This is definitely a chapter I will have to come back to for editing, because I feel like it has more 'this happened, then that' than actual substance. Like a limp McDonald's fry. Brace yourselves for 30 pages worth of these fries.

This chapter also made me realize I don't have the gift for either dialogue or action scenes. Sucks for me because after the preludes it's supposed to be filled with dialogue and battle scenes.

Chapter 3, in which Jon Snow Actually Knows A Thing. Or Two.

Chapter 3 [Prelude] - Jon Snow I, Winterfell, 289-292AC

Growing up, Jon knew his place well.

He was a bastard.

Lord Eddard was his father, but Lady Catelyn was not his mother.

From as far back as he could remember, he had always known this. Lady Catelyn made sure he knew of it. She made sure he knew he wasn't wanted in her castle.

But Lady Catelyn was not a Stark, nor was she of the North. Nay, t'was his sire, Eddard Stark, who was Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North.

Lord Stark, who insisted on openly being called 'father' by Jon despite him being a bastard, made sure he did not lack for anything. He was given a room in the family wing (albeit it being at the very end), a lord's education, was taught the sword by Winterfell's master-at-arms, was given an allowance every moon-turn, dined with his father and siblings on the dais, and even traveled with his father to neighboring castles.

Jon felt like a proper Stark, despite carrying the name of Snow.

All of this, however, was given at the displeasure of his wife.

Jon could tell by her eyes that she loathed him: the cold look, the slight upward tilt of her chin, the pursed lips. A single glance was enough for him to be filled with dread or make him feel like crawling into a hole and disappearing, never to come out again. He felt small and pathetic; like the stain he was.

Despite this, he didn't hate her; couldn't hate her. He was a sign of her husband's dishonor after all. She had done nothing wrong but had to suffer the consequences of that wrong. Jon thought she was being quite graceful with the entire thing; compared to some horror stories he'd overheard about noble ladies and their husbands' bastards.

She was already extending a great kindness to him when she was tolerant of him being around her trueborn children.

There was times Jon worried that the lady might finally tire of him and have father send him away to be fostered by one of his lords, but it never happened, and Jon grew up alongside his siblings.

It was later, when he was a bit older, Jon discovered why the lady never said a word to him despite her clear dislike.

His father had a very formal relationship with the lady. Jon had not once seen them smile at each other or expressed any sort of affection. They were not even on speaking terms. Jon knew because he watched - (he was always watching, everything and everyone) - them walk by each other in the halls without a single greeting or glance. The only times they approached each other was in matters concerning their children.

He was probably shameless for thinking so, but Jon was glad they didn't love each other. He could go about his life in such a manner because they didn't. He dreaded to think how things would have been had father and her actually had a good relationship and she held more influence over the household.

With this knowledge, Jon felt more secure about himself, and it was enough for him to straighten his back when walking through the castle. This incensed Lady Stark, who thought he was too arrogant for someone who didn't have a proper name. He knew she thought he desired what belonged to her children - as all bastards do.

Jon was annoyed with this assumption; with the hypocrite who didn't even visit her first son after his birth well after several moon turns. He knew she didn't; he heard the servants gossip about it.

The Cold Fish. Mother Merciless. Lady Stoneheart.

She had not cried or smiled when she had first seen him, instead handing him over to nursemaids to be taken care of.

Jon couldn't understand why she'd done so. To him, Robb's birth was one of the more memorable moments of his childhood. He had been young then, but he still remembered when his father took him and Sansa to see the babe.

The moment he had laid eyes on his younger brother, Jon knew he already loved him.

He was a tiny thing. Jon had never seen such a tiny person before. He was red-faced, his eyes tightly closed, and his fingers fisted together. There were tufts of curly hair on his head; a striking dark red; like the heart tree, he thought. The same color of the leaves of the weirwood tree father took him and Sansa to pray to every morning.

