Jon

Goblet of wine in hand, Jon moved about the great feasting hall of the Red Keep, moving amongst the chatting guests, not actually taking part in any of the conversations that were flowing about him but merely choosing to observe. Which was easy enough as when it felt like half of King's Landings' highborn were mingling about in the keep Maegor the Cruel built one bastard born heir wasn't one that someone needed to pay much attention to.

'Even if this feast is supposed to be in my honor,' Jon thought to himself as he carefully squeezed his way around two rather corpulent women who were wearing dresses that were far too revealing for their frames and had decided to stand between two long tables, creating a tight roadblock. Jon could have turned around and attempted to merely go back the way he'd come but that path led back toward Loras Tyrell and Jon had no interest in dealing with the Knight of the Flowers. He had already had one conversation with the warrior and had decided that he'd had enough for ten live times. The youngest son of Mace Tyrell was a vain, arrogant, brash young man; worse, he actually KNEW he was vain, arrogant, and brash. He somehow thought these traits made him even more interesting and charming. Jon had been forced, out of politeness, to endure nearly ten minutes of the knight telling him all about his skill with a lance: how he knew how to wield it, how to maneuver it perfectly to hit just the right spot, how his lance was longer and thicker than what most knights wielded and that always scared all but the bravest of jousting partners when they first saw it. Jon had tried to explain that he'd never actually jousted himself, taking no interest in it, but that had caused Loras to eagerly suggest he teach Jon how to, as he 'didn't know what he was missing'.

'I know what I'm missing,' Jon thought as he finally managed to get around the two women, neither of them even noticing that he was wiggling behind one of them and their rather bloated rear end. 'I'm missing out on hours of boredom as he tells me how to do something I care nothing about and then invites me to take a steam bath with him.' Loras had pressed Jon to join him anyway for one of those, claiming it was soon to become all the rage; he just couldn't sse that and unless Natasha was going to be joining him…

He shook his head. He still couldn't seem to decide how he felt about his wife. Just when he thought he would hate her forever for hiding so much for him she would say something or just give him a look and all he wanted to do then was declare that all was forgiven.

"Are you alright, my lord?" the commander of the Gold Cloaks, Jiffsun, asked him as he approuched, startling Jon out of his thoughts.

"It's been a long day," Jon admitted only to sigh when the man winced at that. "I'm not blaming you for what happened."

"I suppose I am blaming myself enough for the both of us," Jiffsun said, swirling his own goblet (which Jon noticed was made of a far lower quality metal than his own) before taking a sip of wine. "Honestly I wanted to avoid coming to this entire thing in part because I feared seeing you and Prince Oberyn."

"He won't hold it against you," Jon assured him.

"Of course he won't," another man said, joining the two of them. He had receding hair and a weather-worn face and despite the fine clothing he wore Jon knew at once this was a man, like Jiffsun and Jon himself, who understood that life was hard and that one had to work to gain what they wanted because no one was going to just hand it to them. "Prince Oberyn blames the Lannisters. For everything. I dare say that if an assassin suddenly burst in here and killed a Lannister guard he'd find some way to spin it that the soldier killed himself out of some sinister plot." He chuckled and Jon couldn't help but smile at that.

"Not always. Sometimes he's too drunk to care." Jon held out his hand. "Jon Stark, Heir of Iron Pointe."

"I know," the other man said but there was no bite to his words. "This feast is for you, after all. Oh. Adrian of the Tombs." There was a slight bite to his own words but Jon politely didn't draw attention to it. Everyone had their own stories and it wasn't up to him to draw them out. "So, what brings you all the way over here to slum it with us lesser?" He waved towards the high table at the far end of the hall.

Jon scoffed at that. "I'd rather be with men like you than up there feeling like every conversation I have is a knife fight."

Jiffsun grimaced at that. "I'll never get used to that. At least I hope I don't. I'm a simple man… I'm not interested in conversations within conversations that are hiding other conversations."

"Me neither," Jon stated. He had been seated next to Lord Kevan Lannister and while the man was polite and friendly Jon hadn't been blind to the fact that the man wasn't merely Master of Laws and wasn't merely the great uncle of the King but also one of Lord Tywin's most trusted advisors. It wasn't a coincidence that Jon had been seated next to him; Lord Kevan had clearly been told to subtly probe him, to gather information and report it back to Tywin. 'Something that would have been terrifying enough if I was merely just the son of a 'traitor'. But between being the Centurion and being Rhaegar's son…' Jon took a long drag from his wine, hating his Stark nature that prevented him from getting drunk. 'I have far too many secrets for a city such as this.'

