V. Cloaked in Grey

Life in Starfall settled back to normalcy, as the months passed and summer reached its height.

Yet it was not the same. It was a new normal, one where there was no maiden in the castle, only quickly growing boys and their slowly aging guardians. Both Jon and Edric were quickly shooting up in height, and Jon now practiced with live steel. Blunted, but still live steel. The weight of the blade was heavier, just like the rest of the duties he took up now. He studied with greater fervour, encouraged by having visited and met so many of the places and houses the books talked of. He exchanged letters with Quentyn in Yronwood, and Allyria in He explored with greater freedom, finally allowed by Ashara to ride around the villages and the country near Starfall as long as he took at least two serving boys or men-at-arms with him. He took full advantage of this freedom, riding out as far as the foothills of the Red Mountains until the ground beneath was too treacherous for a horse to navigate as well as all the way to High Hermitage, the landed holdfast of Arthur's cousin Gerold.

Jon even met Gerold a few times. His half-cousin was handsome and had an easy manner, but Jon always felt ill at ease around him. Still, they treated each other courteously on those rare occasions they came across each other.

On Gerold Dayne, Arthur would only suggest caution. "He's always been bitter that he will never be the Sword of the Morning. Every time he sees you or Edric, he sees what could have been, if only fate had been a little different."

Jon nodded somberly. He understood the gist. Arthur let his words hang in the air for a moment, then clapped his nephew on the back. "Enough of that! Take another round, Jon."

Tightening his grip on the practice lance and wheeling the horse around, Jon galloped down the track. At the far end was a dummy dressed up in armour with a shield. Behind him, Jon heard Arthur following to watch his posture and the strike.

When the target was scarcely three meters away, Jon lowered the lance and leaned forwards. For a heartbeat Jon was poised to land the perfect strike. But the tip of the lance fell inches short of the target, and Jon lost his balance even as he struck. Sparks erupted as the lance hit the shield and skidded off.

"Good hit, but too early!"

"I know!" Jon called back in frustration. Jousting was… harder than he had expected. Sometimes he timed the blow correctly, but couldn't put enough force into it. Sometimes, he timed it perfectly and put all the force he could muster, only to watch the lance glance off the target's shield or shoulder in a grazing blow.

His teacher only had one response to all of Jon's frustrations.

"Barristan the Bold rode at his first tourney when he was my age! He didn't spend years practicing!" Jon exclaimed.

"Jon," Arthur said patiently, "How well do you think he did?"

"Um-"

"The Prince of Dragonflies unhorsed him on the first tilt without even flinching. Oh, he was certainly bold, but skilled is a different matter entirely." With a chuckle and a pat on Jon's head, he added, "Another month and you will be better than old Barristan was at your age."

"Really?" Jon perked up, and soon he was back to hitting the target.

The sun dipped towards the mountain as the heat of the afternoon faded to a cool evening. In the distance the sky glowed amber, casting the peaks and the valley into shadow. A hush fell, and the five towers of Starfall passed under the shade. It was too dark to continue practicing - Jon could hardly see the target even in the thronging lamplight of the courtyard.

"Wash and clean up, Jon!" Arthur called behind him. He waved back in acknowledgement and rode his horse towards the stables. He wasn't big enough to ready the animal by himself, but with the help of one of the older stableboys he got the colt into his stall.

Running past the Great Hall, Jon headed to his rooms. Every single muscle ached. He was sore all over, and nothing but a good warm bath would put that right.

Just his luck. It was Delly attending to him. Jon gave her his best smile and only received a cold stare and a gesture towards the bathtub. Once she left the room, Jon sighed. The stigma of being a bastard would never go away.

He was lucky he lived in Dorne. The maid's coldness towards him was excusable once Jon learned she had grown up in the Reach and only recently moved south with her family.

Should he confront his mother about his father? Months back at Starfall, and Jon had not yet mustered the courage to talk to either his mother or uncle about what he'd overheard.

He'd do it tomorrow, he decided.

It wasn't the first time he'd decided that. Nor the fifth, nor the tenth.

Things were so peaceful. Starfall was quieter, and with Allyria gone Ashara doted on him and Edric so much more. She told him stories of her days at court, taught him to stitch leathers and padding, dropped by on some of his lessons, and even sang for him at times. She used to be the best mother Jon could've asked for, and now she was even more than that.

The same went for Arthur. Jon could tell Arthur was genuinely proud of Jon for having made friends so quickly on their travels, and in turn Jon had gotten a real taste of knighthood. All the stories he had heard about his uncle, both from the various smallfolk around the castle and from the man himself, they all suddenly found a firm anchor. Jon could almost imagine his uncle riding on a tall white horse, astride in shining armour and a cape that glittered with stars. He could imagine Arthur Dayne at his prime facing Garlan Tyrell and riding down the Knight of Flowers after an endless exchange of lances just like the storied joust between the knights Ryam Redwyne and Clement Crabb. And each time he looked at his uncle standing tall on the training yard, he could almost see Arthur Dayne at his prime rather than bowed by age and injury.

