Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

Another dragon, another wolf, another stag

Chapter 4: Jon

"Talking"

"Thinking"

(Location: Godswood)

He heard giggling at first and when he opened his eyes, he saw a trio of ladies staring at him. They were at a distance that was a little less than respectful. He quickly scrambled to his feet. "My ladies," he said to them, bowing his head. Ghost was by his side, which was probably why they did not get any closer.

They stared at him and he remembered that he was only wearing a tunic over his pants. He must've been incredibly underdressed. "My apologies," he told them.

"For what?" the one of the right asked him. Her dress had a red stallion prancing on the hem, telling him that she was of House Bracken.

Did she not see him? "My state of dress," he explained.

She looked him up and down slowly. "We don't mind, Lord Snow. We don't mind."

He could feel the blood rush into his cheeks. "Your pardon," he said to them all before quickly leaving. He hurried for the exit of the godswood, Ghost trotting alongside him. He knew that the wolf showed nothing on his face but he had a feeling that he was amused by what he had seen happened.

He got out of the godswood and back into the castle proper before running into Robb and Theon. "Jon, where have you been?" Robb asked him.

"I was sleeping the godswood. I found the rooms to be hot," he answered truthfully.

"I didn't know you'd become a hedge knight. You'd better not let Jack or Asher find out about it. Otherwise they'll tease you for turning to the Faith." There was a smile on his lips even has he japed.

"I'll be sure to avoid them for the time being," he said with a small smile on his lips. But when he turned his attention to Theon, the smile faded a little.

"You got something to say, bastard?" Theon snarled at him.

"No." He knew enough of Greyjoy to know not to say anything.

But it wasn't enough. Theon gave him a hard shove as he walked away. He fell to the ground, hissing in pain as he did. When he looked up, Greyjoy was walking away fast. Robb offered him a hand. "What was that about?" he asked.

Jon took the hand and got back to his feet. "He didn't tell you?" He and Theon were the closest of companions in the Pack.

He shook his head. "No."

"…Then it's not my place to tell you." He could imagine how meeting his sister like that after all these must've been like for Theon, as much as he dislikes him. "Where are they serving food?"

"In the great hall, but…" He trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "Mother is eating with her brother and father. Arya, Bran, and Rickon are with her."

Jon felt Ghost's weight against his side. "I understand. Perhaps I can find some food from the kitchen."

"Jon, you can go into the great hall. I can go with you."

He shook his head. "No, this is your lady mother's home. I will try to stay out of her way while we're here." He looked around the room they were in. It had the door to the courtyard behind him and three corridors leading into the castle. He didn't know Riverrun, so he would have to take a guess.

When he started going to the left, he felt Ghost leave his side. Lord Tully was nervous about having the wolves in the castle. Jon had been told that he hadn't said anything about it but he was not going to risk it. He had taught Ghost to go to the godswood whenever he went into the castle. He would be safe there.

It didn't take him long to figure out that he was lost. The corridors all looked the same to him and he had lost count of how many turns he had taken. Now he stood in a corridor that was lit by the light through the windows. In front of him it split off into two ways, one going left and one going right.

"Which way?" he asked. He already lost an hour trying to find the kitchen with no luck. He heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw a lady coming his way. In her hands were trays full with food. It looked like she would not be able to hold them both for long. "Do you need help, my lady?" he asked her, going to her side.

"Yes, thank you," she replied. He took the tray in her left hand, feeling the weight of the food on it. He was also able to see her. She had short hair black as a raven and eyes blue as water. She was quite pretty, even if her face was held in such seriousness.

"Where are you taking these trays?" he asked himself, reminding himself to speak.

"This is the prince's and the princess's breakfast." She said it like it was nothing and yet the tray in his hands felt heavier. Ever since he had met the Princess Rhaenys the night of the feast, she hadn't completely left his mind.

"Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys?" he asked.

"No, Aegon and Rhaenys," she answered. "Come on." She started walking down the corridor, taking the one to the right. He followed her.

As they walked through the castle, he followed her lead. "Do you know the prince and the princess, my lady?" he asked her.

"I'm not a lady," she said shortly, still walking forward.

