He should be feeling something for killing an innocent man. The Septon he had killed was an innocent man sent to preach the words of the Andal gods. He was young, cheerful and kind. He managed the books in Winterfell's castle as well, which made him even more known and cared for. The people were rightly saddened by it. But Rickon felt nothing for the man or the fact that he had killed an innocent. All he felt was satisfaction in the fact that he had destroyed that blasted Sept that was desecrating the grounds of Winterfell, the land of the Old gods. He felt empowered by it strangely as if he was carrying out the duty of the gods themselves. It was an odd sort of rush that coursed through him. Besides, a man to manage books could be replaced. Not easily, but still manageable.

He watched from the window of the First Keep as the charred remains of the Septon were being buried in the Lichyard, something he didn't mind. He was still a servant of Winterfell, and that was where his body belonged. The Maester had concluded that the death was from burning and that Chayle had probably slipped and the torch in his hand had knocked him out and burned him and the Sept by accident. Plans for rebuilding it were already on the way, and Rickon was already planning on making sure such a thing did not happen.

A gust of warm and gentle wind passed by him, caressing his face on its way. He felt a sudden burst of warmth inside him and a smile built on his face. He felt as if he was doing the right thing now, that something was supporting what he had done.

It filled Rickon with disappointment as he watched the training session between the princes and the lord's sons. Tommen he could overlook since he was still young. But Brandon he could not ignore, nor his brother Robb. Joffrey was a Lannister, he could care less about that spoiled little thing. Back in his time, children the age of Brandon was taught how to wield open blades and kill enemies. Compared to them these two were nothing. Joffrey had little control of his emotions and very rough combat skills, Robb should have been able to use them all against him. Instead, the spoiled prince toyed with the heir to Winterfell, goading him on with cheap words. And Robb fell for them all! He couldn't believe his eyes. How far the Starks had fallen since his time. People could argue that peacetimes offered them this advantage, but with what was going on beyond the Wall, there was no time to be lax. But then again, House Stark had forgotten the true meaning behind their words.

"House Stark," Rickon said the name with disgust, the words a mere whisper. The head is more Arryn than Stark, the lady holds very little of the Northern values, the heir a brash fool, the oldest daughter a star-struck little thing who can't see beyond her dreams of being Queen, another daughter who has the Stark spirit but is being repressed, a son under-trained, and another still to hold a blade, he thought. There was another in the mix, the one hiding its true colours.

"Who are you?" a new voice made him stop his internal monologue.

Jon Snow, he thought, turning around to meet the newcomer. Jon Snow was a lean young man, inheriting the long face of the Starks, with dark brown hair, and grey eyes so deep they almost looked black.

"Just a traveller," Rickon said smoothly. He heard a soft growl and looked behind Jon. The direwolf named Ghost stood there, growling softly. Rickon and Ghost looked at one another for a moment, before the wolf walked by Jon and approached Rickon. Rickon reached out and Ghost gently licked his hand. "Why are you not training with them?" Rickon questioned, eyes shifting to the boy. He looked shocked, and the man couldn't blame him. It wasn't always that a familiar easily warmed up to a complete stranger.

"I'm a bastard," Jon said after recovering from his shock, the words being spat out bitterly, "my presence around the King's family would be an insult to them."

"Will it?" Rickon asked, his emotions kept in check. "Do the old gods say such a thing about bastards? Or is it your seven-pointed star?" the man asked.

"I follow the old gods," Jon said tensely, "I don't know what the seven-pointed stars say."

"Then act like you're a follower of the old gods" the man hissed with enough force to startle the boy. "You're a Stark of Winterfell are you not? This is your home and any guest is a guest of yours as well. The disrespect would be not showing your face to them."

"A Stark" Jon shook his head, "I don't even carry the name!" he exclaimed, before running his hand over his face. "It doesn't matter. Soon I'll be off to the Wall and far away from anything here."

"A noble decision" Rickon conceded and saw a small triumphant smile on Jon's face. Jon would make a good addition to the Wall. Up there he'd be trained to be a better warrior, one who would be trained as if he was in a war. But the Wall of this time and that of his time were not the same, not with those who join the establishment these days.

"Has your father told you about the watch?" Rickon asked after a long pause, in which time Jon had turned to leave.

The boy stopped and half turned to look at the stranger. "The Night's Watch is an old establishment that holds the terrors of what lies beyond the Wall back from those South of the Wall," he said as if reciting from somewhere.

"You have not answered my question" Rickon pointed out.

"He has told me exactly that" Jon answered.

"Then he has told you nothing" Rickon shook his head. "The night's Watch was an honourable establishment. These days it is nothing but a place criminals are sent to rot, freeze, or die fighting the wildlings, A place where the unwanted are sent. It is a far cry from what it was meant to be, the position it used to hold" there was bitterness in his tone. "Even their Lord Commander joined when he was old. What use was an old man in an establishment meant for protecting the realm?"

"My father-"

"Told you what the Watch was supposed to be. Either he does not know, or he doesn't care enough to tell you" Rickon cut him off harshly. He watched Jon's face contort into one of fury, biting into his lips to hold back whatever it was he wanted to say. He held back a sigh and rolling of his eyes. "Ask your uncle about what I said if you refuse to believe me. He's the first ranger, isn't he? Ask him if you don't believe me."

Jon's face was still burning with rage by the time Rickon had stopped speaking. He couldn't speak right then, lest he started screaming and garnering attention on him. He did not want that attention on him. That was the last thing he needed was Lady Stark on him.

He stumbled back when the man walked by him, bumping his shoulder against his body. He whipped his head around to say something, forgetting his control. But he found no one behind him. The man seemingly vanished into thin air.

The talk with Jon Snow was infuriating for him, but he saw an opportunity in that. The boy was isolated from the rest in a way and had his issues. Someone like him he could use. The Watch will have to find some other man, Jon Snow was his to use.

He heard the sound of shuffling outside the Keep's window and he dived to the side and into the shadows. He watched from the side as a boy's shadows jumped from in front of the window, from one side to the other. Bran Stark was the only one who would take such a risk. He looked to the far end, where a single raven sat staring at him. Rickon gave a light nod before his eyes went white, the raven flying out the window.

The wind in his wings felt like a different kind of freedom to him. He was flying, he had not been this high in a long time. He wanted to get lost in this feeling.

But another voice told him to focus, that something was about to happen and he needed to focus. Bran was climbing the broken watchtower with ease, like a monkey climbing a tree. He watched from a distance as Bran stopped to feed corn to a few ravens. He called to them and the ravens flew to him. Bran looked back at him and frowned before he continued to climb. Bran stopped by the window, peeking inside it. He saw it too, two people were inside. The woman screamed and the man rushed for Bran he felt himself flying towards the man with blonde hair, the other ravens at his toe.

The man cursed and the woman screamed as the ravens attacked him, slashing at the man with their talons. He sat to the side and watched, he observed silently as Bran made his escape and the man bled from the attacks.