month had been the most hectic and busiest month of Jon's life. He was quite sure it would only get worse going forward. For the last month he, Robb and Father had been either locked away in Father's solar going over the family and trade relations that tied the North together or out among the craftsman and smallfolk of the castle trying to decide who was going where when Father split his household. Most nights, he fell into bed utterly exhausted only for the dawn to come far too early and make him do it all again. So far, both he and Robb had gained a vastly greater understanding of the ways that the North was tied together and which Houses were bound by marriage or trade to each other. Neither of them had quite realized just what was involved in ruling over the vast expanse of the North. And perhaps for the first time in his life, Jon was glad that he was not the one that was going to inherit Winterfell. Robb would have no end of headaches and sleepless nights as Warden of the North when he succeeded Father.
Last week, a raven had arrived, one of several that week actually, and shortly after he had been called alone into Father's solar. His father had sat him down, put a mug of hot spiced wine into his hands and told him that he had arranged a marriage for him. Lord Manderly had consented to wedding his youngest granddaughter, Wylla, to him. The details of the betrothal still needed to be worked out, but for all intents and purposes, Jon was now engaged to be married. The prospect both excited him and terrified him. He remembered Wylla from his time in White Harbor last year. She was a pretty girl, but strangely she dyed her hair a garish green in place of its natural blonde color. He'd asked her about it while they had danced and her reply had been simple and honest. She told him, "Because I like it like this." Jon had smiled at that and wasn't entirely sure what to say. So he simply told her, "It suits you, My Lady. And if it brings you happiness, that's all that really matters." She'd seemed to like that answer as she smiled up at him with what looked like thanks in her eyes. He truly hoped that they would have at least some time to get to know each other better before they were wed. Perhaps he could write her a letter and they could begin to get to know each other that way?
The rest of the month, especially the week after his father gave him the news of his imminent betrothal, seemed to have passed by in a blur. So far, he and Father had arranged for Alyn to travel north with him as Captain of his Household Guard. Father had also told him privately that he'd asked Ser Rodrick to knight Alyn prior to their departure, seeing as it was the one thing that the man desired with all his heart. And it would help soothe any ruffled feathers at leaving the direct service of House Stark. Some of the other guards going with him would be Wayn and Quent and Alebelly and some forty more that he had still not learned the names of. Mikken had recommended one of his apprentices, Anthor, to go with him. He wasn't anywhere near the craftsman that Mikken was, but he was a good smith for doing all the things that he would need to rebuild a holdfast like making nails, crafting hinges, making plows and scythes, shovels and hoes. The man would almost literally be worth his weight in gold in the Gift. Three of the cooks and as many scullion maids were also going with him, at least for now, to prepare his meals and the meals of his household. A letter had arrived from Lord Manderly and in it he had offered what he felt was an appropriate dowry for his granddaughter. His offer had included the possibility of sending a few cooks and other servants with Wylla to help fill out his new Household. His Lord Father had already told him that he planned to accept that part of the offer, so once they arrived the Winterfell people would go back home. Bakers, brewers, carpenters, candlemakers and dozens of other skilled tradespeople were going with him to Queenscrown as well. Another hundred smallfolk, second and third sons mainly, had also volunteered to go with him to help resettle the land in exchange for a piece of farmland to call their own. All told, he would be leaving Winterfell with nearly three hundred people, of which some two hundred or so would be staying with him permanently.
His father meanwhile was taking another one hundred guardsmen with him to King's Landing along with his Steward, Vayon Poole and his daughter Jeyne, his Master of Horse, Hullen, and many others of his most senior servants. Robb must be thanking the gods that Father was still here and helping him fill the various positions that were going to be left vacant by those going both north and south. They'd also begun to recruit more guards to replace those that were leaving. Ser Rodrick could be heard most days shouting himself hoarse as he trained and worked the men into being proper guardsmen. A few, like the one they called Poxy Tym, seemed to have the makings of a solid man. But some of the others, like that one called Hayhead, had a long way to go.