"You're not? But you are dressed like a lady." She was dressed in a dress of black that was finely made.

"I'm not a lady. This is something the princess used to wear."

"If you're not a lady, then what are you?"

In a corridor that overlooked a garden, she came to a stop and faced him. "Your pardon, my lord, I did not know you hadn't recognized me. My name is Mya Stone. I am the bastard daughter of Robert Baratheon."

He too came to a stop and stared at her. She was the child of the Usurper. But more than that, she was a bastard like he was. "Your pardon," he said to her. "But you mistake me, my…you mistake me," he said again, stopping before he had finished. "I am not a lord."

She looked at him for the longest time. "Then what are you?"

"The bastard son of Lord Stark, Jon Snow," he answered honestly.

She kept looking at him but with something else in her eyes. Finally, she said, "So here we stand, bastards of traitors, carrying food for the royal family."

"Mya!" a voice called out from the garden below. They looked down and saw the prince and princess in the garden, obviously waiting.

"Come on," Mya told him. She led him down a nearby stairwell that led out to the garden itself.

As she walked out, he held back, hiding somewhat in the shadows. "What took you so long, Mya?" the princess asked her. She laid against a tree while her brother just sat on the ground, shaded by the tree's leaves. Between them standing against the nearby wall was one of the Kingsguard.

"This is a different castle, your Highness," Mya said as she placed the tray on the grass between them. She stood up and looked back at him. She gave him a look and her eyes told him of her impatience.

He swallowed a gulp of air and stepped out into the garden. The princess went still at the sight of him and he forced himself to keep walking, setting the second tray beside the first. "Your Royal Highnesses," he said to them both with a bowed head. He stood back up, feeling underdressed once more. "If you would pardon me, I will leave. I mean to find the kitchens." His stomach kept reminding him that he was hungry.

But when he turned to leave, the princess spoke. "Please stay. Share this meal with us."

He turned back to look at her in surprise. He was a bastard, she was a princess. They shouldn't even be talking to one another, much less eating breakfast together. "Your Highness," he started.

"I insist."

He couldn't leave, not now. She had asked him to eat with them. If he refused, it would be rude. He sat down, trying to keep himself from looking right at her. "Mya, you too, sit," the prince commanded.

He looked at her and saw that she was looking at the princess. Princess Rhaenys didn't say anything but she did sit down, making the prince smile. The silence hung in the air as they all sat there. The prince and princess were relaxed but he was nervous. "Let us eat," Princess Rhaenys declared.

Jon stared at the trays. He had eaten at his father's table before. He had eaten good food before. Yet what lay on the trays seemed to make the ones in Winterfell meager. There were meats and fruits he could not put names to. They looked delicious to eat but he did not reach for them right away. He was not supposed to be here. He instead reached for the bread and some of the bacon.

"There is no need to be shy," the princess told him. She too leaned toward the plate.

"Your pardon," he said in reply. "I had been hoping to find the kitchen when I ran into…" He paused for a moment, trying to find the right thing to say about Mya. He finally settled with, "your friend."

"Servant is the word you are looking for," Mya told him bluntly.

"Yes."

"But now you are here, Lord Snow," the princess said to him as she took a piece of fruit and bit into it.

"Yes," he said, looking her in the eyes for a moment as he spoke. He quickly torn his gaze away, turning it back to the bread in his hand.

"Am I displeasing to look at, Lord Snow?" she asked him.

"No, your Highness." No, she was a true beauty from Dorne where her brother was obviously from the blood of Old Valyria. Her hair was black done in ringlets while his was straight and white. He was pale-skinned and she was olive-toned. Her dark eyes watched him intently while her brother's purple eyes seemed to only see Mya.

"Then why do you turn your gaze from me?"

"I am a bastard, your Highness."

"So is your sister and yet she is my friend. So is Mya and yet she is my faithful hand servant."

"As you say, your Highness." No matter what she said, she was a royal princess and he was a bastard. He knew enough of the world to know that this wouldn't be one of those songs Sansa loved. They would not fall in love and be married against all odds.

"Tell me, Lord Snow," the prince said to him, making him turn his attention away from his sister. "Do you plan to join in the tourney?"

