Chapter 1
Winterfell
295AC
Jon Snow was feeling agitated as he wandered around Winterfell that morning. He'd been training with Rob and Ser Rodrik when his father had screamed at him that he shouldn't beat his brother. Jon scowled at the thought. It wasn't like he asked to be better at swordplay than Robb. For a moment Jon had thought that his father was going to stop him from continuing to learn from Ser Rodrik. Ser Rodrik, however, had come up with the idea of training both boys separately. A compromise that Lord Stark barely seemed to find acceptable.
He had often wondered why Lord Stark hated him so much while his half siblings were so spoiled. It couldn't just be the fact that he was a bastard. Jon felt that the hatred of Lord and Lady Stark ran too deep for it to be that alone. He often wondered if it had something to do with the mother who had died birthing him. Lord Stark had always made it perfectly clear that he blamed Jon for his mother's death. Had always told him that if he hadn't been born, then his mother would still be alive.
Unlike Lord Stark however, Jon never saw the point in blaming himself for his mother's death. He rather saw it as that a person had a time to be born and a time to die. And for his mother, the time of his birth coincided with her time to die. He thought that Lord Stark out to blame himself for his mother's death. If he hadn't wanted his mother to die, then he shouldn't have gotten her pregnant in the first place. As Jon often reminded himself, he hadn't asked to be born.
Jon didn't know what to do with himself. After he had bested Robb during training that morning Lord Stark had banned him from lessons for the rest of the day. Meaning he was unable to go to the library and thus expose Lord Stark as a Liar. No doubt the man had already gone to Maester Luwin and told him that he had decided to bunk off or that the day's lessons were of no use to him. He couldn't continue training either, Ser Rodrik and the guards had duties to attend to. He could go riding he supposed, but riding alone was often lonely. Besides Arya would kill him if she found out he'd gone riding without her. Even at seven, his sister was fierce.
Finally Jon found himself at the top of the staircase that descended down into the crypts of Winterfell. Jon had always been somewhat scared of the crypts, the tombs of Starks dating back hundreds of years. One day his siblings would be buried there. But he wasn't a Stark, not really. In death, where would his place be?
Steeling his nerve as much as a twelve-year-old could steel their nerve, Jon cautiously hefted a torch from its bracket on the wall and lit it. Slowly making his way to the bottom of the stairs, Jon looked nervously around at the statues of the long dead Lords of Winterfell. The statues at the end of each tomb were so lifelike it was creepy. Forcing his feet to keep moving until he came to the three last occupied tombs. The tombs of his grandfather, his Uncle Brandon and Aunt Lyanna. Despite the fear Jon felt of the crypts, he had always felt at ease visiting these three tombs. Almost as though they were welcoming him home. A ludicrous thought. They were dead, he was still among the living.
Jon didn't know how long he sat there for and didn't really care. He knew no one would bother him here. No one ever came down to the crypts if they could help it. After what seemed like an age to Jon saw an odd shadow half hidden behind Aunt Lyanna's tomb. Odd that he'd never noticed it before. Should he see what it was or should he let the dead rest?
Jon's curiosity finally got the better of him. Whatever this shadow was, it clearly had nothing to do with the dead, or it would have been buried with its owner. Scrabbling carefully behind Aunt Lyanna's tomb, Jon almost tripped over it. Slowly dragging it out into the better light, Jon wasn't all that surprised to find that it was a large chest. What did surprise Jon, however, was the sigil on the chest. Instead of the direwolf of House Stark, the chest bore the three-headed dragon of house Targaryen, the royal family overthrown during the rebellion twelve years before.
Jon's blood ran cold at the sight of it. Why was there a Targaryen artefact sitting in the crypts of Winterfell? Shouldn't it be hidden in King's Landing or the island fortress of Dragonstone instead? More to the point, why was it half-heartedly hidden behind Aunt Lyanna's tomb? Did it contain some secret Targaryen legacy? Dragon eggs turned to stone by time perhaps? Did Lord Stark even know it was there? Did anyone? Unable to take the suspense any longer Jon flung the chest open and leapt away.
Nothing happened. Jon edged forward again, feeling somewhat disappointed. His sense of disappointment only grew when he saw the contents of the chest. Jon had been hoping for dragon eggs or even a dragon's skull, royal jewels – the crown of Aegon the Conqueror.,.. What he found instead was a mess. There was no other word for it, really. A mess of junk.
There was an old harp, a greyish cloak that looked as though it was past its best and a collection of what looked like letters and documents. Jon groaned. Instead of finding something interesting and exciting all he'd likely found were a Targaryen king's expenses. Or something as equally dull, he was sure of that.
Just as he bent to close the chest he spotted an item that could not possibly have belonged with a collection of Targaryen belongings. Careful not to disturb anything else, he pulled it free of the corner where it was lodged.
It was a journal and from the looks of it, several years old at least. Most interestingly though its leather bindings were embossed with the Stark direwolf rather than the Targaryen dragon.