Jon was fascinated. He'd never seen such colors around Winterfell. Sansa's hair was the color of flames flickering in the hearth, a pretty color. She didn't mind when Jon would tug at it. Both had their mother's coloring, but both were different.

Eddard smiled at son who was watching the newborn with rapt attention. "He's your younger brother."

"He's mine?" he asked father, just to make sure.

"Yours."

Jon took a hold of Robb's hand, the skin was soft and warm, and so small. With his other hand reached out and held Sansa's, who father had placed in the crib beside them.

He was an older brother.

That night, the three of them slept together in the crib. When he woke up the next morning, father was still there on the same spot; sitting upright in the chair, his eyes shut and snoring loudly.

Sometime after that, he solemnly swore to father that he would protect both Sansa and Robb. He'd already swore to himself he would do so and saying it aloud to father made his oath all the stronger. As a five-year-old Jon already knew how important promises and oaths were. Not upholding them would lead to the person being known as dishonorable. As a bastard, Jon was already a dishonor. Father never said so, but he was smart enough to know how he was born.

"Your oaths to your family will be your honor," Cousin Yennefer told him when he mentioned this to her. She was a bastard like he was and would understand. "Just because we are bastards, doesn't mean we don't have our own honor."

Jon would take those words to his grave.

Yennefer was Uncle Brandon's bastard daughter. She had a half-sister named Lynara, born from a different mother. They were a part of Jon's family too.

At least once a week his cousin, who was five years older, would come for a visit. She had the long Stark face, grey eyes, and ash blonde hair. Her mother had been a simple weaver from Wintertown, but had taken on a job as a seamstress of Winterfell when father welcomed both Yennefer and her into the castle walls. Aunt Mia refused the invitation, choosing instead to stay with her parents in town, and Yennefer wanted to stay with her mother. Yennefer was pretty and had a nice voice, which she used to sing lullabies to Robb. Sometimes she stayed over in one of the spare rooms, often enough to the point that it unofficially belonged to her.

Lynara was two years older and lived with her mother, Arsa, near Castle Cerwyn. She was a Stark bastard of House Condon, sworn to House Cerwyn, who lived only a day's ride away. She visited less often, but whenever she did, they would spend hours together exploring Winterfell. She had green eyes, and her hair was dark and curly. [1]

Jon got along with Lynara best, who was oftentimes his partner-in-crime due to them being close in age. Once they hacked a plan to throw snow onto one of the passersby, but Sansa refused, already deciding that she would be a 'proper lady' and called it 'childish'. Robb was a babe who still crawled, and they couldn't carry him with to the higher parts of the castle. So together they built a great mountain of snow, hoping to push it on someone passing by. They were caught by a brother of the Night's Watch, he'd promised not to tell anyone, and they succeeded in their ploy, with FatTom as their first victim. He had always been the easiest to fool. They were chased around the yard, until all three were red-faced and breathless. Father chided them but was just as amused by the whole thing as the rest of the courtyard was.

A father who loved him, siblings and cousins he was close with, and servants that smiled as he ran by. His days were filled with such contentment, that oftentimes he forgot he was a bastard. Until, that fact would rear its ugly head and strike him back to his position.

Always in the form of Lady Catelyn.

***Line Break***

289AC - Greyjoy Rebellion

Balon Greyjoy rose up against the crown when Jon was nearing six. King Robert Baratheon called his banners to fight the Ironborn and put down the Rebellion, and though his wife was heavily pregnant with child, Eddard Stark was amongst the first to answer the call of his king.

Jon watched him and his men leave through the gates, he could hear the people of Wintertown cheering as they rode by. Jon should have cheered with them and wished the men good fortune, but the departure of his father made his stomach clench with worry. He was accustomed to his father leaving Winterfell to resolve conflicts between the smallfolk or to visit holdfasts, but he knew his father would return soon. This was different; this was war, and Jon was old enough to know what war meant. It meant there would be fighting with real swords and people would be dying.