"I…had not thought on it, your Highness." That was a lie. He did want to join the tourney, to prove his worth to the Seven Kingdoms. But he would be going up against men who were experienced then he was, he was a bastard, and most importantly, he was in the middle of Lady Stark's home. He was on thin ice already for coming here; he had no wish to fall through.

"Aegon, call me Aegon."

"That would be wrong of me...my prince."

He rolled his eyes. "How droll, someone who actually doesn't try to rise above his station."

Anger burned through Jon's chest at that remark. He knew that he was a bastard but there was no need to insult him about it. "But this is the royal prince," he told himself. "He can insult whoever he likes."

"Aegon, there's no need to be rude," his sister told the prince. "He is just remembering his place."

"Of course, dear sister, how could I forget?" He looked briefly at Mya and then at Jon again. "Now tell me, Lord Snow. Do you plan on entering the tourney?"

Before Jon could answer, he heard Jocelyn's voice from behind him. "Jon, what are you doing here?"

He turned and saw her standing at the entrance to the garden along with several of the princess's ladies-in-waiting. He stood up, again feeling underdressed. Next time he slept in the godswood, he was bringing a jerkin with him. "I was looking for the kitchens," he told his half-sister.

"And yet, you ended up here."

"Yes. I will go now." He had overstayed his welcome.

"No, stay," Princess Rhaenys told him. "You have not eaten much, Lord Snow."

He shouldn't be there, not now. But he could not refuse a royal command. "As you wish, your Highness." He sat back down and ate the bacon.

The ladies came walking into the garden and sat down around the royal siblings, Jocelyn sitting close to the princess under the shade of the tree and Lady Lannister a close second, sitting where the sun could shine upon her. Mya looked around at the number of ladies and stood up. "We're going to need more food," she declared "I'll go to the kitchen."

Jon started to rise again. "Could some of you girls help Mya?" the princess asked the ladies, looking more specifically at the younger ones, most of them showing in some way that they were from houses of the Riverlands. "I'm certain that there will be more trays then she can be able to handle."

They looked uncomfortable with the order but they obeyed. For some reason, the prince looked mournful as they left. "Hello again, Lord Snow," Lady Tya said to him, looking right at him.

"My lady," he said back, meeting her gaze for a brief moment.

"Lord Snow?" repeated Jocelyn sharply. "I wasn't aware that you had earned such a title, Jon."

"And why should he not have one?" Lady Lannister asked her. "He is the son of a lord and a lord of a Great House at that."

"I am a bastard," Jon thought to himself.

"Going by that reasoning, you should address me as Lady Sand. After all, we share the same lord for a father." She ignored the spluttering blonde and looked at him. "Where's Ghost? Those wolves never leave your or the other's side."

"He's in the godswood."

"Oh, that's a shame," said a blonde-haired blue-eyed woman who sat next to Princess Arianne. "I would have loved to see such a magnificent creature."

"Yes indeed," the princess herself agreed from where she lounged near Prince Aegon. "I've heard the servants speak of a direwolf with fur white as snow and eyes red as blood. Yet, I cannot seem to remember seeing such a creature at the feast."

He wasn't sure how to address the Princess of Dorne when the royal princess was there with her. It was probably best to choose safe words. "He was not there, my lady."

She laughed lightly at his words. "I am not a lady, I am a princess."

He bowed his head to her. "I beg your forgiveness. I did not mean to offend."

"No offense was given, but you still have not answered my question."

"I can answer that question, coz," Princess Rhaenys said. "He was with his master, outside in the courtyard."

"What were you doing outside when there was a feast inside?" Jocelyn asked him. She looked at him like he lost his mind. She had never been one to stop herself from attending a feast in Winterfell, even if it was under the gaze of Lady Stark.

"I was practicing with the sword," he told her as he returned his attention to the food in his hands.

"Absent tunic," the royal princess added with a knowing smile.

He lowered his head back to the bread in his hand, his cheeks red. All eyes were on him, he just knew it. And he was just wearing a tunic. "And how would you know such a thing, sister?" Prince Aegon asked.

"Why, that was the first time we met."

