Chapter 3: Skin, Pale as the Light of the Moon. Heart, Burning Like Fire in the Night

Jon.

The Great City was anything but a disappointment, the white stone was as white as the stories told, and festivities and revels were wide and far, people just seemed in a good mood on the eve of their Princess's wedding. Jon was throughly excited as Robb and his horses passed through the great gates, and he could hear the excitement rush past Arya and Bran's parted lips. He smiled at them. He was too old, too mature to show such excitement in such a childish way, but he was happy they did not care of what other people thought of them. The company spurred their horses up, through the throng of revelers, toward the great palace at the top tier. Jon hadn't smiled this much in years, or ever really, he was bastard, he wasn't allowed to be happy.

At each corner there were musicians and magicians, playing fast tunes and performing novelties that had young children fascinated. There were groups of people dancing all around, fast jiggs, and slow waltzes, and dances Jon didn't know. As they made their way, he watched as children begun following them, a Prince seated high was a sight to be seen in any town. Of course, Robb wasn't exactly a Prince, but he still had the right to the princess's hand.

The courtyard of the top tier was yet another sight, it's great white tree was in full bloom, it's mirror reflected in the pool beside it. Jon wondered if it were a weirwood like back home but eliminated that thought as a troop of men crossed toward them. It was lead by a tall thin man, with a head of spun copper for hair. He smiled faintly and Jon was reminded unhappily of his father. The man stood before them, his head meeting Robb's, and his inblazen breast shinning with the white tree upon in.

"Welcome." He said "You're here for the princess's tourney correct?"

Robb nodded "I am. My name is Robb Stark, Son of Boromir, these are my brothers Jon and Bran, and our sisters Arya and Sansa, and Osha a companion to Bran." The man's smile faded.

"I thought you looked familar." He said "Especially you. You look just like him." He pointed at Jon "It is my honor to welcome you to Gondor, my children, and it is an even greater honor, because you are family. My name is Faramir, son of Denathor, brother to Boromir, and steward of Gondor."

Robb's astonishment was plain of his face and on the face's of his family. "Mother never said..."

"Catelyn never thought me worth of the title, I believe." Faramir said and then laughed "No one did I think. But come now, there will be time to catch up on family affairs after you've met your King." and he led the group into the throne room, a hall of grandeur, the marble statutes of long dead kings staring blank eyed down at the group, Bran was the tallest, seated high upon Osha's shoulders.

It was easy to spot the King, he was seated high on his fine throne, smiling as a boy with sheets of gold for hair told him something for only the king's ears. He was tall and lean still, the King from the stories of Pelenor Fields, and Helms Deep. His dark beard glistened and his eyes twinkled under his dark brow. He was the King of Men, as he should have been. The King was everything Jon thought a King should be, tall and strong and dark and kind and frightening.

"Your Grace!" Faramir exclaimed, as the music died to a low hum from the other side of the room. "May I present the eldest son of Boromir, Robb." A sudden hush fell over the court as the King as his golden hair companion descended from the throne, to stand before the group. Robb knelt, his brothers following his example, Osha almost toppling from the top-heaviness of Bran.

"Raise." The King said "Robb Stark son of Boromir. I knew your father, and he was a dear friend of mine, a man of honor and strength. I am pleased that you traveled this far to compete for my daughter's hand. You shall be treated as a brother here, for that was what Boromir was to me. Tonight we are hosting a great dinner for all the tourny member," Grey Wind wagged his tail expectantly and barked lightly nosing the King's hand at the mention of dinner. "Ah, what have you brought with you? Direwolves? I heard they were all but extinct."

"They were, or are..." Robb faltered and Jon stepped up for him.

"We found a litter in the woods a time ago," He told the King "We hope it's alright that we've brought them here, they are the sigil of our house, and Lady Catelyn would not have them at home, your Grace."

The king laughed heartily and nodded "So long as they behave themselves! Come! Show these brave souls to their rooms! I'm sure you wish to wash the road off, am I right?"

"Of course, my liege," Robb said bowing again before they was swept from the room, toward warm beds and a change of cloths.

...

Jon's room back home was a meager cupboard compared to the stately room he was given in the Great City. The best part about the room was that he had his own chamberpot and the room was all his. No brothers to share it with, or snoring old grandmothers. Jon thought that this was very near to heaven.