His father could die.

Jon shouldn't be thinking such things; everyone assured him his father would be okay. Maester Luwin said so, Aunt Arsa and Aunt Mia said so, his cousins said so. "Uncle Ned fought a war and won against the dragons! What worth are the Squids?" Lynara scoffed.

Jon wanted to believe them and convinced himself that father would return at any moment.

Lady Catelyn, however, sang a different tune to the rest of the castle's inhabitants.

With Lord Stark away, the Lady of Winterfell came out from her self-imposed isolation. She seemed to bloom into the role she was meant for. Barking out a series of commands to the servants and demanding for the household accounts to be handed over to her as was her right. She also forbade Yennefer and Lynara from entering the gates when Lord Stark was away, asserting that it wasn't proper for the bastards of the first born to be present when the current lord was away.

No one could argue against her. Not Maester Luwin, or Lord Poole.

With father away, Lady Catelyn openly showed her dislike. He was not allowed near his own brother or his newly born sister; a rule enforced by a guard that stood outside his door at all times, and her handmaiden, Allison, would follow him around the family wing with an embarrassed expression. Most likely sent to track his movements. Was she afraid that he would attack his siblings now that father was away?

Her judgment of him made him want to lash out and tell her that she was wrong. What did she know of him? What right did she have to keep him away from his own blood? How could she put a guard on him like he was some sort of criminal? How dare she act like Lord Stark wouldn't return to set her right?

He felt resentful, yet he did not hate her. She was only doing what she thought was right for her children. He was a bastard, no matter how Father pretended otherwise. Having him around was a great slap in the face for a noble lady like Catelyn Tully, especially when she was daughter to a Lord Paramount. Mayhap, it was his father that was in the wrong concerning Jon. Such thoughts kept his dissatisfaction at bay. Instead, he brooded in his room. He already had much more than other bastards. He should be grateful that it was her that his father was married to, and not someone like Cersei Lannister. Now that was a sobering thought. Even in the far North, the whispers surrounding the Queen were not complimentary.

It seemed to take forever for father to return, and he regularly asked Maester Luwin for updates on the war. He dreaded that one day he would ask and Maester Luwin's eyes would fill with pity and tell him that something happened to father.

Jon's days became filled with anxiety, something he was not used to feeling. Both for his father who was away at war, and because of Lady Catelyn who grew bolder in her actions. He didn't want his father to die. Jon still wanted his father's hugs and praises, for him to sit them all down in his solar for some hot milk while he was busy with his lordly duties. His father had also promised to take them all on a hunting trip together once Robb was older. Most of all, what would happen to him if father didn't come back and Lady Catelyn was put in charge of Winterfell?

The first thing she would do, he had no doubt, was send him packing from the castle to fend for himself. Or maybe if she was feeling charitable, would send a raven to Uncle Benjen to fetch him and take him to the Wall to take the Black.

He struggled to sleep at night, not just because of the noise caused by the newborn, but by thoughts of his father not returning.

Finally, after much distress and unease, from both bastard and staff, Eddard Stark returned three moons after his second daughter's birth. He was away for almost half a year.

Jon, Sansa, Maester Luwin, Steward Poole, and the rest of the castle came out to greet the victorious party.

"FATHER!" Jon shot forward when he caught the first sight of his father, paying no heed to Maester Luwin who told him to wait at the gates.

Father got off his horse and met him halfway, catching him in a tight bear hug. It was the safest Jon ever felt. "I was waiting for you every day."

Father kissed his head. "And I was thinking about you every day. The king wanted me to return with him to King's Landing for the celebration, but I told him I had a Jon, Sansa and Robb waiting for me."

"And Arya," he added, not forgetting the latest addition to their family.

"And Arya," father's eyes lit up at the thought of meeting his newborn daughter.

"Let's go see them now, father," Jon said eagerly.

Father chuckled at his excitement; he was acting as if he was the one who had been away for several moons.