"We did meet but I wore my tunic!" he thought. He would've said something but those eyes were still on him. He kept his head down and took a bite out of the bread. Why would she omit such a fact?

"Tell us, Lord Snow," Lady Lannister said to him. "Why were you practicing with your sword with no tunic on?"

That wasn't what he wanted to talk about but he didn't really have a choice in the matter. It was best to answer honestly. He brought his head up to look her in the eyes. "I found the night to be warm, my lady, more so when I began practicing."

"Oh really…?" For some reason, her eyes began to look at him more intensely. It made Jon nervous, more so when he saw the other women there doing the exact same.

"Are you any good at wielding a sword, Snow?" the prince asked him.

He turned to look at him. "I'm the best in Winterfell," he said proudly. He had heard those words from Ser Cassel and he liked to think that they were hard-won words.

"Interesting," Prince Aegon said shortly as he idly turned a piece of bread in his head. Now that he had his answer, he didn't need anything else. Jon felt a little hurt that was his only question about him but said nothing. What would it do?

"Lord Snow, perhaps you could help clarify something for me," Princess Rhaenys said. He turned to look at her, holding her gaze. "Jocelyn has talked about my uncle forming a little group of the sons of the Northern lords. Is there any truth to this?"

Jocelyn had a small frown on her lips at those words. Jon didn't blame her. She was half-Stark after all. She didn't take kindly to lies. But she wasn't his concern right now. What his concern was making sure he answered the royal siblings to the best of his ability. "Yes, Prince Viserys formed the Pack, if that's what you mean," he answered.

"How did it form?"

"When Theon Greyjoy first came to Winterfell and Lord Bolton sent his son to foster as well." Domeric, Viserys, Theon, and Robb had banded together into something that made the other northern lords sends their sons to Winterfell as well. Together, they all came to form the Pack, and left him out.

"Then perhaps you can help us with something," Lady Tya said. "I remember seeing a quiet lad among this 'Pack' of yours. I believe I have never seen a man wear a cape of pink so well. And his eyes, I would swear they were two pieces of moonstone. But for the life of me, I cannot remember who he is. Can you help me discover this man's identity, Lord Snow?"

"You speak of Domeric, my lady. He's Lord Bolton's son." He also played the harp quite well, yet remained quiet about his skill. He was one of the quieter Pack members, always preferring to watch and wait before saying or doing anything. It made some people forget that he was in the room at times, which made for some humorous moments. He noticed one of the other ladies look at the Lannister with anger in her eyes, why he did not know.

"Lord Snow, might you help me with naming one of these northern lords?" a lady with the sigil of a white tower on her dress asked him. "He was a big man with dark brown hair. His sigil was a black bear on a field of green."

"That is Jack Mormont, Lord Jorah's son." Jack was a person who preferred to laugh then fight, but that didn't mean he couldn't wield a mace and a sword well.

"I have a question," Princess Arianne asked him while she took a blood orange (one of the few fruits he could name that were there) from the trays. "What kind of house has buckets for a sigil?"

"That is not exactly a house, my la…your Highness. That's the sigil of House Wull, one of the mountain clans. You must have seen Torrhen Wull." One of the wildest members of the Pack, he could laugh or fight with equal intensity.

But his explanation made everyone laugh. Even the Kingsguard had an amused expression on his face. "Buckets?" said the blonde beside Princess Arianne. "What self-respecting house would take a bucket as their sigil?"

"Now, now, Tyene," the princess told her. "I'm sure that there is a reason for such a thing." But her voice held the same disbelief she had.

"You would have to speak to Torrhen of that, your Highness." The fact the clansman saw no fault with being called "Buckets," was probably not something to tell them now.

"Perhaps I will."

The morning passed on like that. As he ate his breakfast, they would continue to ask him about the Pack. They asked him about what sigil belonged to which house, about who had that sigil, and what they were like. He answered to the best of his ability. But with each one he described, how Jack, Asher, and Daryn were the jesters among the Pack while Domeric seemed to be the sensible one among them (which just added to the japes), how Rodrick and Roger could be found testing themselves against one another, how Torrhen and Morgan liked to surprise Domeric while he was playing the harp, and everything else about them, he felt like he did not belong.