He didn't know why but it had become clear that Tywin Lannister was interested in him. Already he and Natasha had received an invitation to dine with the man and Nat had made it clear to him that the Old Lion was NOT someone to offer such things out because he was lonely or wanted to show off a new recipe.

'I don't know what I've done to draw his attention but I wish I could push him to focus on someone else!' Jon thought to himself. Out loud he said, "Thankfully it's nearly over. My wife might enjoy such verbal sparring," he nodded towards Natasha who was at that very moment having a conversation with Cersei Lannister and Jon didn't know if he wanted to listen in or not to what those two might be discussing, "but I do not. I told her that I would be leaving once this was all over with. That is actually why I made my way over here… to get myself closer to the door."

Jiffsun and Adrian shared a look. "Lord Jon," the Gold Cloak said slowly, "the feast isn't over."

"Well, yes, we are mingling now but-"

"You misunderstand," Adrian cut in. "This is a Reach-style feast."

"…and?" Jon said, hating how dumb he felt in that moment.

The two once more shared a look and Jon was about ready to demand they stop that and tell him what was going on when Adrian spoke up. "A Reach-style feast is made up of many courses. In order to ensure that it isn't all sitting and eating the feasts are broken up into 'meals'. Several courses, up to ten, followed by 30 minutes of mingling before the next meal begins."

Jon paled at that. "That… that is not how we do things in the North."

"We aren't in the North," Adrian said with a teasing smile.

But Jon wasn't feeling any joy or amusement. He'd thought it was done, that he was free… but this was merely a brief break before he had to go back to trying out strange dishes he'd never heard of before while dealing with the sharp tongues of people that wanted nothing more than to find his weaknesses and exploit them.

'By the Old, New, and Hand-Me-Down Gods!' Jon cursed, mimicking Tony's blasphemy without realizing it. 'I'm doomed. Fucking doomed. This is my hell for using a cherub's cock as a weapon.'

Adrian, clearly having sensed his unease, nodded his head towards the high table where Jon had been seated for the meal. Unlike in Winterfell, where only the main family and their guests sat upon the dais, in the Red Keep nearly 50 people were given the honor of sitting at the great stone table. The royal family of course were placed at the center, for all to see, but to their right and left were all manner of honored guests. Jon, for his part, had been seated 15 chairs down from the king, something he was grateful for considering that there were far too many knives at the feast and each one was singing "Stab him! Stab him! Stab him!"

Oddly enough to the tune of 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' which wouldn't have been his first choice.

"Not interested in spending time with our lords?" Adrian asked. "That would be a first… it seems like everyone in King's Landing is interested in trying to get a meeting with our future queen's family. But you want to duck out… why?"

"Honestly?" Jon asked. He knew he should lie… Natasha would have told him to lie. Tony would have told him to lie. Happy would have told him to not even have this conversation in the first place because he didn't even know who Adrian of the Tombs was and the man might be some deranged monster. But Jon was just so tired of hiding who he was and he'd only been in King's Landing for a day. "The Tyrells make my hackles rise."

Jiffsun was clearly startled by that. "How so? They are so-"

"Wonderful? Kind? Giving?" Jon said, rattling off the many descriptions he'd already heard in his short time in the city. "Everyone praises them. The smallfolk call Margaery the Good Queen born again. Ser Loras is the beloved Knight of the Flowers, the Dragonknight reborn. The family is as pure and wonderful as the heroes of fairy tales." Jon shook his head before draining his wine in a single long swallow. "If that doesn't concern you then you don't understand people. Real people. Because actual people… they are flawed. We are broken creatures, each and every one of us. Jaehaerys became far too focused on his great works to notice his family falling apart until it was too late, sowing the seeds for the Dance. Baelor is the Blessed… but also the Cracked who wanted to make a child the High Septon. Aegon the Unlikely was a great king… except when he became so obsessed with dragons that he got himself, his heir, and one of the greatest knights in all the realm killed.

"Everyone is flawed. My father… everyone talks about how Ned Stark is so noble and honorable. I'm proof of his sins. His foolish coup against the King… another sin. How he abandoned King Robert when the realm truly needed him, fleeing back to the North and undoing all his father had tried to do to actually unite it with the rest of Westeros… sins. Flaws and sins. Even good men, beloved rulers, kind and just lords… make mistakes."