"Sansa," he greeted the little girl who was standing stiffly next to her governess.

"Father," she greeted back.

There was a moment of the two looking at each other, before Sansa could no longer hold herself back and ran to meet her father. Eddard didn't know how much Sansa still acting like a little girl eased much of the qualms he had been carrying while away. Would his daughter still be his when he returned? Or would she be more like her mother?

"Robb?" father asked Maester Luwin once he set down Sansa.

He hesitated slightly before answering. "The lady feared waiting out in the cold was not good for a young child."

Father pursed his lips and nodded, moving on.

Jon wanted to tell father that Lady Catelyn had been holding Robb cooped up inside of the Great Keep all this time, but he didn't want to spoil the moment. Father would probably find out later anyway.

Father held their hands as they went through the portcullis, and they were met with loud cheers in the courtyard.

Most of the men who had gone had returned alive, and the Lord of Bear Island had even been knighted by the King for his deeds.

(He later found out that Old Nan's grandson had been amongst those that had not returned.)

With the men was another child; a frightened looking boy a bit older than he was. Jon paid him no mind, however. Now that father was back, he could finally enter into the nursery to see Robb again and meet the little baby. Everything would go back to normal.

Father didn't ask about Lady Catelyn, and no one said anything.

They stopped at Robb's room first, and a little red-headed ball immediately crashed into him when the door was opened, causing him to step back a few paces. "Jon!"

"Robb, I missed you," he said, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. He had not been allowed to hug his brother since the day his father walked out of the gates of Winterfell. He had worried that maybe with Robb's age, not seeing each other for a while would have caused him to think of Jon as a stranger, but his brother greeted him as he always did.

Lady Catelyn wasn't around, much to his relief. He also didn't think Robb would have acted this way if she were anywhere nearby. He always seemed somewhat more mature for his age when his mother was at his side.

"Father!" Robb pulled away to jump into father's arms. It turned out his worries were for naught; Robb remembered both him and father, and Sansa still spoke to him though she had been spending more and more time with her mother.

Together they went to the newest nursery.

And were met with a howling, crying bundle of blankets.

Jon grinned at the sound. He could finally meet the newest Stark who was another little wolf that spent the entire night howling. Even Jon, whose room was at the very end, could hear the racket of her screams and the laments of the wetnurses trying to soothe her. "Just one night, I beg of you, little miss. One night!" Jyana groaned, as she held a hand to her head in despair.

"She always cries this loud," Sansa said, no doubt remembering all the sleepless nights. "All through the night. Just like Robb."

"Not me," Robb fiercely shook his head, affronted that he was being associated with the ear-splitting sounds. "I good. Tell Sansan, Jon, I good."

"Aye, you're good," Jon patted his head.

"See, I good!"

"You always take his side," she complained. "Even though you know it's a lie."

Jon strided into the room to his father who was already holding the babe, not ready to get pulled into the beginnings of an argument. He wanted to meet his sister. Sansa and Robb followed after, they had already met Arya but wanted to be included with their father and Jon.

When he saw her hair and eyes, Jon let out a small gasp. She had the complete Stark colorings: long face, dark brown hair and deep grey eyes. No doubt, he loved both Robb and Sansa, but both looked like they were proper siblings, and he was reminded that they only shared half of their blood. Oftentimes he found himself wanting to share their colors or wishing that they had been born with different colored hair or eyes. Arya, his newest sister, looked exactly like he did.

He couldn't help it; he began crying.

Robb pressed into his side. "Jon?" His brother touched his arm, and Jon put his hand over his to assure him that he was fine.

"What's wrong, son?" father asked, worried. It was rare for Jon to cry so openly.

"Nothing, father," he wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic, covering his face at the same. He was embarrassed at his reaction. He hadn't meant to cry, but all the time being held away from Robb and Sansa, being followed around like a thief, father returning unharmed, and finally meeting Arya who he had been wanting to meet for all this time had been too much for him to bear. "I'm just so happy to finally meet Arya."