In all the things he had described to them, he was hardly, if at all, a part of. The ones he was ever actually close to were Robb, the prince, and (the gods help him), Theon. And there were days when he felt that was at an arm's length too. But what should he expect? He was the Bastard of Winterfell. He couldn't ask for more lest people see him as craving for power. He knew his place.

"Ah, Lord Edmure," Prince Aegon suddenly said. All eyes turned to the entrance and Jon's heart suddenly froze in fear. Lord Tully was standing there at the entrance but so was his sister, Lady Stark. Arya, Bran, or Rickon were not with her.

"Your Highness, how do you fare this morning?" Lord Tully asked the prince, walking towards him and bowing. "And Princess Rhaenys, you look radiant this morning," he declared as he kissed her hand.

"You flatter me, my lord," she said with a smile.

Jon felt more than a twinge of jealously at the sight of them together. But that feeling died when he heard Lady Catelyn speak. "What are you doing here?" she asked. She did not say his name, but he knew she was speaking to him.

He quickly stood up. "I was trying to find the kitchens to break my fast," he answered, his head bowed to her. "I got…waylaid." He couldn't think of anyway else to say it and he knew that it wouldn't be enough.

"Waylaid into sharing breakfast with the royal prince and princess," she pointed out.

"Yes, Lady Stark." There was no way he could deny it.

"There's no need to feel hostile, Lady Stark," Tya Lannister told her, getting her attention. "Lord Snow simply provided us with conversation."

Her eyes blazed at his title and they turned to look at him. "Lady Stark, I—" he began to say.

"Do not speak," she commanded and he fell silent. "Leave, now."

He knew that voice and that look. He left the garden quickly, not wanting to make her even angrier.

The corridors became confusing to him once more. But not once did Jon stop moving. To him, Lady Stark's gaze kept him moving further and further away. But it was also a good thing. He needed to be away from the princess. The looks she had been giving him during the talking made him feel something he shouldn't. And even though they sat apart, separated by two trays of food, when she spoke he felt like she was besides, whispering into his ear.

Whatever it was, it could not and would not be love. She was the princess of the royal family and he was just a bastard. He did not live in a song. No one would have him. Even all those ladies he had sat with and talked to had only wanted to know about Prince Viserys, Robb, and the Pack. They did not ask about him, only seeing him as a source of information.

When he came across two ladies in the corridors, he almost didn't see them until it was too late. "Your pardon," he said to them both. When he tried to go around, a hand on the wall stopped him.

"And where's a little northern shit like you going?" the woman who placed the hand asked him. She wasn't what the Seven Kingdoms would call beautiful. Her face was hard with eyes close to one another and hair with a color he had seen on a rat. Yet she did not move from where she stood, blocking his path.

"Where I go is my business, my lady," he replied stiffly. "Now may I please pass?"

"You haven't answered my sister's question. Where are you going?" the other woman asked him, stepping closer to him. Unlike the other woman, she was beautiful. Her olive skin, along with her eyes and dark hair that was done in a braid, gave her an exotic look. He had a feeling that with a smile, she could see men's hearts racing and pledge their love for her.

"I am heading outside the castle, my ladies." Being truthful was the best policy right now.

"From where?" she asked him, taking another step towards him. If she took another step, he would have to look up at her face.

"From the garden where Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys broke their fast," he answered.

She laughed lightly. "You jest."

He drew back a little, offended that she would even think that. "I am not."

"You must be. Our royal cousins would not let some northern dog into their presence, not unless they were forced to do such a thing."

Anger burned through him at that insult and his honor compelled him to reply. "Then they suffered me gladly, for I left that garden not twenty minutes ago."

"You are confident for a dog," the first woman declared. Then she looked at him for a long second and then smirked. "Or should I say pup? You look like you're barely old enough to wield a training sword."

"Who are you to say such things to my face?" He knew that they must've been ladies of noble birth and therefore, above him. But his anger guided his actions and he didn't give a damn about what the consequences.

"I am Obara and this is Nymeria, my sister. We are Oberyn Martell's daughters." There was pride in her voice as she spoke those names.

