Author's Note: Trying my hand at this type of story one more time.
From the journal of Jon Snow
From the time that I was young, I was told that my existence was a stain on the house of my father. That I had no business being born. They were the words of my step-mother, Lady Catelyn Tully-Stark, my father's lawful wife. She hated me more with each breath I took. But for all of her hate I had the love of my half-brother, Robb, and my father, Eddard Stark, head of House Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount and Warden of the North. They taught me that honor among men of the North was everything.
But what my father wanted for me, to be a member of the Night's Watch so that I would gain my own honor, was not what I wanted. As a boy, I wanted what my father wanted for me, however as I grew older, I realized that men make their own path instead of following what has been laid out for them.
And so, by the age of eight years, I stole away in the dead of night, and took my leave of Winterfell.
I knew not where my travels would take me, but I knew that I wanted to come home not the boy that was hated and scorned by those influenced by my step-mother, but the man that my lord father wanted me to be, bastard or not. I boarded a ship under the banner of the Eastern Empire, a trading vessel that was bound for the great continent of Tamriel, as a cabin boy, thus my time away from Westeros and all that I had ever known began.
I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.
When I arrived in Tamriel at the docks of Windhelm in the province of Skyrim, I found a land not so different than my own. It was harsh, and cold for a boy just off the ship in mere scraps of clothing. But fortune smiled on me that day because I met the man that I would come to know as a second father. He took me in, raised me, trained me and turned me into someone he told me he was proud to call his son.
I came to know him by many names in the years that followed. But what I came to know him by best was Théoden the last Dragonborn.
1: The Lost Prince
Jon Snow, a sixteen year old young man with dark hair and silver eyes had those very eyes cast down as he rode alongside his father-figure of the last eight years of his life. The man was no taller than he was, yet he carried himself as a man of noble birth. He was not. Yet those that knew of him, Jarl, king and queen alike, treated him with the greatest respect that any many could ask for.
His hair was blond, just beginning to thin and flecked with grey here and there, while his eyes were the color of evergreen needles. His face was wrinkled and worn by the fierce winds that Skyrim was known for, making him look older than he should have. Riding at his side was one of the many housecarls he had in his employ, and his most loyal friend, Argis the Bulwark.
Riding next to Jon was one of the newer Housecarls, Lydia, who had replaced an older member of his foster father's court. She was around his age, only just younger at fifteen years of age, brown-haired, and green-eyed as many Nords were. Behind them rode the rest of Théoden's housecarls, and those that followed him, a good number of forty men and women of varying races.
The troupe of men and women were also leading wagons laden with chests of gold and jewels, bolts of fabric, and other things that Jon had collected on his journey through the province. His time under Théoden had seen him through many adventures growing up. From raiding old tombs that had become infested with draugr, and eventually leading him to hunt and slay his first dragon.
That had been a remembered and celebrated day as Jon had done it without his foster father present. A tale for another time, however, as the group rode into the harbor of Windhelm, where Jon's journey had truly began.
The contents of the wagons, gold, jewels, wines, fabrics and other variables and valuables were carefully packed and stowed away into the ship as Théoden dismounted his horse, and waited patiently for Jon to do the same. "Lydia, you've been quiet," Jon said with a chuckle as the young shieldmaiden dismounted, "Are you really going to miss me that much?"
The girl glowered at him, "Oh, yes, I'm going to miss you alright," she huffed, "I'm going to miss how you always drag me all over the province on your outlandish adventures."
"You enjoy them as much as I do," he told her with a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.
"I'm going to miss how you nearly get us both killed on a regular basis."
"You're not still sore about that accident on the bridge, are you?" He asked, frowning, "That was not my fault, and you know it! How was I supposed to know that bandits had set up shop there?"
"Ask me that after I forget having to pull an arrow out of your left buttock," Lydia had to smirk then as she reminded him out one of the outcomes of his less stellar adventures. "And I'm also going to miss that little glare your father gives me every time I forget to remind you to wipe your bloody muddy boots whenever you walk in."
"That was one time, and I was in a hurry!" Jon argued.
Lydia threw her hands up in the air, "You're always in a hurry!" She huffed, "In a hurry to get into trouble, to earn more coin, jewels, weapons, and armor," she gestured angrily to the various crates being loaded, "and you're in a hurry to get away from here!" She made a point of pointing down at the ground at her feet.