"We are sinners," Adrian said. When Jiffsun raised an eyebrow at that he shrugged. "Septon Moon. I studied him at the Citadel."

Jon didn't know who that was either but didn't say that. "The Tyrells though… everyone only has nice things to say about them in King's Landing. Which either means they truly are as good as everyone claims them to be, in which case I am concerned because it means my entire understanding of the world is flawed, or they are hiding something. A sin or a flaw so dark and vile that they must do so much good to cover it up. 'The deeper the hole the more dirt you need to fill it' as Old Nan used to say." Adrian shot him a look at that and Jon frowned, looking at Jiffsun who mouthed, "Reacher", causing Jon's eyes to widen. "Oh… oh, I am sorry-"

"Don't," Adrian said quickly, holding up a hand to forestall his apology. "You spoke you mind, true and firm. I find that… refreshing." Before he could say more a trumpet blared and Adrian gave him a sardonic smile. "It is time for the next meal. I hope though we have time to talk, Jon Stark." He began to walk away only for another man to walk up to him and hurriedly whisper in his ear.

"A strange man," Jon muttered to Jiffsun who merely shrugged and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder before he moved to reclaim his seat on the lower tables; while not allowed on the dais he was seated above the salt, thus showing all gathered that he did have some position of power within the Red Keep and its hierarchy.

Threading his way back through the throng of people like a condemned man being led to the gallows he suddenly found his progress stopped by an old woman that, for a brief moment, Jon thought to be a septa. But while she wore the dark, muted colors of a woman of the Faith, complete with head wrap, the rings that glittered on her fingers and the golden necklace that flashed in the light of the sunstone lamps that illuminated the room showed him that this was not some woman who had sworn a vow of piety.

"You'll be sitting with me for this meal, Jon Stark."

He looked at the small, shriveled woman who still managed to project an aura of strength so great he was reminded for Gregor Clegane. "I already have a place on the dais-"

"So do I!" the woman said with a grin, cutting right through his polite dismissal. "And it is customary to change your seating during each meal… life is too short to deal with the same people over and over again. I dare say you've had enough of talking with Lord Tywin's brother so you need a change. The man is decent enough but far too bland… while Tywin Lannister is a dish that has been over seasoned with lemons and limes to make your mouth pucker from the sourness Lord Kevan is bland bleached bread with a glass of water to wash it down." She reached over and took his arm, her grip firm and sure and she began to physically drag him back towards the high table. "Besides, having a young buck like yourself… I'm sorry, a young wolf… shower me with attention will make me feel young again."

Jon had never swam in the ocean. At best he'd dove into some of the ponds within the Wolfswood but never the ocean. He'd considered it when he'd arrived at Iron Pointe but the idea of dealing with salt water had never appealed to him; water shouldn't sting and bite unless it was cold. But Theon had described it to him and Robb and warned of the rip tides that could drag a man away from shore; the 'Grasp of the Drowned God' as Theon had called it.

Now he had a better feeling of what exactly that felt like thanks to the old woman who, despite all her smiles and kind words, was holding onto his arm like she was a living vice and dragging him back towards the dreaded high table without a care for what he might think of the situation.

"Now naturally the Royal Family won't be moving… can't have them any place other than at the center of the table, of course. But all the rest of us will shift and move, so as to keep the conversation as fresh as the dishes that are to come. And after I have spent the first meal trying to converse with Lady Stokeworth I think you'll make for a finer change of pace."

Before Jon could say anything in response to that, to plead that he really wasn't that interesting, he found himself already up on the dais and being led to a chair that was far closer to the Royal family than he would have liked. Still far away enough that he wouldn't actually have to talk with them, as it would be rude to shout over multiple people trying to enjoy their meal, but still it brought him closer than he'd have preferred. The old woman motioned towards an empty seat but before he could sit Mace Tyrell lumbered over, the Fat Flower smiling though it didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Ah, hello Lord Jon. I haven't had a chance to greet you yet. All that business with the trial… dreadful, truly dreadful. I assure you I will get to the bottom of what happened." The old woman scoffed at that and drew the Lord of Highgarden's attention. "Mother, can I assume that you are the reason Lord Jon is here?"