Father frowned, then something seemed to click in his eyes, and his lips turned downwards. "I see." Some of his worries had come true then.

"Don't cry," Sansa said, unsettled at seeing his tears. She wanted to reach out to him like Robb had but was also apprehensive of doing so. She glanced towards the door, though she knew her mother wouldn't be showing up here anytime soon.

"Don't cry," Robb repeated, digging his fingers deeper into Jon's arm to show his alarm at the display.

"I'm not," Jon denied, despite the proof on his face and sleeves. "Look, Arya is eating her own foot," he said to divert the attention away from himself.

Father took the bait and nudged Arya in Robb's view to prevent a complication of having four crying children on his hands but gave Jon a look that said what he said before would not be forgotten.

Jon was only glad to finally have all the eyes of concern off of him.

Later that day, after they had their fun with the new baby, father and some of the men went hunting. Jon thought it was strange that father would go hunting so soon after he returned. Shouldn't they be resting from all the traveling?

Father returned well after they had their supper, he took them all to the Godswood.

The Godswood was probably Jon's favourite place in the whole of Winterfell, a sentiment that was shared between his father and his siblings. It was a dark, primal place that smelled of moist earth and decay. The woods were made up of sentinels, oaks, ironwoods, ash, chestnuts, hawthorns and elms. In the center stood the ancient weirwood tree surrounded by a dark, cold pool.

Father brought them here every morning after they broke their fast. He made sure they knew that their gods were the old gods. The nameless gods of the greenwoods that they shared with their fellow Northmen and the vanished Children of the Forest. He taught them how to pray; silently, for the old gods could hear them even though they did not speak and could see them through the trees.

The deep silence and brooding shadows of the Godswood didn't stop the Starks from filling it with laughter. Jon remembered playing hide-and-go-seek with Sansa. Sometimes, if father wasn't as busy that day, he would be the seeker while Jon and Sansa hid among the many trees. Other times he would sit and watch them from a moss-covered stone, a one-year-old Robb held in his arms. He remembered chasing after her, her long copper hair flying out behind her in thick curls. "I'm Balerion!" he would proclaim, and Sansa would screech so loudly the entire castle must have heard them. Baby Robb would waddle after them, refusing to be left behind.

At those times, he felt like the old gods were watching them with a thousand unseen eyes, making it seem like it was the safest place in the entire world. If all of Westeros were to burn, or turn into ice, Jon was sure that the Godswood would protect him and his family.

While Father was away, Sansa and Robb never showed up despite the weeks and months that had gone by. Jon continued to come every morning to pray and ask the old gods for his father's safe return. The long, melancholy face of the heart tree brought him great comfort. He had also come here to avoid Lady Catelyn, for he knew she disliked it here.

Jon once overheard the servants gossiping about a fierce spat that had taken place between father and Lady Catelyn. She had asked - outright demanded, the shameless twit! The washmaid said indignantly and spat on the ground - for a Sept to be constructed and a Septon to be brought in so she could properly worship her gods. Father refused, of course, for though Starks were welcoming to followers of the Seven - such as the Manderleys, the Wells and the Whitehills - his bannermen weren't too happy about him marrying a southerner and questioned the faith of the next heir of Winterfell who had a mother following the Faith. Lady Catelyn brought up the several Blackwoods and Royces that Starks had married in the past, but father elucidated that House Royce were proud of their descent from the First Men and House Blackwood were originally from the North and still held worship of the old golds. This hadn't pacified the lady, however, and things escalated when she disparaged them as 'silly tree gods'. It ended with the Lord Stark banging his fist on his desk and angrily dismissing the Lady from his sight.

And so, Lady Catelyn's desire for a Sept, was rejected, and never brought up again.