The argument was loud enough that some of the guards on the castle walls could hear them, "Sounds like Jon and Lydia are at it again." One such guard remarked with a chuckle.
Théoden shook his head at the pair as his crinkled smile formed, "If you two are quite finished?" The man gestured to the ship.
Lydia frowned, "Now?" The man nodded as she looked back at Jon, pressing her lips into a hard line, "You'd better take care of yourself, Snow." She said, almost sounding sad, the scowl on her face saying otherwise, "I won't be around to drag your arse out of trouble from here on."
Jon shook his head, "I'm only going home to see my father, nothing more, nothing less," he told her, "Westeros has been at peace for longer than we've been alive, and the dragons there have been extinct for centuries. I'm not going to get into any trouble."
The young man's foster father scoffed at that, "I'm not quite sure I believe that, my boy," he said, "But Lydia, I was planning to have Raya go along with him to keep an eye on things," he smiled as the girl's face seemed to brighten, "Would you rather go in her stead? I know for a fact that she doesn't enjoy long voyages at sea."
Lydia bowed to the man, "It would be my pleasure, Great Thane!"
"Then hurry up and get aboard!" Argis blustered as he came up and gave the girl a shove toward the ship.
Jon smiled after them as he stepped up next to his foster father. "I don't know how long I'll be," he sighed to the man, "But I promise that I'll come back as soon as my business is done."
Théoden took a deep breath, "You mean if you find yourself welcomed by that harpy your blood father calls a wife," the man sighed, "I won't pretend to understand the...misgivings she has toward you, Jon, but if she tries to harm you in anyway, I don't care how much you love your blood father, you are to come straight back, you hear?"
Jon smiled at the man, and reached out to grip his shoulder, "She wouldn't dare, Théoden, she knows better than to harm someone that my lord father holds dear."
"As you say, but remember my words, Son," the man said. He then pulled the boy into an embrace, "I have faced terrible things, and gained honor worth several mountains of gold, but there is no greater pleasure I have found than watching you grow into the young man I see before me today." He held him at arms length, his eyes misted over with tears, "I could not be more proud of you even if you were my own blood."
Jon's own silvery eyes were bordering tears of his own, "And I could not have asked for a better mentor and foster father," the young man said, "And I thank you for that."
The last Dragonborn smiled at his surrogate son, and reached at his hip, "Take this with you." He pulled Dawnbreaker from his belt, "With the Volkihar Clan defeated, I no longer need it." He said as Jon took the blade reverently, "Lady Meridia has already given her blessings so that I may pass it to you."
"I pray I never have to use it," Jon said, knowing of the Daedric sword's reputation.
Théoden nodded, having used the sword on many an occasion against Draugr, Vampires, and other undead creatures. "I believe that you will need it sooner than you may wish," the man said, sighing heavily, which made the younger man worry, "There's a change coming to the world, my boy. I can feel it everywhere I go in the air, and the water. I feel it in the earth we stand upon, and I can smell it in the air we breathe." He looked out across the harbor, "Dragons have returned, and magic has gotten stronger. More wide spread. Those that practice the arcane arts have noticed as well. Farengar has told me that the Elves of Summerset are growing restless and massing their forces to march."
Jon frowned, "Do you think they would attack with the treaty in place?"
"The treaty is just a piece of paper that they wouldn't bother blowing their snooty noses on," Argis said as he came back from the ship, "You mark my words, boyo, the only reason they haven't attacked Skyrim, yet, is because your father has the friendship of more than a few dragons. 'Course the fact that he and General Tullius are old war friends doesn't hurt, either."
Théoden nodded sadly, "Aye, it's been ten years since I fought against the Stormcloak Rebellion," he sighed heavily, "And for all that, I could almost wish that I had sided with Ulfric."
"But that would've harmed the Elves that lived here," Argis said.
One of the deckhands, a Wood Elf carrying a crate, smiled at that, "He's right, lad," the Elf said, "If Ulfric had taken the throne, it would've meant a massacre for anyone with long ears."
"And there are still those that worship Talos even with the Thalmor around," Argis said, "Much as they try, they can't control what the people of Skyrim do."
Théoden chuckled, "And that is the reason that I can send you off without much worry that they will try to harm you." He said as he led the boy onto the ship. "Remember, Jon, you will always have a home here, whether I still breathe or not." He said to the boy, "My lands will someday be your lands. All that I have I leave to you."