There had been other changes in his life as well. After more than a few conversations with Father, he had finally settled on a name for his new House and a sigil. His initial idea was a bit childish in hindsight. And his sigil was overly complicated. But now he was settled on his new name and banner. And a good thing too. Because tonight was the night he would be raised to the position of Lord and his Letters Patent would be signed by the King himself. After tonight, he would be Lord Jon Wolf, Lord of Queenscrown. And his sigil would be a stalking white direwolf with red eyes on a black field. Sansa had graciously agreed to sew his new sigil onto a new black wool tunic for him for the ceremony tonight and she was the one who had suggested simplifying it from his original idea. According to her, his first design would have taken months to sew, while this one she could do in only a few weeks. He was still undecided what his House Words should be, but Father told him not to rush them, that his words would come to him when the time was right. So he would wait for now and hopefully he would earn his house's words by some great feat in battle.
And now he found himself down in the bathhouse with Tommy getting his hair cut again. Lady Stark had commanded it, along with fresh haircuts for Robb, Theon, Bran and Rickon as well. Even his Lord Father had been in to get his locks trimmed. They were all to scrub themselves in the baths as well in preparation for tonight. For this evening, after his ceremony, there was to be another feast, though it was doubtful that it would be the equal of the one they had held when the King had arrived. And this time, Jon would not be seated at the end of the Hall, but at a table directly below the dias where his family would be seated. The feast being held tonight was not solely for him though. In fact it wasn't even primarily for him. This feast was to celebrate the King's departure. In two days, the King, his Lord Father and he would all be leaving Winterfell. Most to head south, some to head north.
Jon expected that it would be a bittersweet moment for him, leaving the only home he had ever known to make a new home up in the Gift. But he would be lying if he said he wasn't excited about it. Once Tommy was done with his shears, Jon plunged into one of the steaming hot baths and scrubbed himself so thoroughly that his skin was nearly pink. Climbing from the scalding hot water, he toweled himself dry and was just in time to nod at Robb as he came in to clean up as well. When his brother saw him he said, "Ready for tonight, Jon?"
"As I'll ever be, Stark."
Theon walked in right behind Robb and joked, "Look at him! You'd think he was heading to the headsman's block instead of being given a Lordship!"
"Will you lay off, Greyjoy?" Jon replied with a scowl. "After tonight, I'll have hundreds of people under my care. Do you know what that feels like? What do you have to worry about here at Winterfell?"
"Easy, Jon," Robb told him. "I'm sure Theon only meant it as a jest. Besides, you do have a brooding look about you. Smile! You're about to become one of Winterfell's principle bannermen and you're getting married to a beautiful girl! What more could a man want?"
"Who's marrying him?" Theon asked.
"Wylla Manderly. You remember her, the pretty little girl in White Harbor with the green hair?"
"Oh aye, I remember her. She was batting her eyes at Jon all night when we had the feast. I thought for sure we'd be witnessing Jon and her getting wed the next day after that feast. Still can't figure out where to put it, can you Jon?"
"Fuck off. I know where to put it. Maybe I just wasn't ready yet. Or maybe I wanted to do things the right way. Unlike some."
"Unlike you greenlanders, there's nothing stopping an Ironborn from having more than one woman in his bed. So what if I fuck whores once in awhile or even decide to take a salt wife or two? We don't get all bleary eyed over fucking."
"Alright, enough you two," Robb barked out in his most commanding voice. Even Theon had to admit, it was nearly as attention grabbing as Father's. "I won't have my two best friends coming to blows over something like this. Theon, you should be happy for Jon. Hells, he's about to be given more land than all of the Iron Islands combined. And Jon, you need to not be so bloody sensitive. You're a Lord in your own right now, or will be in another hour or two. Don't let people rile you up like that with nothing more than words. Now apologize to each other."
Jon had a frown on his face while his brother berated him. He hated it, but he was right. Gods damn it, would he never learn to stop taking a man's words so fucking seriously? Huffing a little, Jon said, "He's right. I'm sorry Theon."
Theon looked just as chagrined and red behind the ears. He too said, "I'm sorry, Jon. I did only mean it in fun."
"Good, now that's settled, maybe the two of you can get your arses in motion and get dressed. Theon, you sill need to scrub yourself and Jon, shouldn't you be getting prepared for tonight?"
"Aye, Lord Stark," Jon said with exaggerated politeness. Before he could even blink, Robb had reached down and flicked a handful of water at him, thoroughly soaking him again.
