The POV switches from time to time in this chapter, I really wanted to give each character their own voice. I'll label each different POV for now, but I might leave it when it becomes clear who's who. Hope you like it!

Daenerys:
The boy looked distraught as he ran his hand through the loose curls of his long brown hair. I finally had the chance to have a good look at him, and he was not an unpleasant sight to behold. His features were small and delicate, not unlike those of a woman, but they had the strength of a man, and his eyes showed the hardship which had evidently befallen him over his years on this earth. Finally Jorah lifted his head, looking directly at the boy. "What is your name boy?" he asked his voice hard.

The boy looked up, startled, and shifted his position on the ground. "I am Jon Snow; I served your father as steward of the Night's Watch." Jorah nodded, but still looked unsettled. "What kind of steward is awarded a longsword? You say it was in payment for his life?" The boy, Jon, nodded, clearing his throat, "I killed a Wight..." The word shook Jorah from his stupor, a look of fear crossing his face. "So winter has come," he intoned, "and it has brought an army of Walkers with it..."

Jon:
Hearing the Stark words in that context was jarring for me. They were my words, but simultaneously they were not. The bastard blood which flowed through my veins made sure of that. I stared at the face of the man I knew to be Jorah Mormont, the traitor son of my Lord Commander. He would almost be Lord Mormont's double, though time had not stamped its mark about this man's face as it had to the elder Mormont. As I watched he absent-mindedly rubbed his stubbled chin, a gesture I knew all too well.

A flash of Lord Mormont making that exact gesture on the night of the Wight attack flashed across my vision. I instantly touched the now-healed burns on my right hand, bringing myself back to the present. I could feel two sets of eyes boring into me, and I looked up. Jorah was leaning forward, Longclaw now re-sheathed and extended, pommel first, towards me. I was surprised, as I had expected him to keep the blade. It was after all rightfully his. I was just a bastard steward; I had no right to anything.

Jorah:
The boy looked confused, staring at me as if I were one of my Khaleesi's dragons. I shook Longclaw at him, hoping he'd save us both the embarrassment and take it without further angst. The Gods however, were not smiling today. "Ser, the blade is yours, I cannot take it." I sighed deeply, swallowing my pride, and ignoring the urge to take him up on the offer. My lord father must have seen something in this boy; else he would never have given the blade up, especially not to a Northern bastard.

My father was fierce, unyielding, and even unreasonable at times, but his judgement was sound. If he thought it fit to award Longclaw to his bastard steward, then there must be some strength and courage in the boy which I had yet to see. "My father trusted you with this blade. And so shall I." The boy raised his head, grey eyes wide and shining, and gripped the wolf's head pommel tightly. I pulled him to his feet looking him up and down, trying to unearth the mysterious quality which had won my father's trust.