Jon smiled at his foster father, "You should save some of that land for those that have served you for all these years."
"Here, here!" Argis called from the docks.
Théoden laughed before he gave Jon one last embrace, and patted his back, "I love you, Son."
"As I love you, Father," Jon said, and drew back, "I promise, I will be back."
He gave the boy a solemn nod, "You had better. I don't want to have to have Odahviing swoop down and bring you back by force," he chuckled as the boy gave him a look, "Ah, don't mind me, boy, I simply worry. Besides, I know that you can defend yourself well enough since you have the wolf blood in you." He smiled, "Take care that you do not let the beast run wild."
ESV
Several Months Later
Winterfell was a old and dreary castle if you were to ask anyone that lived there. Once upon a time it had been the seat of power for the King of the North, but now it was a place of woe and misery thanks to the long absence of a single person.
Lord Eddard Stark, the master of the castle, was a proud, kind man for all that is was said that he had a heart made of the very same ice that the Wall was made of, and he was the proud father of five strong children. His line was secure in his four sons, and was brought joy in his two daughters. Each one was a true Stark, even with his wife trying to turn their daughters into Southern ladies.
His eldest, Robb, was an honorable young man of sixteen, and well on his way to become his successor. Sansa was thirteen, and well on her way to becoming the fine lady that her mother wanted her to be, and a truly beautiful flower that seemed out of place in the dreary castle. His third child, and second daughter, Arya, was eleven, and every bit the wild she-wolf that his late sister had been in her youth. Much to her mother's dismay, she preferred wielding swords and running through the wilds to needle work and tea parties.
Brandon, his second eldest son, was seven and had the makings of a fine warrior when he was older, until then, however, his father would need to keep an eye on him to keep him from climbing the walls and towers surrounding the castle.
His youngest was Rickon, a three year old bundle of giggles and trouble. Trouble that Eddard loved dearly. All of his children were his pride and his joy, yet it was a child that was the cause for the man's melancholy. It was well known that, during Robert's rebellion against the House of Targaryen, Eddard Stark had fallen to temptation and sired a bastard, a son, whom he had brought home to Winterfell just after his trueborn son, Robb, had been born.
Catelyn Tully Stark, Eddard's wife, had been furious as the Tully family valued duty, honor, and loyalty above all else, and the child that Eddard had returned with was view not only as a stain on her honor, but a stain on her husband's as well. But that had mattered very little to Eddard. The boy, christened Jon Snow, was loved by his father just as much as his half-brother was. However, Catelyn had made it no small secret that she wished the child gone, and those feelings spread to the Septa Mordane, both of whom treated the boy as if he had the pox.
Both women were Southern-minded, and view infidelity as a great slight on a woman's honor, worse yet, Jon Snow thrived under the care of his father. But no kind words were given by his step-mother. Only the cold icy glare that the lady had come to be known for when regarding the boy. Catelyn dedicated herself to giving her husband children that mirrored what a Stark should be. But every day that Jon lived she heard the same thing; that he looked exactly like his father. And she saw it. Much more so than she did in Robb, or any of her own children with Eddard.
But finally, she felt vindicated as the boy had disappeared at the age of eight. And eight years later, her husband still mourned him. The light in his eyes had dulled, and his tongue had turned as sharp as the crack of a whip. All of his love had turned toward his children, and keeping them safe. And his wrath had grown to the ferocity of dragon fire when someone dared speak ill of Jon.
Eddard had not been the only member of her family to feel the boy's absence. Robert loved Jon just as much as his father had, and while Sansa had heeded her mother's warnings about the boy, her little princess had seemed just as lost without him. Arya, though she thought that the age of three was too young to remember him, always asked her father if her big brother was coming home. It was a near blessing for the Tully woman that Brandon and Rickon hadn't yet known him.
Now the most company her husband kept was a direwolf pup, one of six that had been recently found beside their dead mother. The little beast was white of fur, and red of eye, a fierce creature to be sure when he grew more. Now, though, he was barely the size of an adult hunting hound, not quite as large as an adult timber wolf, however, and certainly nowhere near as large as an adult direwolf.