They entered the three acres of land, and Jon thought father wanted to pray as soon as possible after not being able to do so while at war, but he knew it was different this time when he caught sight of three figures, who stood awaiting them at the heart tree. The people of Winterfell knew that when the Stark family entered the Godswood they were to stay away. For that moment belonged to the family.

They were revealed to be Jory Cassel; Captain of the guards, Wyl; one of its younger members, and Jyana; Robb's nursemaid. When they closed the distance between them, Jon could see what Jory and Wyl held in their hands; the carcass of a tree-cat. A wound in its neck showed the cause of its death; it had been shot through with an arrow. Drops of blood leaked from the opening, onto its yellow and black spotted coat, and splattered onto the snow.

Sansa gasped and hid behind father. She never could stand the sight of blood.

"Lord Stark," they greeted.

"Thank you for waiting," father nodded. He was always polite to everyone, no matter their position, something the servants praised him for. Jon hoped they would praise him like that one day too.

Father gave Arya over to Jyana, and she promptly began fussing.

Jory snorted. "A wild thing, that one. She'll give you much trouble when she's older, my lord."

"She will," father said fondly, caressing her head in the hopes it would calm her a bit.

"Wilder than the little lord was," Jyana said, shooting Robb an affectionate smile. He didn't look too happy about having her paying attention to another babe beside himself, so Jon took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

Father looked to each of his children; Sansa now standing behind Jyana's skirts, Robb looking curiously at the carcass, and Jon his eldest son. He decided that now was a good time to introduce them to some of the family traditions.

"Don't look away, Jon," father tapped him on his shoulder. Jon nodded. He was turning seven this year. Soon, he would follow father to executions. Watching what father was about to do must be a test to prepare him for that moment.

Father took the knife held out by Jory and kneeled beside the carcass which was turned over to have its belly facing upwards. He used the knife to make a cut from its throat till the back leg. Jon was sure blood would begin sputtering out the wound, but the cut was so shallow it didn't pierce any organs. Father then inserted the knife under the skin and peeled back the hide.

Sansa gave a loud squeak.

Father never glanced up once to see their reactions and continued on with his work. He split open the sternum to expose the insides and reached inside with the knife to cut them free.

Jon held Robb's hand, watching with fascination. It was not the first time he had seen a dead animal, but it was his first time seeing it getting skinned and opened. Robb's eyes were wide, equally as entranced as Jon was at the sight before him.

When he was older Jon discovered that sacrificing to the heart tree was no longer as common in the North as it once had been, ever since the coming of Aegon the Conqueror. Some Houses kept the tradition, but they were scant and few. Old Nan only mentioned the Mountain Clans and the Umbers. Mayhap Bear Island - a frequent victim of the Ironborn - kept the tradition as they felt prayer alone would not be enough to ensure the safety of their lands and women.

And of course, the Skagosi. A backward folk who also followed the tradition of sacrifice, but rather than animals they sacrificed people; poor sailors or pirates who were unlucky enough to stumble across the Island. They lured in ships to their destruction with false lights, engaged in cannibalism, and still practiced the first night. These were only rumors, however, and the Lords of Winterfell knew to stay away from discovering if it were true. (There were rumors that the Umbers still kept the first night as well, but no one would even whisper of it in any public space)

Sansa was visibly shaken and kept her eyes down at the snow or up at the night sky, anywhere but her father. The one look she caught when her father pulled back the skin was enough for her. She wanted to ask if she could leave but seeing as both Jon and Robb were silently watching, she didn't want to be the cowardly one.

Jory, Wyl, and Jyana had their heads lowered in respect.

Father took the entrails; the intestines, the heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, bladder, one-by-one he carefully positioned the parts on the lower branches of the heart tree, he whispered a prayer as he did so. [2]

Sap was weeping from the eyes and mouth of the weirwood, and blood dripping from the guts made it seem like the leaves were shedding tears as well.

