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

Another dragon, another wolf, another stag

Chapter 17: Jon

"Talking"

"Thinking"

(Location: Riverrun)

He could hear the feast coming from the hall. It was as loud and festive as the first night, probably even more so since the king was now here in Riverrun. But Jon Snow was not inside eating the food and drinking the wine. One look from Lady Stark before the feast had begun was all he needed to understand that he would be taking his dinner from the kitchen. Well, at least the food would be hot if he did that. Which was where he ate quickly before the feast had started.

He was in the training yard, hacking and slashing away at the training dummy. Ghost was resting nearby, his head lying atop his paws. Ever since he had bested both the prince and Ser Loras it was like he was swarmed by boys wanting to learn what he knew. It had been a little overwhelming at first and he had given a few lessons to groups but now it was beginning to become a little aggravating. He did not mind other people in the yard. He just wished there weren't so many all at one time. It was only on these kinds of nights that he could train in peace.

The training also gave him time to think about what was happening in Riverrun. He was no soft-minded fool. There was something going on with the noble ladies in the castle. With the exception of those who came with the Northern party, every single lady of noble birth seemed to pay close attention to him and took every chance to talk to him. It seemed odd to him that they would want to talk to a northern bastard when there were men like Robb who had no betrothals and were certainly more handsome. But no, they kept paying attention to him.

It was unsettling and it made him suspect that there was something else to it. But for the life of him, he did not know what it was. He couldn't well ask the ladies because he knew that they wouldn't tell him. He couldn't also ask the southern men because either they didn't know what it would be or would and just label him a fool for not knowing. Even those who were to be betrothed, such as the Lady Margaery, were trying to get and keep his attention.

Of course, it wasn't all bad. It was because of this that he was able to see the Princess Rhaenys more often than he normally might have. As soon he thought, he felt embarrassed and ashamed for even considering it. He was a bastard. He had no right to even think of the princess like that. She was bound to marry a lord of high standing, not a bastard.

But even as he tried to reaffirm that fact, a part of him remembered her lips on his, the feeling of her body against his hands. He could remember it with such intensity he could feel his blood racing again. "No!" he thought, focusing on the dummy and swinging down hard on it. The cloth line tore but nothing spilled out.

His arm ached a little at such an action but he kept going. With each stroke and cut he delivered, he repeated to himself, again and again, "I cannot have the princess. This is not a story. We will never see each other again after this tourney."

And that was another thing that was a little concerning for him. All those ladies seemed to expect him to join the tourney, even though he had tried telling them that he wasn't going to. It seemed like every time he did, his protests were overridden or they just did not seem to believe him. "Would it be so bad to join?" some part of him wondered. It would be a chance to win to glory and perhaps gain some recognition. If he won the joust, perhaps he could crown the princess…

"No," he declared, shutting down that hope before it could spring. Not only was Robb better at the lance than he was, this was Lady Catelyn's birthplace. That was why he didn't join the tourney right away in the first place. She wasn't the one who invited him, so he was trying to stay out of her way and not cause any problems. Hopefully, when those ladies saw that he wasn't a part of the tourney, they would let the subject go.

"You'd be disappointing your friends if you didn't join."

He found that thought ludicrous. He was the only bastard in the group. They would not miss him staying away from the tourney. Even so, he was glad to have them. They were an odd bunch, made of princes, cravens, bastards, and smallfolk with a dwarf lecturing them and giving lessons in those lectures. It sounded like something that belonged in a silly song but he was glad to have them.

Yet it was odd that they looked to him to be the leader amongst them. He had thought nothing of leadership and if it had to be someone, he would've named Prince Quentyn. The Dornishman might not have the same confidence Robb had, but Jon Snow had seen that they both watch before they speak what they think. It was why his fellow Dornishmen listened to him when he spoke, in spite of their jesting natures.

As he delivered a slashing movement that would've decapitated a normal man, Ghost lifted his head and looked at the hall. "What is it?" he asked, stopping instantly. He hoped it wasn't one of the ladies hoping to watch him train. He had been embarrassed enough when caught by the princess and almost with no tunic either.

His wolf did not reply but the doors banged open and a child screaming in fright came running outside. Another boy came running out and started chasing the first around. "Go away, go away!" the first boy shouted, tears streaming down his face.

"Craven, craven!" the second yelled after him, holding a knife in his hand.

"What is going on here?" Jon wondered as he watched the two run around and around. He saw that the second boy was possibly one of the mountain tribes from the Vale, remembering how one of them came with Lord Arryn to Winterfell once. Perhaps if he spoke to him in the manner he was accustomed to, it would get his attention. The second boy was dressed richly. In the light of the torches, Jon could see his hair was yellow.

He stepped away from the training dummy and between the two boys, grabbing the second boy by the arm. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

The boy struck him in the side with his free hand. "Let go of me!" he shouted. Ghost came to his side and bared his teeth, making the boy fall silent.

The first boy came to him. "Thank you, ser," he said, still weeping.