He washed himself with cool water from a pitcher and changed from the boiled leather and wools of riding cloths to softer fabrics of court clothing. A tight olive green shirts under a long darker green tunic with slits in the sides and dark pants tucked into boots that used to be Robb's. In fact the whole outfit used to be Robb's, but his brother had given it to him, saying that he was in need of some 'courtly' clothing, not the rags of a bastard.

He'd taken in lightly, promising to pay Robb back, while Robb brushed it off and thrown an arm around Jon's shoulders.

Jon looked at himself in the mirror and noted he needed to shave, but he wasn't the one trying to win the heart of the King. And Robb hadn't shaved either. He said it made him look older, more mature. Jon scoffed at that. The green fabric that clung tightly to his arms and waist, made him look older, and more... royal. It made him look like a proper son, not some bastard without a mother. Jon made a face at himself and stormed out the door, throwing himself into the hallway. He hated himself in that moment, a pretender, playing on his dead father's honor, a twisted boy in love with his own brother.

"Ho boy!" Someone called from down the hall and Jon looked up a blush covering his cheeks, as he observed a Man walking toward him. The Man, was little older then he was, and he was dressed in the reds and bronzes of Rohan, a Horse Lord. He had straight dark honey hair that curled up and in slightly at the bottom, his cheeks dusted with an amount of stubble.

"You alright?" He asked Jon, a friendly smile playing on his lips, his light eyes grinning it seemed. Jon nodded and fixed an imaginary wrinkle in his jerkin. "Æsc," The man said holding out a calloused riding hand, and it took Jon a moment to understand that was the man's name. "Son of Eomer"

"Jon," He said finally taking the riders hand "Son of Boromir." Æsc smiled and nodded.

"Yes, your brother is here for the hand of Princess Lindânâ, correct?" Æsc asked as the pair set off down the stone hall. Jon nodded and the Prince smiled again "Then I offer him the best of luck, as far as I have seen, he is one of the only men here that might offer me a challenge."

"More then a challenge I fear my good lord," Jon said "My brother is prepared to win the princess's hand. I offer you my condolences in advance."

That made the Horse Lord laugh and soon Jon was smiling along with the boy. "Well, if i had to lose to one man it would surly be your brother. But what of you? You look like a good rider, and a strong arm. Are you not also competing for the princess?"

Jon shook his head sadly "No, i do not hold the right title to fight in the tourny for her hand. My brother will be the one to bring our house honor."

"Have you seen the princess?" Æsc asked "You will not be saying that you wish to just sit on the sidelines once you see her. She is as beautiful as the cherry trees in spring, as new fallen snow, as... If she were kidnapped, her face alone would launch a thousand ships."

Jon's brow furrowed "Isn't that a myth?" He asked and Æsc looked confused with him.

"No I don't think so." The pair shrugged the matter off as the loud click of nails on the stone announced the arrival of Arya her wolf Nymeria.

"Jon!" she exclaimed "This place is AMAZING! Have you seen the dungoens? They're HUGE! and the kitchens! and did you see all the people in the city? They all look for happy!"

Jon laughed as she went on explaining the wonders of the Great City, with lots of hand motions while Nymeria tried to get Ghost to play with her, nosing at him and jumping around. Ghost just slunk closer to his master.

"You've been all over the castle in the span of a few moments sister!" He said "And you haven't cleaned yourself up for the feast tonight. Lady Catelyn would be very upset."

Arya glared "You haven't shaved! Mother would have your head for that!"

"She would have my head for living." Jon corrected her. "Off, put on those nice clothing you packed. The dress you packed." Arya made a disgruntled noise but turned on her heel and stocked off toward her room.

Prince Æsc's laughter subsided, and he smiled after Arya's retreating form. "She's a wild one she is." He said and Jon nodded smiling. "Looks like you too."

"We look like our father," Jon said."That's what every one says anyway."

Æsc smiled "Then I shall believe it. I never had to pleasure to meet the legend that was your father, but they say he was something."

Jon smiled saddly "That's what I've heard."

A/N: Wow, look at that, ya'lls are still with us. Damned be the Gods. All I can say is thank you, and please, read and review. I'm curious how many of you are read and enjoying this!