If he was of rational mind, he might've proceeded more calmly. But his anger and insulted pride overrode those two things. All that mattered to him at that moment was that they were not as high as he had first thought. "His bastard daughters, I say. You are Obara Sand and Nymeria Sand," he declared, pointing a finger at each of them when he said their names.

If they were insulted, they did not show it. They actually seemed amused by him and his words. "And you think you're above us?" Nymeria Sand asked him, laughing again. "Tell us, which northern dog chose to whelp you on a whore?"

"Watch your words," he told her, his voice becoming tight. That last part stung but it was most likely the truth. No, what made him angry was how they referred to his lord father.

"I think you made him mad, Nym," Obara said with a harsh laugh. "He must think his father is an important man."

"My father is Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell," he told them both.

For a moment, they froze with looks of surprise and shock on their faces and he enjoyed seeing those looks. But then the amusement they had vanished as well and was replaced with looks of utter loathing and contempt. "So, the son of the man so afraid to fight the Targaryens, he ran to the other way to fight barbarians," Obara said as she raked him with a sneer.

"Seems like we're going to need to talk to our cousins, Obara," Nymeria said to her.

"Agreed," she said back. They began walking forward. "Out of the way, dog," she said to Jon, shoving him hard against the wall.

His whole side came alight with pain as he got back onto his feet. When he looked back, they were already farther down the corridor. His anger was fading now. "They're the same as me and they think they're better?" Perhaps it was because they were Dornish. Jon had heard that they were different from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Or it might be that they were related to the royal family through marriage, even if they were bastards. "If they run into Lady Stark, they would not stand against her." That would be a sight to see.

He pressed onward down the corridor. His luck soon came to him as he found a way outside. As he took in the sky and sun, he found himself at a loss. What should he do now? He decided to go to the tourney grounds and see what the layout would be like. That meant having to leave the castle proper.

No one paid much attention to him as he walked out past the gates. He was just another face in the crowd. People were moving into the castle just as quickly as they were walking out. He found the tourney grounds easily enough. There were separate grounds for the melee and the jousting but both were large enough to host several knights. He did not know where the archery contest would be held but it must be somewhere close.

"A truly depressing sight isn't it?" a voice of a man asked from beside him. He turned to see a thin grey-haired man standing beside him, staring at the same thing he was.

"Your pardon?" asked Jon.

"That," he said, pointing at the tourney grounds off in the distance. "In a few days, the knights that have come will be on those fields, charging their horses and smashing their lances against their shields as well as swinging their swords at one another and generally causing a mess."

"And that is a depressing thing?"

"For us squires it is, we're the ones who will have to clean up the mess." There was something so droll about his voice and his words that Jon could not help but chuckle at him. He didn't take offense at the sound of laughter. "I am Eddison, but people call me Edd."

"I am Jon," he introduced himself. "What brings you to Riverrun, Edd?"

"The unfortunate business of being a squire to a knight," he answered. "What about you?"

"My brother and sister insisted I come."

"Are you planning on joining?"

He shook his head. It was a nice dream but only a dream. "No, I am here only to watch."

Oddly enough, that made the other man smile. "Ah, good, and here I was already thinking you might be dead in a few days. I'm glad to be wrong."

"What do you mean by that? No one has died in a tourney." He had never heard of such a thing.

"Well, not by intentional means." He sighed and turned away. "You will have to pardon, I must find my ser in that maze." He gestured widely to the mass amount of tents surrounding the grounds that almost seen city-like from a distance. Jon had never seen so many tents before in one place.

"Might I come with you?" he asked as Edd began to leave. "You seem like a good guide through such a thing."

"Why would you want to go through that?"

"I wanted to look around and see what is going on."

"Well, I guarantee that you won't be content with what you see. But I could use someone to speak with. Come on then."

They made their way into the tent city and then through it. As they walked, Jon found Edd to be truly droll in his humor. Anything he spoke about himself was not without a good dose of self-mockery. He was from a noble in the Vale but from a lesser branch that was supposedly so poor he lived no better than the smallfolk. His service as a squire was his way to earn something better for himself.