"Of course I am, you oaf," the woman snapped and Jon felt his stomach plunge to his feet. Natasha had warned him that there were many people in King's Landing he must be careful around but only a few that she demanded he never be left alone with. Tywin Lannister was one of them. Joffrey was another (though that was more because she feared he would gut the blond shit for getting Sansa killed and thus inviting the Night's Queen to take over her corpse). And Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns, was the third.

"Do you think it wise though? People talk, mother… this could cause a scandal."

"Oh, I'm sure Jon can handle people wondering if I stole his virtue," Olenna teased, causing Jon's eyes to go wide and, a moment later, Mace to begin to sputter. While others would have assumed it was because he was so caught off guard he didn't know how to answer Jon had a feeling it was more the visual image of his mother having relations with ANYONE that was causing Mace distress. He couldn't blame him… the idea of thinking of his f-uncle engaging in passions with Lady Stark was enough to make his own stomach curdle and that wasn't having the person in question throw it right in his face.

"Mother, you know-"

"Of course I know what you are getting at. I'm not a fool like you." Jon winced at that, feeling pity for Mace; he knew all too well what it was like to have someone constantly put you down. But where he had curled in on himself whenever Lady Stark had verbally flayed him Mace merely continued to stare his mother down; either the man was as much of a fool as people tried to make him out to be or he was built of far sterner stuff than the world realized. "The Dowager of Highgarden sitting with the bastard son of a traitor. Oh yes, the tongues will wag. What of it? Scandals are a concern for the young. Margaery needs to worry about scandal. The empty headed giggling girls that trail after her need to worry about scandal. Even you need to worry about scandal. But I am no maid… I long gave up the greatest gift a woman can give a man. Though-" she smirked, "I kept the box." Mace groaned in pain at that jape and Jon nearly joined him. "But what can they do to me now? I seek no husband, no position, no power that I do not already have my hands tightly clenched around. That is the benefit of being old: I can do whatever I want and it isn't merely accepted but expected. Now go sit down and make nice with the Queen. Jon and I want to enjoy our meal."

The dismissal clear Mace merely nodded and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek, which she accepted with a smile that was far more sweet and kind that any she'd been flashing his way during their conversation, before making his way towards the center of the table and taking a seat next to Cersei.

"Now that is an amusing sight, isn't it?" Olenna stated nodding towards the Queen who looked as if she had just had a dead slug shoved up her ass before forcing a pleasant smile on her face as Mace gushed praise. Remembering his manners, Jon pulled out her chair for Olenna. "Oh, a gentlemen. How disappointing." Jon's brow furrowed at that. "I had heard you Northmen were wild savages that dragged women about by their hair and used only clubs to beat their meals into a paste. You having manners ruin all the excitement I thought I was going to have." Jon sat down next to her and she shot him a look. "That was a jape, Jon. Either laugh or be offended. I don't know how to handle sullen silence."

"That is more likely to be found in the North than savages, my lady."

"None of that. Life is too short for such pleasantries. I once heard that we live and we die, these are certain. In between is every breath we take from our first squall to our death rattle. We are only given so much air, though we don't know how much. I do know that my amount is rushing towards its end and I don't want to waste it with titles and niceties."

Jon couldn't help himself. "You do realize you wasted more air telling me that then just nodding at me calling you 'my lady'?"

Olenna looked at him before letting out a sharp amused laugh. "A wit! Oh, what they say about you seems to be wrong. That is a delight. Or perhaps merely outdated. Your… cousin? Whatever Antony is to you… it is said he has a wit as well."

"When you live at Iron Pointe you learn to be quick with comebacks and insults," Jon said as servants moved to fill their goblets with wine and set baskets of fresh bread in front of them.

Olenna nodded at that. "Perhaps I should send my family to tutor under Antony then. Even Margaery, who is learning so well the Game, could stand to be educated in such things."

"Attention, attention!"

"Oh, I was wondering when he'd demand focus be brought back onto him," Olenna whispered as Joffrey rose. "Hmmm, and I see Tywin finally got it through the boy's head to switch up his waredrobe. Red and gold… too on the nose." Indeed the boy was wearing gold garments still but also included black. "His mother was the one pressing him to always wear Lannister colors… Tywin wisely realized with the rumors Stannis had spread about his parentage that it would be far wiser to favor his father's colors, seeing as he lacks the natural coloring."