Who had it belonged to? His grandfather or Uncle Brandon? They'd both been murdered by the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen. On the other hand, it would make more sense for it to belong to Aunt Lyanna. She had been kidnapped by Aerys' son Rhaegar and held captive for months. Not to mention the fact that had been somewhat hidden behind her tomb…
Jon jumped violently as he heard someone calling his name behind him. Shoving the journal behind his back as he turned… and came face to face with Robb. Jon let out a shuddering breath. His terrified mind had conjured up the spectral ghosts of long dead Starks and the even more frightening image of his living father.
"What are you doing here?" Robb said casting an eye over the statues that guarded the tombs.
"I didn't have anywhere else to go. Not after Father decided to ban me from lessons. Besides there's nothing to fear from the dead."
"It doesn't matter to Maester Luwin whether or not you're banned from lessons. As far as he's concerned, banned means you can sit through the lessons without doing the work the rest of us have to."
Something in Jon's gut churned at the words. If Maester Luwin knew about him constantly being banned from lessons, then surely everyone in Winterfell knew. That surely explained the looks of pity he'd received before wandering down here. The only question, in Jon's mind at least, was how long they had known. Known and done nothing for him. But the thought hit Jon then. He was a bastard. He had no rights to speak of. The servants and retainers standing up for him in regards to his learning would have made no difference whatsoever.
"Whatever have you got there anyway?" Robb asked excitement and intrigue shining in his eyes.
Jon eyed his half-brother somewhat warily. It wasn't that he didn't trust Robb, but anything to do with the deposed dynasty of the Targaryens was incredibly risky. He didn't know what made him do it, but Jon shoved the chest forward to show Robb. "Found it half hidden behind Aunt Lyanna's tomb," he said quietly, unsure of how much to say.
"Is that…" Robb whispered in awe, reaching out to touch the jewelled dragon on the chest. "What on earth is it doing here? Winterfell has never been a Targaryen stronghold."
"I don't know why it's here," Jon shrugged. "But look what I found in it though…"
"Why would a Stark journal be in a trunk of Targaryen artefacts?" Robb was nonplussed. "I mean, Father even sought to overthrow them in the rebellion twelve years ago. Successfully, too."
Silence descended over the two boys as they stared mutely at both chest and journal. They knew, without either of them saying anything, that this was not a game. This had obviously been hidden away for a reason. Hidden away down in the crypts so that they would never see the light of day again. And here they were on the verge of uncovering them. In the end what it came down to was whether or not they were willing to take the risk.
"Would you say your room is safer than mine?" Robb eventually asked.
"I don't know if I'd say safer," Jon mused. "But the servants rarely come in so there's not many people we'd have to worry about interfering."
"Seems like your room is the place to be if we want to find out anything. Now how do we get it there without everyone discovering it?"
Despite their fears, it was easier than they expected to sneak the chest into the castle. There were plenty of passageways that were barely used and if they came across anyone it was possible to duck into a side passage or empty room until they had passed. Wrapping the chest in an old canvas that they'd somehow been lucky enough to find in the crypts helped hide its origins.
"Phew!" Jon breathed as they let the door to his room slam shut behind them. "For a moment I didn't think we were going to make it."
Robb let out a shaky breath. "For a moment there, I didn't either. Gods, what would we have done if we'd been stopped? It's not like we could have told the truth, or shown the chest."
"We would have been screwed," Jon agreed. "Now hand over the journal. I want to know what it says."
"We don't even know who thee journal belonged to Jon, so we don't have a clue if it says anything about your mother."
"That doesn't matter to me," Jon snapped out. "It's different for you, Robb. You know who both your parents are, you know what your place in the world is. Your parents have only ever treated you with love and respect. It doesn't matter to me how I find out, because one way or another, I need to know the truth of who I am."
At this Robb silently handed the journal over. He had never seen Jon like this before. His brother always seemed so calm and collected that he never realised how deeply everything affected him. But of course it would all add up and take its toll. And why wouldn't it? Rob himself saw the way their father and his mother treated Jon every single day. Nothing he ever did or said could convince them that Jon didn't deserve their hatred and condemnation. If anything, Jon's bastard status was their father's fault. If the man hadn't wanted Jon to exist, then he shouldn't have gotten Jon's mother with child. Life at home could make it easier or harder for him. And so far it was harder.
"The journal, it's not Aunt Lyanna's," Jon suddenly broke the silence, "it's not even Grandfather's or uncle Brandon's."
"So whose is it?" Robb asked eagerly. "Uncle Benjen's?"
Jon sounded oddly cold as he answered. "No, not Uncle Benjen. It's our father's. Or should I say your father, Robb, my uncle."
"That's not possible," Robb laughed. 'We have the same father, just different mothers."
"No," Jon shook his head. "We don't share any parents at all. We're cousins, not brothers."
Robb narrowed his eyes at his brother. What was in the journal that had him acting like this? "Jon, what does it say?" His brother simply stared at him numbly, as though not really comprehending that he was even there. "Can you tell me what it says?"
"It's Lord Stark's journal from the time of Robert's rebellion," he answered. "He wrote of his hatred of the Targaryens, his delight when they were killed. Even his delight at the deaths of the children. The longest entry I from the day he found Aunt Lyanna in some tower, dying after giving birth. I think I am that child."
"Why?"
"Because of this part at the end here. 'As of today, Aemon Targaryen no longer exists. Taking his place is Jon Snow, my bastard by an unknown woman'."