"And don't you forget it, Snow!" Robb started to laugh and Jon asked him, "What's so funny?"
"I just realized, that's likely the last time I'll ever get to call you that! After tonight you'll have a different name."
And just like that, the tension in the room was broken and all three boys had a chance to laugh together as children one last time. For in two days, both Robb and Jon would have to assume the mantles of men and Lords.
Before leaving the bathhouse, Jon pulled on a clean white cotton shirt and a pair of old but clean grey breeches and his boots to make the long climb up to his room in the Great Keep. Once there, he saw that the new clothes that his father had promised him were laid out for him with Erron, one of Father's servants, waiting for him to help him dress. On the bed was a clean set of smallclothes, a new pair of soft wool breeches dyed a deep red color, a white linen shirt that looked like it would come down just past his waist once he was wearing it, a grey tunic that was beautifully embroidered in red and gold around the collar, the wrists and the hem, a black surcoat made of pile-on-pile velvet with a pattern that seemed almost to move depending on the angle he looked at it from and with his new sigil placed over the spot where his heart would be, a pair of polished black, calf high boots made of the softest leather he had ever felt, and to top it all off, a heavy black cloak, likewise made of black pile-on-pile velvet that was trimmed in white ermine, with Ghost picked out on the back in white and red. Even the broach that fashioned his cloak was new. It was a stalking direwolf, made of silver, polished until it shined and with two small rubies for eyes. Around his waist, he wrapped a black leather sword belt studded with sliver while from his left hip hung a new forged longsword made of Mikken's finest steel, polished till it looked almost blue, a crossguard of silvered steel, a hilt wrapped in red leather and a pommel made of stone carved in the shape of a wolf's head. The scabbard was made of ironwood and lined with oiled wool while the exterior of it was wrapped in black leather and like his belt, it was studded with silver. On his right was a new dagger that had been made as a matched pair to his sword. When Jon was dressed and ready, he looked at himself in the polished silver mirror he had in his room and was nearly taken aback. He barely recognized himself. From his head to his heels, he looked every inch the Lord.
It was finally sinking in for him now. He was becoming a Lord. This was no game of monsters and maidens or come into my castle. This was real. He was the Lord of Queenscrown and the head of House Wolf. He was going to have to grow up, and quickly. For he was not only about to become a Lord, he was shortly to become a husband as well. Never again would he so easily rise to the japes of those around him. He swore it by the Old Gods. So deep in thought was he that he had scarcely noticed the passing of the time and was startled when Alyn knocked on his door and said, "My Lord? His Grace and your Lord Father are ready to begin. I'm to escort you down to the Godswood, My Lord."
"I'm ready, Alyn. It's time I put my future in motion."
As Jon strode down the hall, every step he took made the new leather soles of his boots boom on the wooden planks of Winterfell's halls. As he reached the stairs and the wood planks gave over to stone, the booming became a ringing. At the entrance to the Godswood, he saw torches had been lit to light a path from the gate to just in front of the ancient Heart Tree that dominated the grove. Several of the guardsmen that would be accompanying him to Queenscrown fell in beside him to escort him to where the King and his father awaited him. Flanking them was his entire family and most of the King's as well. Even Lady Catelyn was there, wearing a dress of Tully red and blue, though with a Stark Direwolf picked out in freshwater pearls upon it. When Jon stood before the King and Father, Robert Baratheon said to him, "Kneel, Jon Snow."
When Jon dropped to his knees, the King continued, "Jon Snow, in accordance with the wishes of your father, Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, you are hereby raised to the rank and title of Lord and granted the Holdfast of Queenscrown as your seat. Do you swear to honor and obey the commands of your Liege Lord in all matters, great and small?"
"In the sight of the Old Gods, I so swear it, Your Grace."
"Do you swear to uphold the commands and laws of your King and to keep the King's Peace upon your lands?"
"In the sight of the Old Gods, I so swear it, Your Grace."
"Do you swear to be just and upright, and to treat your people fairly, neither abusing them nor depriving them of their rights and privileges?"
"In the sight of the Old Gods, I so swear it, Your Grace."
"Then arise, and from this day until your last day, be known as Lord Jon Wolf, Lord of Queenscrown."