What more the Queen of Thorns had to say was lost as Joffrey raised his voice and commanded the full attention of the room. "My loyal subjects, I thank you for coming here tonight to help me celebrate the arrival of the newest members of my Small Council. Prince Oberyn Martell-" Natasha's father gave a lazy wave of his hand, "-and Jon Stark, the b… the heir of Iron Pointe." Jon wondered how many others noticed the way Tywin, who was seated next to the king, had shifted when Joffrey had nearly declared Jon merely a bastard. Probably a lot, knowing King's Landing. "While there will be plenty of time to offer proper gifts for their service-" 'Most likely from Tywin who will force Joffrey to give them to us,' Jon thought, "-I feel that something must be done to make tonight special.

"My father loved to hunt. Sadly that love is also what killed him." If Joffrey was trying to come off as upset over the passing of Robert it failed with the slight twitch of his lips; after all the man's death was what had given Joffrey the power he craved. "A good lesson I suppose… the dangers of love." Everyone shifted at that and tried to look anywhere but in the direction of the Rose of Highgarden who was seated on Joffrey's right. "Still, he loved to hunt and one of his favorite meals was venison. Perhaps that might seem strange, it being the sigil of our house, but what better way to honor the stag than by consuming it? Thus, to honor my new advisors… let us bring in the next course!"

There was a murmur from the lower tables that turned into gasps of shock. Jon watched as two servants brought in a massive platter upon which was the charred flayed body of a wolf.

If Joffrey had been hoping to cause Jon to feel fear he'd failed. It was clear that he was supposed to believe this was Ghost, skinned and cooked for him to 'enjoy'. But Jon knew his direwolf and the beast being brought before him wasn't him. The cooked wolf was far too small, barely 3 feet long from the looks of it which made it small for a regular wolf let alone the direwolves. He didn't know about the rest of them but Ghost had grown huge during his time at Iron Point, over 5 feet long and still growing. Jarvis was convinced that by the time he was done growing Ghost would be the size of a horse easily. Then there was the fact that Jon kept Ghost outside of King's Landing, having brought one of the huntsmen from Iron Pointe with him to keep an eye on his beloved wolf. Joffrey would not have been able to find Ghost in the Kingswood, let alone had time to have him cooked.

A cruel joke was all it was and Jon refused to give the brat the satisfaction of seeing him react.

'Though it if had been Ghost he'd be dead before they cut the first piece off,' Jon mentally hissed.

The gathered nobles murmured at the sight of the wolf's corpse, which clearly hadn't been cooked properly. No one ate dog or wolf so the cooks of the Red Keep hadn't known what to do. In the end Jon wagered they'd gone with a spit roast but a wolf wasn't a pig and as a result the flesh was charred and blackened. The smell was also rather strong, a gamey stench that might have been exotic and flavorful if it wasn't so utterly overwhelming. In the North it was understood that with certain animals one had to be careful in how it was prepared to properly bring out the flavors and aromas… the Red Keep's cooks had failed and thus created a stench that was forcing people to turn away. Joffrey was all sinister smiles but Tywin was glaring at his grandson while the Queen looked utterly disgusted at the sight; having heard of her hatred of the direwolves that spoke to how badly Joffrey had fucked up.

"Thank you, your grace," Jon said, breaking the tension. "And thank you for not making one out of iron… I dare say my teeth aren't hard enough to have torn through something like that!" The jest helped calm some in attendance, earning small titters of laughter from the crowd. "This feast is a wonderful blend of so many cultures. Reach-style. Courses selected as your father King Robert would have. Now I hope you will allow me to continue by honoring the culture of not just the newest member of your Small Council but my Lady Wife's family." He waved towards the wolf carcass. "It is custom in Dorne that when one is honored at a feast that they are served last… the praise they receive from others should be far more filling than any dish. Thus it should fall to you first, my king, to have the choicest meats from this creature, and then your family and your future queen's family. After that, should any remain, I will partake… if not…" he gave a helpless shrug.

"Hear hear!" Oberyn called out, actually sitting up and pounding his goblet against the table. The rest of the Dornish in attendance joined in and soon the other nobles were clapping at Jon's words.

Of course there was no such custom. Jon had made it up whole cloth. But it sounded good and all traditions had to start somewhere.

