Lord Snow of Castle Black
Bastard… Jon thought
angrily. He had never really minded being a bastard. 'Jon Snow', not 'Stark',
like his half brothers and sisters. All the taunting a raving, just because
they knew he was better than them. The scared cowards!
He looked at Ghost, his only friend here at the Wall. Not that he wanted
to be friends with any of these people. Tyrion had been right, about the Wall,
that was. Jon still couldn't figure out why his father had sent him here. He
hadn't done anything wrong. Maybe now that he was to be the Hand things changed
and he didn't care about his bastard son. He was going off with Arya and Sansa
to play at being Hand while Robb and Rickon stayed at Winterfell with poor
Bren.
Jon was a Stark – he may have been a Stark bastard, but still a Stark –
and he lived by the Stark words, Winter is coming. Hard times befalled
the Kingdoms and the long summer was coming to an end.
Jon Snow scratched Ghost's thick, white fur as he said a silent prayer
to the gods. He knew, somehow, that
Bren's fall was not the beginning of the Starks' problems – Bren never
fell, it wasn't an accident! He knew that his father, Lord Eddard Stark,
and his sisters were in danger. And he knew that his brothers – and even
Catelyn, who despised his very existence – were in as much – if not more –
danger. And here he was, on the damned Wall, at the damned Black Castle filled
with boys who were trying to become members of the Night Watch.
The Others curse it! Jon
thought bitterly, Winter is coming and I can do nothing about it!!