Jory and Wyl stuffed any leftovers into the now empty carcass and heaved it into the empty hole that had been dug beneath the weirwood beforehand. They shoveled it close with dirt, while father cleaned his hands and the knife in the pool of water and wiped both on his pant leg.

Baby Arya was still squirming in Jyana's arms, and only settled down when she was handed back over to father.

"Lord Stark," Jory nodded, at father, ready to leave now that his tasks were over. "Little lords and ladies," he sent a wink in Jon's direction.

When they all left, father had the children kneel before the Heart tree, a small distance away so as to not have any blood drop on them.

"You all did well," Eddard was proud of his children who hadn't once cried or gagged at the display. He remembered he himself had retched up his supper when his father first showed him how he hung an animal up on the weirwood. "Even you Sansa. You stayed for the whole thing. It's fine even if you didn't look."

Sansa nodded weakly, still shaken by the entire thing.

"I did this every time the gods gave me a child. To thank them for the gift they bestowed upon me and House Stark."

"For me?" Robb asked, pointing to himself.

"For you, aye," Father smiled, his eyes filled with emotion as he remembered that day. "A destrier, one that had never been mounted before. It bled into the roots of the Heart Tree, the crows had not the time to feast on it, for by morning the body had been dried out. The gods must have been very happy with the offering. They'll remember and protect you in the future, as long as you keep them in your remembrance."

"Even me?" Sansa's briefly stole a look at the remains of tree-cat with both disgust and fear.

"Even you, Sansa. I gave them a red fox. A wily thing that kept managing to evade me. And you, Jon, a great bear that I hunted down myself," father said, glancing at him. He never excluded Jon from anything, and Jon loved his father all the more for it. "I will teach you how to do it when you're older, like my father taught my siblings and I," his voice took on the melancholic tone it always did whenever his dead family members were brought up. Jon was already old enough to know that their grandfather, uncle and aunt had been killed, and that it hadn't been a peaceful death. He felt sad for father who lost his family, all except for Uncle Benjen, and couldn't imagine ever going through the same. "One day, when you have children, you must do so for them as well."

Sansa wrinkled her nose, not keen on the idea. "It's not ladylike, and my husband wouldn't like it if I dirtied my hands."

"Then he can be the one to do it. A good Northern husband who wouldn't mind his lady wife giving offerings to the gods."

She shook her head. "No! I'll marry a prince and we'll bless our child in the Sept. Like mother was."

"Sept not good!" Robb interjected. "Old Nan say!"

"Old Nan is a hag!"

"Sansa!" Father snapped.

She flinched, not used to being scolded by any adults. She was usually the good one. "I'm sorry, Father," she looked down at her hands, chastised.

"It's not me you should apologize to. It's Old Nan. You'll respect your elders, Sansa. You haven't said such things to her face, have you?" Father scowled. "I thought you would know better than to do so."

Tears sprung in her eyes; she didn't ever want to disappoint either of her parents. "I never said it to Old Nan, I promise, father. I'm sorry, I am. I didn't mean to be rude. I'll apologize tomorrow."

"Don't cry, sweet girl," father couldn't reach out to her as he already had Arya in his arms, so lightly knocked his elbow against her side. "As long as you understand that you should never say such things to people that would hurt them. Not to their face, and not behind their backs either."

"I won't," Sansa threw her arms around father and held onto him tightly. "I love you, father."

"I love you, too. All four of you." Father rarely spoke such words, choosing rather to show his love through actions. When he did voice them, they all knew it to be true.

"Me also," Robb wrapped his arms around father's other side, and Jon held onto Robb. Jon savored the quiet moment; this is what he had been longing for all these months. For father to come back so they could be together again, and Lady Catelyn having no right to interfere.

They separated when Robb started yawning. "I think Robb's ready to go to bed, father."