'And the Dornish are considered so exotic by the rest of Westeros because no one bothers to actually learn about them,' Jon thought. 'So I can claim any tradition is their's and so long as it is just outlandish enough everyone will believe it.' The only way his trick would have fallen apart would have been if someone who knew Dorne had spoken up but he'd known that Oberyn would find Jon's lie to be utterly hilarious and go along with it, if only to enjoy the look on Tywin's face when a plate of blacked wolf meat was set down beside him.

"I would be rather angry at you for including me in having to eat that," Olenna told him quietly. "Except by the time I am served they'll have run out of that wolf and we'll get the actual meal."

"I'm sorry about your granddaughter though," Jon said as he saw Margaery Tyrell trying to cut into her dish, lips sticking out like a duck's for some reason that he couldn't quite comprehend. Loras was rapidly sawing through the tough cut while Mace and Cersei had found something to bond over: their displeasure in their current course.

Olenna waved his apology off. "If the girl isn't smart enough to figure out how to avoid eating dog then she deserve to chew on it. Ah… just as I assumed." The wolf had quickly been picked clean and as such Jon and Olenna were served cuts of beef instead. Perfectly seasoned and buttery in texture Jon saw several Lannisters look at his plate with envy before shooting dark looks at Joffrey; the boy king not noticing as he'd been reduced to getting a servant to hack into his meat for him like he was a child not trusted to use a knife. "You do little to remove the attention that is already being sent your way."

Jon swirled a cut of beef in a honey-and-spice sauce that had been drizzled onto his plate, careful to get as much of it covered as possible before popping it into his mouth. Only after he'd swallowed did he speak. "I'm coming to see that I will be for quite a while. King's Landing loves the new and interesting. I suppose everyone in the world does. Back at Winterfell Robb and I would always go down to watch the traders arrive from White Harbor to see what they might be bringing. Even a new bolt of fabric was interesting to take it."

"That is true but not what I was getting at." Olenna took a drink of her wine. "Guess again."

"Guess about what?"

"Why everyone is so interested in you."

"Because I'm a Stark?" he wagered. It seemed rather obvious.

But the Queen of Thorns shook her head once more. "No no, not that either. Everyone knows that and a fact doesn't make someone truly interesting."

"I hate riddles," Jon stated. "I always ended up focusing on the wrong part of them. Once our Maester asked us a riddle concerning a rich man, a drowned priest, and a king. I spent half the lesson trying to understand why those three would be in a room together."

Olenna smiled at that, dabbing the corners of her lips with a napkin. "I am a woman, Jon. There are few joys I can have in the world. Hunting? Training in the yard? No… even horseback riding is frowned upon for the most part. It is unseemly for a woman of my station to cuddle a puppy and I loathe cats as I should be the only one with claws. I suppose I could paint but that is rather solitary. That leaves only two activities I can participate in to amuse myself… and unless you want to drag me off to some quiet corner and hitch my skirt up and rip off my smallclothes-" Jon's eyes went wide at that and he nearly snorted the wine he'd been drinking through his nose, "-riddles are my only pleasurable activity."

"Right," Jon said, coughing slightly.

Olenna though clearly decided that it was time to show him an ounce of pity. "The reason everyone is interested in you is that you are a mystery. You've always been a mystery." Jon looked at her, befuddled, and Olenna rolled her eyes. "Come now, you can't be that thick. I know it's said you Starks have ice in your veins but it isn't in your head though!" She shook her head. "But maybe it isn't your fault you are a bit of a dunderhead when it comes to yourself and how the world sees you. After all it goes both ways, doesn't it? You know nothing of us… and we know nothing of you."

Because of course it came back to who his mother was. That seemed to dominate his life, even now that he knew the answer. Because everyone wanted to know the answer but he couldn't speak it. And even if it wasn't world shaking and had the strength and power to alter the recent history of Westeros people loved to point to 'Ned Stark's Great Shame'.

"So many people enter the Red Keep and before they reach the throne room their entire life story is known. It has been discussed, dissected, changed to be more interesting, and written up to create two plays and five brand new songs. But you? You are a walking mystery. And it hasn't been helped that your father kept you so close." She leaned in a bit closer, her face kind and pleasant yet Jon found himself wishing he was facing down an enraged brown bear rather than looking into her sweet dark eyes. "Do you even realize how many offers were made to foster you?"