Things were made much worse as of late due to the fact that strange creatures had been turning up around the North. Nothing akin to the White Walkers from the fables, of course. But the granaries had been raided large rat-like creatures that were unafraid of flame or blade leading them to attack several farmers when they attempted to drive the creatures off.
Another such incident occurred when one of his hold guards claimed to have been attacked by a giant ape-like creature with three eyes. The man had gone out on horseback and come back without the steed, claiming the creature was more interested in his horse than it was of him, luckily. Eddard himself had ridden out to investigate the scene with the guard in tow. The remains of the horse were found, but very little remained. Even some of the bones had been bitten into and partially eaten. The rest, it seemed, had been dragged off into the forest to be devoured.
Eddard had sent his best hunters after the beast, five good men int total. Two returned alive, three were carried across the backs of their horses, while another dragged the carcass of the monster. Troll was the only thing that jumped to Eddard's mind when he saw the beast. Long, hairy arms, and stubby legs. Huge in body, and mass the monster was covered in gore, whether from the battle, or from feasting he did not want to think about.
"What is happening to my lands," he wondered aloud to himself, "Is this a punishment for not keeping my promise to you, Lyanna?"
Trouble seemed to be rising higher as of late as well. He had received word that his mentor, Jon Arryn, had passed away suddenly, and that Robert was coming to Winterfell, most likely to ask him to take Jon's place as Hand of the King, a position that Eddard did not want, but was certain that Robert would throw one of his famous tantrums and get his way as he always did.
His wife was in an absolute tizzy about getting things ready for the king's arrival as he was bringing the entire royal family with him. Which meant that Winterfell would play host to not only the Baratheons but also the Lannisters. No two families had ever been so badly matched. The Stag and the Lion were easily mismatched because he knew that his old friend had a love for hooch and women that had won out over his love of battle.
Cersei Lannister, his wife and queen consort, was a vile woman if the rumors surrounding her were to be believed, but Eddard believed in seeing a person's character before judging them...too harshly.
A knock came to his solar's door, "ENTER!" He barked out harshly, causing Ghost to look up at him. He the gave a soft growl toward the door as it swung open and Sir Roderick came in with a severe look upon his face. "What has you away from the training yard, Roderick? Have the boys finally tired of you whipping their arses into shape?"
"Nay, M'lord," the man chuckled, "If they had, then I would just barge into their homes, and rooms to drag them to the yard, and beat them harder." He shared a grin with the man, "Our watchmen have sent word of a large wagon train coming towards the castle."
Eddard groaned, "Robert's early, it would seem."
But Roderick shook his head, "No, Sire, these folk are coming from the direction of White Harbor," he said, "The man leading them, I'm told...well, Sire, he resembles you."
"Me?" Eddard turned and looked at the man dead in the eyes, "Explain."
"From word of mouth, Sir, he is young, black of hair with curls down to his shoulders." He said, "I'm told he has the Stark complexion. Pale, handsomely so, but his eyes seem to be a silvery color instead of the dark eyes that I know you are wish for."
Eddard frowned, "How far out are they then?"
"Not far," the man at arms said, "barely an hour by wagon. Half as much by horse at half gallop."
The lord of Winterfell frowned, turning to look out the window to see the very train of wagons making slow progress. From the drawer of his desk he took a spyglass, and looked to the front of the group. What he saw made him drop the glass. "Saddle my horse!"
"Yes, Sir!" Roderick knew better than to argue.
Meanwhile...
"I don't know what was worse," Lydia complained as she rode next to her charge, "The trip over here, or the smell of that harbor we docked at!" During the journey across the sea, Lydia found that she did not like sailing...at all. Add to the fact that a few weeks out they had encountered a particularly nasty sea serpent, which had nearly thrown her overboard while Jon and the crew drove it away. Then there was the storm that had risen up a few days later.
After that it had been smooth sailing, but it did little to alleviate Lydia's chronic bouts of sea sickness. It had been an absolute miserable journey. Once they had docked in White Harbor, the girl thought that her troubles were over. That is until the smell of the place had hit her full force, and made her sea sickness return with a vengeance.
Due to the colder climates in Winterhold and Solitude harbors, the smell of fish, manure, and body odor were lessened, but White Harbor had all in spades.
Jon found it hard not to laugh at his friend's predicament, but held it in as he knew better than to openly laugh and earn her ire. Lydia was a force to be reckoned with when her temper got the better of her. "I'm sorry, Lydia, but large cities do have a certain odor to them." He reasoned, himself having just barely kept the bile back with his enhanced wolf senses.