"Aye, Sansa too," father said, feeling the weight against him on his right side. He had brought them here pretty late, as he was eager to make the customary sacrifice that was already extended due to him being away. Neither of the children were usually up past the hour of the ghosts. [3]

"I'm not," she protested. She didn't want to be seen as a child who fell asleep the same time as Robb, though her eyes were already tiredly drooping. "We can watch the dawn together."

Father wheezed out a laugh, not wanting to seem like he was mocking his daughter and potentially angering her. "I could use some sleep. It's been a long day," father stood up when he saw Jon pull Robb into his side so the child wouldn't fall over. "We can watch the dawn another day."

Father took them back to their rooms, and Jon went along to each of their rooms; Arya first was delivered into Jyana's arms, then Sansa who went with her nursemaid to get ready for bed, and Robb who was leaning against Jon had to be forced into his covers.

"Jon," father said when they were finally alone in the privacy of his room. He kneeled down to Jon's level so their eyes could meet. "You are a Stark, no matter what Lady Catelyn says. Robb, Sansa, and Arya are your siblings. She has no right to keep you from them."

"I know," he nodded, they were so close he could breathe in the familiar calming scent of furs, forest, and snow. "I'm happy you're back."

Father kissed his forehead. "I'm happy to be back too. Goodnight, Jon."

"Goodnight, father."

It was the best sleep Jon had in months.

Over the next fortnight, Lady Catelyn was scarce once more. When she showed up again, her eyes burned into his skull with so much hate he could feel them following him even when he rounded a corner.

Father must have had more than a few words with her.

Jon found that he did not care. Let her look and let her hate; no matter what she said he was Lord Stark's son, and the elder brother of Sansa, Robb and Arya.

It was only when he later saw the marks on his younger brother, that Jon truly knew he was an actual bastard.

[1] Brandon was a known womanizer. GRRM confirmed that it's possible he has bastards somewhere, though he didn't have any male children. These bastards have not appeared in the story, and I decided I wanted those bastards to be present. If Ned's giving a home to his sister Lyanna's child, why not Brandon's? We need more Starks in the world. The Stark family tree shows that previous Starks had just as many children as Ned does. One Lord, a Beron Stark (Ned's great-grandfather, I think) had 7 children with his wife Lorra Royce - 5 sons and 2 daughters - who also went on to have children. Where have they all gone?! It's mentioned that they have extended cousins in White Harbor, the Barrowlands, and amongst the Royces, but nothing comes of it in Asoiaf. Except that time Catelyn mentioned it when Robb legitimized Jon.

On a side note, don't worry guys, there'll be no OC characters who will become mains and take over the show from actual characters. Yennefer and Lynara are purely on the side-lines, though they will have enough scenes and lines, so they don't just disappear in the background.

[2] Blood sacrifice was once common, and the entrails of criminals and traitors would be hanged from the branches of the weirwoods after their executions. [Taken from The World of Ice and Fire]. I don't know if they'd just hang the insides, and the head and body was buried, or if they were hanged altogether, but I think it would be pretty weird to have animal heads hanging right out in a place they would frequent every morning. Not that having intestines swinging around is more normal, but eh, these Northerners. I'm not sure when exactly this phased out, or if it was banned with the coming of Aegon, but the Starks will continue this tradition. Maybe not so publicly though. (For now)

Will this be a good influence on the Stark children? Who knows. Ned seems to have grown up just fine. Then again, he was raised in Eyrie. Considering Robb's situation though...

I could have watched YouTube tutorials on how to properly skin an animal, and I tried to, but the moment I saw the first trickle of blood I Noped! the hell out. So, I did the next best thing, I read this WikiHow page, - a good classical way to find out info- which didn't really give a clear image of the whole process, but it's good enough for my squirmy self.

[3] Asoiaf has no 'o clocks' going on, which I knew, but I didn't think they'd be so vague with the time periods, gosh. I'm assuming hour of ghosts is around or after midnight.

I had to cut this into two parts for an easier read, because a single chapter has no right being so long. Part two will be posted tomorrow.

Unedited as of 31/10/22.