Loud knocks at the door to his bedroom broke Jon out of his reverie. He turned towards the sound in surprise, splashing water out of the tub as he did.

He stared sheepishly at the mess he'd made on the floor. Another set of loud knocks came. Only his uncle would knock so firmly, Jon decided. "I'm coming!" He called out.

A few minutes later, he was proven right. Arthur was sitting in his antechamber, idly handling a small toy. There was a serious expression on his face.

"Jon."

"What's wrong, uncle?" Jon asked. That expression was rare. He rubbed at his head some more with a towel, trying to get the water out.

"It's not an emergency, but we have to talk. Your mother, you and I."

Jon's face fell, but his heart fluttered. There were only a few things to discuss that would involve all three of them, and Jon was expecting some of them. He simply replied, "Okay."

Dried and dressed, he followed his uncle up the tower. Past both his guardians' chambers, to the highest floor of the tower.

The Lady's Solar was richly decorated in velvet and purple. The floor was thickly carpeted and bookshelves lined the room. A quarter of the wall was open and covered in a grand pane of glass - the single most expensive part of the castle. In the day, it would let in enough light that there was no need for any candles. But in the dark, the room was brightly lit by lamps, and the window yawned out into darkness. Jon glanced towards it and out the window, far below he saw small pinpricks of light - torches in the village and beyond.

Ashara was sitting by the desk, staring some kind of grey mass in her hands. As he walked into the room, she looked up. "Jon. There you are."

"What's going on, mother?" He peered at the gray clothes in her hands. "What's that?"

Ashara closed her eyes, as if searching for words. Arthur spoke up instead.

"We think- that you're old enough to be fostered."

Fostered? Jon's heart leapt at the prospect. Fostering meant other children his age, and other Lord and Knights out there in the wide world, and paging and squiring and-

"Where am I going?" He all but blurted out. "Can I go to Yronwood with Quentyn? Or Sunspear? Or can I live with Allyria and foster with Lord Beric?"

"Wait, wait" Arthur held up his arms, "Slow down. I know you want to be with your friends, but we already have someone in mind."

"Who is it?"

Before Arthur could answer, Ashara's soft voice replied. "There are some things you must know first. Sit, Jon."

There was something in her voice. Jon had heard it once before, the previous year. It was firm, yet tremulous. He took a seat on a chair by the desk. A feeling crept up on Jon. A feeling that it was time. Opposite him, Ashara glanced down at the light grey cloth, her elegant fingers clutching it like it was a lifeline.

"This cloak- I've had it since you were born. It was still Winter, and there was a chill breeze from the Arbor. We were nearly out of firewood. This is the cloak your father wrapped around me as I gave birth to you. A poor substitute for one he would have wrapped around me in a Sept, had things been a little different."

She held out the cloak. Quietly, Jon reached out and took it. It was made of heavy cloth — heavier than anything he'd ever worn. The inside was lined with fur. Jon could feel how warm it was. He unfurled it, held it up, and stared with mute apprehension and confusion at the symbol on the back.

A direwolf in dark grey.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Jon's heart pounded in his chest. He remembered every line, every hint. He remembered every word Ashara and Arthur and Quentyn and Lonmouth had spoken to him over the past year. So many hints, all right there in front of him. If only he had put together the clues! If only he had confronted his mother earlier! Were the secrets at an end, at long last?

"My father is Ned Stark." Jon stated, his voice barely above a whisper.

The silence stretched.

His mother fidgeted. "I-"

"Mother." Jon cut her off and stepped forward. "It's okay. I'm not… angry or anything." Gently, he folded the cloak and placed it in her hands. Then he reached out and hugged her. "I love you."

She hugged him right back and sniffled. When Jon pulled away from the hug, her violet eyes were shining.

Arthur let out a long breath and grinned. "Thought you would take it a lot worse."

"You too, Uncle." Jon gave him a hug.

"You're too mature for your age, you know." Arthur said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jon finally asked the biggest question that had been on his mind. It was his mother who answered.

"I didn't want to lose you. If you knew, you would've kept dreaming about going north and finding him. I- I wanted to have your childhood."

"You won't lose me, mother." Taking her hand, Jon said. "I'm always going to be your son."

"You are." Ashara said simply.

"But-" Jon continued. "There are people out there who don't believe that. They think my parents are Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar."

He let those words hang in the air.

"Godsdamned Lonmouth! That bloody-"

"Arthur!"

"He talked to you at Blackhaven, didn't he?" Arthur growled.

Jon nodded. "He did, but he didn't really say anything. Just that I have my mother's look."

Ashara raised an elegant eyebrow. "You only have my eyes. The rest of you… it's all Ned. What on earth was Lonmouth talking about?"

With a shrug, Arthur said, "Ned and Lyanna were almost of a face, remember? Lonmouth must have been thinking of her as your mother instead. And your eyes — he doesn't remember Rhaegar half as well as he thinks. Your eyes aren't as dark as Ashara's, but they are definitely much darker than Rhaegar's. Even in poor lighting…"

Arthur looked at him. "But that wouldn't have told you exactly who they thought your parents were."