Jon knew that there had been offers. He'd heard Lady Stark more than once discuss them, either coming out for them or against. If it had been a minor house, one founded recently by some second son or so small that it was little more than a village with a single larger hut that served as its 'keep' she had pressed his father to accept. House Blackmyre had once offered, he knew that, as had House Wells. His father had turned those down. But Jon knew that the Manderlys had offered to foster him… not directly but with one of their knights yet that was still a grand honor. Lady Stark had spoken against that, feeling it a danger to let Jon be so close to a powerful house, for it might give him ideas. His father had denied that offer and others as well.

"I do," Jon said. "Many houses in the North offered to foster me, as they did Sansa and Arya and Bran. My father turned them down."

"As he did houses in the South," Olenna said casually, taking a crusty honey roll and breaking it open, casually using it to sop up some of the honey spiced sauce that remained on her plate. Jon blinked in surprise at that and she glanced at him, her smile becoming a smirk. "Did you know that King Robert suggested fostering you early on? He has a bastard of his own, Edric Storm, and after the child was born he thought it a perfect idea to have a… well, a swap for lack of a better term. You would come to King's Landing and be fostered here while Edric would grow up in the North. Jon Arryn of course quickly talked him out of that, as it would be unseemly to have you at court." She raised her hand before he could say a word. "NOT because of you yourself but because of Aegon the Unworthy. After him having a bastard in the Red Keep, even one not of the King's own blood, would be seen as mad. Then Robert thought to have you and Edric raised as brothers… much as he and your father were fostered in the Vale he thought to send you to Storm's End. That was dismissed as well, this time by your father.

"Then there was Lord Kevan. He offered to foster you in Lannisport… not Casterly Rock, of course, but he does keep a home in Lannisport and was willing to move there permanently. Your father declined once more and some whispered about that being his petty revenge for what he felt were the slights to himself and Lyanna for the Lannisters so quickly rushing in to bind themselves to Robert." Olenna leaned back as a servant reached around her and took away her plate while bringing around another, this one a fish dish. "I convinced my daughter Mina to offer to foster you as well. I think you would have done well in the Reach… the sun would have brighten that darkness that seems to hang around you like smoke." She gave a small shrug. "Your father refused that offer. Along with others."

It stunned Jon to hear that so many have been interested in having him fostered in their halls. It made sense… his f-uncle clearly cared for him so many probably assumed that Eddard Stark would grant him lands of his own, perhaps create a cadet branch of House Stark. Or have him legitimized… if they had learned how close he was to Robb they'd have known that such a thing was probable to happen. Before the King had ridden to Winterfell to drag his fa… uncle South Robb had told Jon his plans: when his father finally passed or gave up his position as Warden of the North (perhaps joining the Night's Watch as Jeor Mormont had done) Robb would ask the king to legitimize Jon and name him his second.

"We were meant to rule together, brother," Robb had told him. Jon would never be the Lord of Winterfell… but he could be a Stark. It was only when he'd been threatened with the loss of Ned Stark's protection and it became clear that Lady Stark wouldn't allow him to be rewarded in any way that Jon had considered the Night's Watch… and then Tony had changed it all.

'And yet…' he thought to himself, thinking of those offers. 'How different would my life have been had I not been kept so close to Winterfell, honoring my mother's promise to keep me safe? What sort of man would I have become under the care of the King? Or Lord Kevan? Or under the watchful eye of this Queen of Thorns?'

In the end he realized it didn't matter. One could drive themselves mad thinking about what could have been and might have happened but in the end it didn't matter. They were just stories one told to an audience of one and held as much weight as the clouds in the sky.

"Your father clung to you… and your brothers and sisters… rather fiercely. I can understand that." Olenna shook her head. "What that mad fool Aerys did to your uncle and your grandfather, and Rhaegar to your aunt… had I lost so much family I would have done as your father did and keep all my children tight to my chest, refusing to let them go." She chewed on her fish and soon Jon came to believe the conversation was over only for her to suddenly begin speaking once more. "Your grandfather… do you know of his plans to finally unite the North once more with the Seven Kingdoms?"

Jon shook his head; Rickard Stark wasn't talked about much in Winterfell. In fact none of his family was discussed. The servants kept silent because they knew of their Lord's grief and Jon's f-uncle? Well, Jon wasn't quite sure anymore why he kept such secrets.

