After they arrived they had been brought to the Great Hall for a feast, the children were seated below the parents, in a line where Damon had somehow been stuck in the middle. The eldest Stark child was barely older than his own brother and the daughter a babe who needed some maiden sat next to her in case she began to fuss. Damon was fourteen, a man, and he was bitter at having been seated with the children. He had eaten in silence, ignoring any attempts made to converse with him; his father was sure to be angry with him later, but Damon couldn't find it in him to care. The elder he got, the more and more his father disapproved of whatever he did; he used to pretend that he was a bastard, he was his mother's son and didn't have an ounce of his father in him after all. He dreamt that one day his father would no longer be his father, he wouldn't have to become a Lord and live by his father's word. But no matter how much he tried to escape it, Damon was a crow, he could feel it in his heart, he had the blood of the Salvatores running through his veins, and as much as he may have wanted to ignore it, he knew that it was there.
When the feast was over his younger siblings retreated to their chambers but Damon decided instead to explore the grounds of Winterfell; he would have wandered into the woods but these were unfamiliar and from what had heard, more dangerous. He instead stayed inside the grounds, he hadn't found anything particularly interesting so had decided to see the training grounds. His father had taken his sword from him, it would be disrespectful to carry one around a friend's home, he said, but Damon now felt naked without it. As he turned the corner he paused, he could hear heavy breathing and panting, he pressed himself against the wall and very slowly peered around. The only excuse his father would have accepted for him to being out of his chambers would be if he were with one of the Stark children, the men knew this and if they saw him it would not end pleasantly. He was rather surprised to instead see young boy, wooden sword in hand, hacking away at some invisible enemy. Damon raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, no longer feeling afraid. The boy had dark locks that danced along with his every movement, when he took a break to pant and lean on his knees, Damon saw the grey eyes and Stark face. Ah, Damon thought, this must be the Stark bastard.
When the boy raised his head he noticed Damon, startled, he dropped his wooden weapon to the floor and stumbled backwards. Damon couldn't help but smirk as he walked towards the younger boy. "You know," he spoke, leaning down to pick up the weapon. "You'll have to train your nerves to withstand far more than that." The boy didn't respond, he just watched Damon with wary eyes. "Are you the Stark's bastard?" At that he frowned deeply and screwed up his little fists at his sides.
"My name is Jon! Jon Snow!"
Damon just gave a shrug, unmoved by his emotional display. "And I'm Damon Salvatore. Nice to meet you Jon." The boy's frown did not falter and he stared at him with distrustful eyes. It was sad really, he must have been around Stefan's age, but in his eyes he was far, far older. Damon gave the sword a spin in his hands, catching the other end and holding the grip out to Jon. "Do you want to be knight, Jon?" He pressed the sword closer to him when he didn't take it. At that Jon snatched it, squeezing the end so tight his knuckles turned white.
"I can't," he murmured quickly. Bastards got no honour, he supposed, no pride, all because their fathers decided to fuck someone other than wives. Unfair, but that was life.
"How about this," Damon began to walk, encircling him. Jon span quickly, trying to keep up. "You can return to Boreal with my father and siblings and you become Lord when the time comes. I'll be in taverns, drinking and fucking." At that Jon's anger seemed to bubble, he raised his weapon in the air and launched it and Damon. He had just enough time to throw his arm up in defence so the wood smacked against that instead of his face.
"Shut up!" Jon yelled, he raised the weapon again, tears in his eyes. Damon raised his hand, gripping the wood on the other end, he gave a yank and pulled it from Jon's grip. He looked at the boy as he rubbed angrily at his eyes, and tried to cool the stinging on his hands, he saw his brother, his little sister, it was how they looked when he pushed them too hard. He placed the sword on the floor and bent to his knees, gripped onto Jon's shoulders.
He gave him a small smile, a silent apology, Damon hadn't spoken the actual words for years now. "How about I teach you tricks with that sword? I bet you play against Robb, eh?" Jon gave a little nod. "Who wins most of the time?" He took silence to mean Robb. It wasn't surprising, even what he had heard of the great Lord Stark, he couldn't control everyone and most deplored bastards. He hadn't been seated with the other children at the feast, that was proof enough. "I can teach you some tricks so you can knock him on his ass?" At his little small, Damon ruffled his hair, reached down and handed him back his sword.
The sun was near rising by the time the two were done, both sore and aching as they snuck back to their chambers. Damon was sure he had been asleep only an hour before his siblings started banging on his door, teary eyed as they informed him that father had been called back home. But Damon wasn't surprised, in fact, he wondered what had taken him so long.