Suddenly, Jon had an urge to look at the carpet rather than his uncle. "Even Quentyn made some hints that he thought there was something more."

"Jon-"

"Okay! I eavesdropped!" He looked back up sheepishly. "I heard parts of your conversation with Lonmouth and his fellows."

"I knew it." Arthur sighed. He sat down heavily on another chair and nodded at his sister.

Ashara responded to Jon. "That's… part of the reason why we didn't tell you. When you were born, the Rebellion had just ended. We didn't know what Robert Baratheon would have done if he thought like that. Or if Ned would've been able to stop him. So we stayed quiet here, and tried to make sure as few people knew that one of your parents was from the North. It's not that we wanted to hide it, but you were just a child."

"So, it's all a… fanciful plot? About me being the Targaryen heir?"

"Yes." She nodded simply. "There are still Targaryen loyalists everywhere — in the Reach, and in Dorne, and in the Crownlands. Both Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen are beggars in Essos, too weak and too far away to be useful. But you are here in Westeros, raised in Dorne by Rhaegar's best friend. You have purple eyes and northern features. It would be easy for them to pass you off as the child of Rhaegar and Lyanna and build a sham uprising on it. There's no truth in what Lonmouth said, only his own bitter dreams."

Jon let out a breath of relief. "Rhaegar's real son, Lyanna, they're dead, right?"

Behind Ashara, Arthur nodded. "I've already told you about what happened at the Tower of Joy. If Lyanna had lived to confirm that Rhaegar's son was stillborn, things would have definitely been different. We just have to make do with what we got."

"Right." Jon glanced at the cloak. "You're going to foster me with Ned Stark? With… father?"

The word felt strange and unfamiliar to his tongue. Father. Such a simple word, right next to 'Mother' and 'Uncle', yet one he uttered so rarely. "Father", he said again, and let the word roll around in his mouth and mind.

Ashara smiled. The first real smile in all this conversation. "Yes. I'm glad you're already practicing your pronunciation."

Jon grinned back in response. He had a father. Even if Ned Stark was half the world away, he was his father. He wanted to go tell Edric and Allyria the news so badly, even though he knew they were still too young and too far away!

Edric. His cousin. Not his brother.

Ned Stark would have children of his own. A lady wife, a castle and an heir of his own. Jon had brothers and sisters.

Trueborn siblings.

His smile faded. Ashara and Arthur both sensed it, looking at him with concern rather than smiles now.

"Is- is it really alright?" Jon asked quietly. "I'm a- a… I'm not trueborn. Ned Stark has a wife and children of his own. Will he really a-accept me?"

"Shush!" Ashara spoke almost fiercely. "He will accept you into his household. Catelyn Tully will understand, no matter what. You have a half-brother of an age with you, a half-sister of Edric's age, and two younger siblings."

"H-how can you be so sure?"

"Because he made a promise to me, and in turn he forced me to make him a promise. He promised to foster you, and acknowledge you as his son when you were old enough, and in return I promised to send you to foster with him." She took his hand and stroked his cheek with the other. "Jon, it'll be alright. I promise you."

Slowly, Jon nodded. "I trust you, mother. When will I be leaving?"

"Soon." Arthur crossed his arms. "I'll take you to Winterfell myself. We'll leave before the end of this year. It's not like you're leaving Starfall forever, but all the same, take the time to prepare."

She smiled again. "Then it's settled. There are some things we have to set in order, and I have letters to write. Before you go, please remember that until you reach Winterfell, we have to maintain some semblance of secrecy. Ned's is too young, and there's no telling if a letter by raven will reach Allyria safely and securely. You can tell them that you are going to be fostered in the North, but say that we haven't decided yet with whom. The same goes for anyone else in Starfall, and any of your friends."

"But- I don't want to lie to them."

"I know how hard it is to lie to family, sweetheart." She pulled him close. "Don't worry — we'll let Ned and Allyria know the truth soon."

That mollified Jon. He sat there, already preparing to contemplating the revelations of the day. Ashara broke him out of his reverie with a a very motherly command.

"It's getting late now. Go to bed." Then she added, "I'm sure you'll spend half the night lying in bed thinking, so you might as well get a head start on it." Jon had the temerity to look sheepish at being read so easily.

He took a moment to look towards the window again. Out towards the starlit sky and the pale moon in full glow, then down to the slowly fading lights of the village as it went to sleep.

"Mother, uncle, good night." He said as he stood up to leave.

"Good night, Jon." She pulled him close and planted a light kiss on his forehead. "I love you."


I'm... not good at long drawn out scenes of dialogue. I actually had to go back and weed out the fifty "_ nodded" that I keep putting in my first drafts.

We're past a hundred favourites here, so thank you all for that!

Up next, in Chapter VI - The Water Gardens, Jon sets off for Winterfell and has the strangest encounter on the way.