When Jon told him his last name was Snow, he did not distance himself from him. Instead he just said, "You're a cheery fellow, aren't you?" when he had been grim about it. They both shared a chuckle at that before turning to other things to talk about. They were discussing sword techniques as they walked through a quiet part of the city when Jon heard something and came to a stop.

"Do you hear that?" he asked Edd.

"Aye, I do," Edd replied. It was the sound of a person in pain and a body being struck. They followed the sounds through the tents until they came to the source: two boys who had the look of squires like Edd standing over someone on the ground, punching and kicking at it while they laughed. Neither of them could tell who it was on the ground as a rich green cloak covered the body completely.

Jon was enraged at the sight. "Get off him!" he roared as he charged forward, grabbing the nearest squire by the shoulder and punching him hard in the jaw.

The boy fell to the ground but got right back up. "You fucking bastard!" he screamed as he swung a wild punch at Jon. It was sloppy and easily avoidable. Whoever trained the squire to fight did not do well in doing so. He kept an eye on the other squire, only to see Edd already fighting him.

Jon was easily able to beat him back down to the ground. "Come on, get up," he told the squire. "What? Is it hard to fight someone who can fight back?" He didn't get an answer as the squire started to crawl away from him. It earned him a swift kick in his arse. "Leave, now."

The squire got his feet beneath and ran away like the craven he was. The other square quickly followed him, running just as fast. "The next time you decide to randomly charge into a fight not your own, do me the courtesy of letting me know beforehand," Edd said to him, already having a black eye.

But Jon was more focused on the person on the ground. "Are you alright?" he asked.

The cloak moved around and a boy's head soon appeared out of it. His head was moon-shaped with cheeks that bulged with fatness but was bruised with cuts already dripping blood. His dark hair was also caked with blood along with mud from the ground. "Tha-thank you," he barely managed to say, the one that hadn't been forced shut by blood looking at them. "You saved me, both of you."

"He did the saving, I just got beaten around," Edd replied.

"Can you stand?" Jon asked him.

"I-I think so." He tried to stand up, revealing himself to be the same height as them but much more fatter. He fell down again with a yelp and laid there weeping. "Muh-my leg," he whimpered. "My leg hurts."

"Give me your arm. Edd, help me get him onto his feet." Together, they raised him back up and they saw him favoring one leg more than the other. "A maester, we have to find a maester."

"What goes on here?" someone asked as he came into view of them. He was a Dornishman, older than the three of them with brown hair the color of sand. His jaw was strong and his blue eyes looked upon them. There was no sigil upon his jerkin, so Jon thought him to be a hedge knight.

"He's been attacked," he told the knight, looking at the boy he was holding up.

"By whom?" the knight demanded, looking at the boy and allowing outrage run across his face.

"Squires, I believe. I do not know who they serve." He didn't think to look for any sigils on their clothes.

The rage slowly vanished from his face. "Come with me, I know where a maester is."

"You have our thanks, ser," Edd said, his voice straining slightly under the weight he was holding. "Might we have your name?"

"Ser Daemon Sand," he introduced himself. "Come." He turned on his heel and walked away from them, walking down the row of tents while staying in sight of them.

Jon and Edd followed him, carrying the boy with them. "Th-thank you again," the boy said once more. "I thought they were going to kill me."

"Think nothing of it," Jon told him. "Any good man would have done the same."

"Then it's probably a shame there aren't many good men in the world," Edd said bleakly. "The name's Edd, by the way."

"Jon," the Bastard of Winterfell introduced himself.

"Sa-Samwell," the boy said. "But I've been called Sam."

"It's a pleasure meeting you, Sam," Edd said to him as they walked through the city of tents. "Have you ever considering losing a few pounds? You're heavy."

End

Author's note: Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

Remember when I wrote that a few people still thought that the Northerners were cravens who would rather flee from a fight? Yeah, the Sand Snakes are a part of that group and they're not above keeping it to themselves. Also, with their father's temper, things are not going to be pretty when they go near Northerners.

Of course Jon was going to meet up with Sam. Where would he be without his closest friend? Sam is the one who helps him see the reality of things. But that's not all. Sam wasn't the only friend he had. His closest, but not the only.

I'll see you all next chapter!