"Stink is reserved for those horrible taverns that we stayed at from time to time," she pointed out, "Or a tomb, or a bandit camp. That place was absolutely foul!"
Jon allowed himself a chuckle, causing the girl to glare at him. "Well, at least it'll be better once we get to Winterfell." He told her with a sigh as he could see the castle itself within reach.
Lydia looked back at the caravan, "We're lucky that none of the cargo was lost during the voyage." She noted as the storm they had sailed into had nearly cost them greatly, "Are you sure about this, Jon?" She asked him for what seemed the thousandth time since the journey began.
Jon nodded to her slowly, "I have to know that I've made him proud of me," the young man sighed as they rode on. "I have to know that this place...that Winterfell is still my home."
Lydia sighed. While his deeds would never be as grand as his foster father's (how could they?), the man having fought in many great battles, Jon's deeds were impressive as well. On top of having slain a dragon, Jon had been in a number of battles against men and monsters. He was a member of the Companions' Inner Circle, an accomplished warrior, and archer. He had earned the respect of the Jarls and the High Queen through his deeds, and not because of who had raised him.
"I think you have nothing to worry about, Jon," she said, gesturing to their armor, "Only Théoden, and his men have ever killed a dragon, and you did so alone. He was never alone when he fought." She reminded him, "You and I have fought bandits together, and you've put your life on the line for people that you never even knew! You earned everything you've brought with you, every coin of it."
Jon had the ghost of a smile on his face as he thought back on some of their adventures, "You know I wouldn't be half the man I am right now without you, right?"
Lydia puffed herself up, "Well, of course I know that," she said proudly, "Who better to keep a man's head straight than a woman?"
He snorted before a scent caught his attention, "We've got company." He said just as two large battle mounts rounded the bend in the road. One of them was an armed knight, while the other was a man dressed in black. "Father."
Lydia held her tongue as the riders drew near. Jon drew his horse up, and dismounted as the two men arrived, and pulled to a stop. The lord of Winterfell dismounted with a quick jump from the saddle. And then he was standing face to face with Jon, making Lydia nervous enough for her hand to rest on the pommel of her sword. Roderick saw this and kept his hand close to his own sword while throwing the girl a look of warning.
Eddard and Jon stood in front of each other, a look of hope on the aging lord's face. The man in front of him was indeed the boy that had gone missing so many years ago. "Jon."
"My lord," Jon gave a bow, but was stopped when his father's hand landed on his shoulders and raised him up. Then he was pulled into a bone crushing embrace.
"My boy, you've come back!" Eddard openly wept as he and his lost son embraced. He held him at arm's length a moment before crushing him again, "By the Old Gods, look how you've grown!"
Jon was struck dumb by such a warm welcome, more so by the fact that his father had ridden out with only a single knight to keep him safe just to meet him. "Father." Jon hugged him back, "I've come home."
"With a great deal of wealth if these wagons all belong to you, lad," Roderick said, his eyes still locked on Lydia.
The Nord girl smirked, "Indeed, my friend has made quite a name for himself where I'm from," she said, her smokey accent catching the man off guard.
Eddard drew away from his son, "You can tell me everything on the way," he held an edge of urgency in his voice, "The roads are no longer safe. Come." He stepped back and mounted his horse, "Back to the castle."
Jon nodded to Lydia who signaled the wagons to follow them as he mounted up again. "Interesting armor you wear, my lady." Roderick said by way of conversation, but Lydia just glared.
"First off, I'm no lady," she huffed, "You might find out a girl's name before trying to flatter your way into her breeches." Jon chuckled as Lydia's sharp tongue cut Roderick to the bone.
"Better be careful, Sir Roderick, she's almost as mean as the beast I slew to forge this armor," Jon cautioned the man who nodded and kicked his mount to ride alongside his lord.
Eddard looked at his wayward son and his companion, "He is right, though, it is an interesting type of leather you wear." He said, noting the bony spikes all over it, "What manner of beast did you take it from?"
Jon smiled at his father, "You may not believe me when I tell you."
"I've known you since you were in swaddling, lad, and I know that you have not a lying bone in your body," Roderick snorted, "Come, tell us what it was."