"Hmmm… sheltered indeed. At least you don't try and hide it. All men are fools but at least those that know they are fools have a bit of hope." She let out a little scoff when he scowled at her. "I'm old, I'm allowed to talk however I want to anyone. If you reach my age you'll be able to do the same, I assure you. Now then… your grandfather lived through a truly terrible winter because his father and the other Lords of Winterfell that had come before him had decided that they were happy to die so long as they got to brag about being separate from the rest of us. Your grandfather valued life more than bragging rights.

"As such he met in secret with men of like minds and a plan was formed to bring the North closer to the rest of Westeros. This served the likes of Tywin Lannister and Jon Arryn quite well as they had grown tired of the generations seeping away the powers of the Lords of Westeros and giving it only to the current fool who sat on the Iron Throne. It wasn't merely about Aerys, though he did accelerate their plans, but all the Dragonlords. Rickard remembered when the Starks had been kings and if they could not have crowns they could at least become kingmakers. Tywin, Jon Arryn, and your grandfather were the first three in the plot but soon Princess Meria of Dorne, Hoster Tully of the Riverlands, Steffon Baratheon of the Stormlands, and myself were brought into the plot and we happily accepted.

"I won't bore you with all the marriage contracts that were created. Cersei would marry Prince Oberyn who would be given a new keep on the border of the Reach and Dorne. Lyanna would marry Robert Baratheon, which of course is well known, as was Brandon marrying Catelyn Tully. Jaime Lannister would marry Lysa Tully while Stannis was to marry my daughter Mina before the fool of a girl fell for her now husband. Your father was to marry Ashara Dayne while my youngest would marry whoever ended up being Jon Arryn's heir. I'm sure we would have found someone to throw at Balon Greyjoy's sons so he could have felt part of the scheme. And then there were countless small marriages among minor houses that we arranged. In the end though we would have made nearly every Great House in Westeros tied together. Family."

Olenna shook her head. "But then Aerys happened and your father decided that he didn't want to tie himself to the South. He belonged in the North. All Starks belonged in the North. And thus he undid all your grandfather had worked towards with a sweep of his hand." She let her gaze flow over the crowd and Jon did the same. "That will be a choice you don't get."

Jon looked over at her, finding his head aching from all the multiple layered meanings to all the statements she was making. "If there is something you wish to tell me I would prefer you just say it."

"Are you this quick with your wife?" Olenna asked.

"No but I actually enjoy talking with her," he snapped, his frustration finally getting the better of him.

But that only made Olenna smile. "Good… there is passion in you. You'll need that for what is coming next." She leaned in close to him and whispered, "The Spider isn't the only one with spies. Mine aren't little birds, however. But they have heard whispers. You've gained Tywin Lannister's attention. You know this, don't deny it." Jon didn't. "Whatever you have done… it has impressed him greatly. He has talked to those whose opinions he cares about greatly. He is searching for information concerning your youth; what you learned, your skill at arms, your cunning and knowledge. Could you have been a knight or a maester? He asks the same about your wife. There is only one reason a man asks such questions, and so soon after meeting you: Marriage contracts."

Jon felt his stomach once more plunge to his toes.

"It isn't unheard of to discuss such things so early. After all, the marriage contract that brought you and the Black Widow of Dorne together was made long before either of you were born."

"He… he would never…" Jon stammered.

"Why? Because you both are bastards? Orys Baratheon was a bastard and beloved by Aegon. Alyn Oakenfist was a bastard and married a Princess and cousin of the King. Aegon the Unlikely loved Ser Duncan the Tall far more than any of his brothers. The stain of a bastard is easy enough to wash away… already it is being removed from you. Where once it was a glaring red stain upon a white cloth it has faded to a pale pink and soon will only been seen by those that remember it… and time will remove them." She shrugged. "I would have no problem with it. Joffrey and Margaery's second daughter married to your eldest son and heir… a daughter of yours perhaps wed to one of their sons. Tywin perhaps even means to do what Robert tried and make a Stark a queen…"

"Why?" Jon croaked out. "I… I will just be the Lord of Iron Pointe."

Olenna though shook her head. "You foolish boy. Do you not see? When we crush your father and his fledgling kingdom a new Warden of the North will be needed. Who would we put there? A Bolton? An Umber? A Karstark? No… the North must be led by a Stark. You will do what the Blackfyres could not, what your father's lady wife clearly feared: You will usurper your true blood brothers and be the Lord of Winterfell."

It took all of Jon's power not to vomit right there.