Lydia giggled, "The scales and hide came from an Elder Dragon, Sirs."
"Dragon?!" Both men shouted at once before Eddard looked at his son. "Jon, you've killed a dragon?"
Jon nodded, "With great difficulty, yes," he said, remembering the fight, "He did not go down easily."
"I thought that there were none left," Roderick said.
"In Westeros or Essos, maybe, but not Tamriel," Lydia shivered, "One of the few things I've come to like about this place since landing."
Jon chuckled, "Lydia, don't be rude," he smiled before turning to his father, "I'm sorry about her, but she's terrified of dragons."
Lydia huffed, "For damned good reason, you troll!" She snapped, "Or did you forget how this one," she pointed at the armor she wore, "Nearly killed us both?"
Jon shook his head, "No, I'll never forget that," he said, touching his armor fondly, "It was a good fight." He said, turning back to his father, "What did you mean by the roads not being safe anymore?" He asked, "Have there been bandits or Wildling raids?"
Roderick shook his head, "Not either of those, no," he said, "It's more trouble with beasts that have made the roads dangerous, lad," he sighed, "A few weeks ago, one of my scouts lost a steed to a huge brute of a creature, and your father sent five of his best hunters after the beast." He frowned, looking grim, "Only two were able to return alive with their dead comrades and the beast's carcass in tow."
Jon winced, "What manner of beast was it?"
"None that I've ever seen," Eddard said, "It looked like an ape, and had three eyes."
Jon and Lydia shared a look before the girl spoke up, "Sounds like a troll to me." She relented, "But I always thought they were native only to Tamriel?"
Jon frowned in thought, "They are, but that doesn't mean someone couldn't have brought one over here and either released it, or lost it after it got loose."
"Or ate the person that brought it here." Lydia pointed out. "The question is why anyone would do such a thing?"
Eddard was gazing between the two of them, "You know this beast?"
"Aye," both answered, "We've fought more than our fair share," Lydia continued, "Jon made quite a bit of coin off killing the troublesome ones that went after livestock and such."
"But," Jon continued, "If there's one troll around, then there's probably more."
Eddard frowned, "A mate?"
Lydia snorted, "Oh, trolls don't need a mate."
Roderick and the lord looked confused, "Come again, lass?"
Jon shook his head with sour humor, "Trolls don't breed like normal animals," he said, "When it comes to producing another, they actually grow another troll right off of their bodies."
"I've even seen trolls with an extra arm, or leg once or twice when they were ready to molt," Lydia gagged, "Really quite disturbing when you think about it."
Roderick turned to Eddard, "What about the rats?"
Eddard nodded before turning his attention back to the two youngsters, "Does this Tamriel have a large rat-like animal?"
"Skeevers," Jon grimaced, "Nasty, disease ridden little monsters." He looked at his father, "Don't tell me you have them here as well?" At his father's nod, the young man's frown deepened, "I think we have much more to talk about than we may have thought."
ESV
The news that Jon had returned spread like wild fire through the castle, and had his siblings running to meet him. Robb was the first to find him, however it wasn't the touching reunion he had hoped for. Robb outright slugged his brother right in the jaw, and knocked him down into the mud.
"Eight years!" Robb yelled at his brother, "Eight years I've mourned you, and now you just show up?!"
Jon sat up, rubbing his sore jaw, "Well, look on the bright side," he grinned up at his brother, "At least you're not crying like a fucking molly."
Robb's scowl deepened as he reached out to haul his brother up from the mud. Then he pulled him in for a hug, "Good to have you back, bastard."
"It's good to be back," Jon chuckled as two more figures stood behind Robb, "Sansa...? Arya?!"
Arya, the little she-wolf, practically flew at her brother and wrapped her arms around him as much as she could manage from her small size. "You arse!" The little girl shouted, "Why did you leave?!"
"You shouldn't have been old enough to remember me, little wolf," Jon chuckled as he patted her back, "How could you -?"
Arya just burrowed into his chest, "I remember the stories you told me," she told him, "How you used to hold me when I had bad dreams."
"And I remember the tiny little wolf that used to give me hell by making me chase her throughout the castle." He chuckled, petting her hair, "It's okay, now, Arya, I'm home."
Sansa was more lady-like in her greeting as she stepped forward, and gave a small curtsy, "Welcome back, Jon." She said, "It's good to see you."
"And you, sister," Jon said, giving a nod as he still held Arya, "You've become quite the proper lady. Your mother must be proud."
At the mention of Lady Stark, he looked up, feeling as if someone was wishing him ill. And there she was at the top of the steps, looking down her nose at him as always with that cold glare on her face. But he was not the frightened child he had once been before leaving his ancestral home. The glare he sent back at her was one learned from staring death in the face. By staring a dragon dead in the eye before he breathed fire and frost.
In that instant, Catelyn Stark felt genuine fear run down her spine at the sight of this silver-eyed stain she had prayed would never return to her sight. This was no mere boy before her. This was a blood-thirsty beast in the skin of a boy!
"Sansa, come away," the woman called out, "You have your lessons with the Septa."
Sansa looked at her mother, "But mother, I - "
"Now, my princess," she said in a firmer tone.
Sansa looked at her father pleadingly, and the man nodded, "She can miss one day of lessons, Cat," he told her, much to her chagrin, "Their brother has much to share with us all."
Jon turned away from her and smiled at his father before he spotted two more children with the Stark features. "And who are these little wolves?"
Eddard smiled and clapped his son on the shoulder, "Jon, meet your little brothers, Brandon," he gestured to the dark-haired boy, "And Rickon." He smiled as the toddler came up to Robb, asking to be picked up.
Jon smiled, and gestured for Lydia to join him, the girl ruffling Arya's hair.
Soon after the greetings, Jon bade all of his wagons to be brought into the courtyard. One wagon was laden with nine coffers of gold Septims which he gifted to his father, and Winterfell. Eddard was pleased with his son's generosity, but would only accept three of the coffers, leaving the rest to Jon. The chests of jewels and bolts of cloth were given to Sansa and her mother, whom grudgingly accepted them. She could at least make use of them.
Rodrick and his men at arms were happy to accept Jon's gift to them. While his foster father had favored Dragonscale armor, the bones of the dragons he had taken down were set aside and carved into heavy Dragonplate armor. This he gave to the warriors of Winterfell, along with bone swords, maces, axes and shields. A small chest containing books of alchemy was to be delivered to Master Luwin, the healer of the courts, and another chest of smithing techniques to be handed over to Mikken, the smith.
One of the wagons contained seeds and saplings of Skyrim's fruits and vegetables, an appreciated and practical gift for a cold region like the North. And the last contained crates of bottles of mead, wine, brandy and ale, one of which was swiped and popped open by Robb. "To your health, Brother," Robb said before uncorking the bottle.
Jon's eyes widened, "Robb, not that...one..." He shouted a moment too late as Robb took a large drink. His face was utterly priceless as it turned beet red and he started sputtered.
"By the gods!" He coughed, "What is that?!"
Jon chuckled and took the bottle from him, "Black-Briar Reserves," he told his half-brother, "Strongest mead you'll ever taste, and guaranteed to knock you on your arse faster than Sir Roderick."
Robb believed every word.
On their way to the solar to have a private meal, Jon was introduced the to direwolf pups that now called the castle home, each one easily larger than any dog he knew of save perhaps a boar hound. He was completely take with Ghost, the white pup that seemed to belong to his father. It was then, however, that he caught sight of Theon Greyjoy. He gave the young man a cocky smirk. "'Bout time you showed your ugly face again, Snow."
"What? Miss me that much, Squid?" He smirked right back.
Whatever the young man would have said was lost as they entered the solar.
Eddard seated himself at the head of the table with Catelyn to his left, and Robb to his right. Jon sat next to his brother, while Lydia sat across from him next to Sansa. "Now," their father said, "You can tell us of your reasons for leaving, and of your adventures in this Tamriel."
"Start off by telling us how you got this armor," Robb smiled as he pricked his finger against one of the barbs on his shoulders. "Are these actual scales?"
Jon looked at his father, who nodded, just as curious as his son was. Jon chuckled and smiled, "It was one year ago, when an Elder Dragon was sighted in an old lair called the Ancient's Ascent near a cave system called the Bonechill Passage in the Southern part of Skyrim." He began, "It was the first time I had dared go after a dragon at all."
Author's Note: Little different this time around. Jon isn't a Dragonborn, but he was raised by one. Now he's come back to Skyrim to write his own story.
Anyway, like it or not, leave a review if ya wanna see more!
Adios Amigos!