He looked at both boys. "What's going on here?" he asked again.

"He wouldn't leave me alone!"

"He's a craven," the first boy shouted back. "Cravens should not live." He tried to reach out and stab the other boy.

Jon held his knife-holding hand still and stopped it from even moving. "He's only a boy. How do you know he's a craven?" The second boy struggled to free his hand rather than pay attention to him. "I asked you a question."

"I don't have to speak to you!"

He gave the boy a look. "A whelp like you speaks to a bloodied warrior so? Did your father not teach you right?" he demanded.

The boy stopped his struggling and looked at him with a new eye. "Aye, my father taught me right."

"Then name him."

"Shagga, son of Dolf, of the Stone Crows," he proclaimed.

Jon knew that name. It belonged to the man Lord Arryn had brought to Winterfell a year or so after the Greyjoy Rebellion. He remembered wondering who the man was and if he was dangerous or not. That had been the extent of his interaction with Shagga. It was Robb who stood before him and matched him eye for eye, making the clansman chuckle and say to their father that he had a fine boy. "I know Shagga, son of Dolf. He came to the North with Lord Arryn to visit my father."

The boy's eyes widened at those words. "You are a child of the Stark in Winterfell?"

A piece of him was torn at that question. It made him sound like he was trueborn when he was not. But he couldn't say that he was a bastard or he was sure that whatever he was trying to do would fail. "Aye, I am. And who is the son of Shagga?"

"Ned," he proclaimed proudly.

He didn't say or do anything at that proclamation, only turning to the second boy. "And you are?"

"To-Tommen Lannister, ser," he said, hiccupping through his answer. His hair made sense now and through the torchlight, Jon could now see his green eyes.

He looked at the boy, seeing that he was similar to his elder sister, Tya. But he had a plumpness to him that meant he ate well and probably did not attend the training yard much. The clan boy, on the other hand, was certainly not pump. "Why were you attacking him?" he asked Ned.

"He's a craven!" the Stone Crow snapped, repeating his earlier words.

Jon repeated his. "He's a boy. How can you know if he's a craven?"

"He's an Andal," he all but spat the name, making Tommen cower behind the bastard.

Jon Snow remembered what the Imp had told them all when the Lady Shireen had come asking a question. He didn't think that such knowledge would be useful. Until now, that is. "He has the blood of the First Men, the same as you and me." That might have been stretching the truth a little bit but he was using it.

And it worked. Ned looked at the boy with a new eye and Tommen looked at him with surprise. Finally the boy from the Vale said, "He's still a craven."

"And how do you know that?" Jon asked him again. "Do you think that you're a better warrior then he is?" He knew the answer even before the boy replied. Doubtless when he had been trained, there was no boy in his clan that could stand against him. But fighting alone was not the full way to a warrior's potential. Jon had learned that lesson and now, there was a chance he could. "Have you a back brother?"

Tommen looked confused but Ned stared at him in surprise. The surprise turned anger and then annoyance. "No," he finally replied.

"Good," thought Jon. There wouldn't be any complications from that. "If that is so, then he is your back brother," he declared, pointing at the Lannister boy.

"What?" both boys shouted at him, although Tommen's was more of a yelp than an actual shout.

"He is not going to be my back brother!" Ned shouted, completely angry. "Why should I allow this to happen?"

He didn't say anything. He just stepped back away from them, leaving a gap between them. Ghost bared his teeth at the boys and crouched to attack. The boys reacted instantly, slamming into each other's back so hard they cried out in pain and fell to the ground. "It's something," Jon thought to himself "That's why," he told the boy from the Vale as they got back up. "You are back brothers now, so you will learn as back brothers. You will eat together, learn together, and train together. Am I understood?" They did not reply. Ned scowled but nodded in acknowledgement.

Tommen still looked confused. He continued to look confused as he was all but dragged back into the hall by Ned. Jon watched them go; only turning his back once they had vanished inside. "I hope that goes well," he thought to himself. He held hope that it would, that they would find a knight that would train them right. It was probably ironic that he was lecturing them about having a back brother when he himself wasn't sure if he had one. He'd like to think Robb was his back brother but Theon Greyjoy could also fill that spot too.

He didn't want to think about it and so went back to the training dummy. Soon his world became just a series of cuts, slices, and hacks, all focused on the enemy before him. He attacked again and again, working up a sweat. Once he had thoroughly killed whatever enemy that had come at him, he came to a stop and breathed. Then he turned to where he had placed the second sword.

He started the warm set when he heard a man's voice speak from behind him. "You wield them well. The prince was not jesting then."

Jon Snow turned around to see who it was now and looked upon Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He felt his tongue grow thick inside his mouth and he could not form words as he looked at Joce's uncle. There were days, many days, when he wondered if this man was his uncle too. Now was a chance to ask him but his mouth would not work.

Ser Dayne regarded him with amusement. He did not wear his white armor that declared him to be a Kingsguard, only simple clothes with a white cloak. "It's alright, boy. You can speak. I won't harm you for opening your mouth."

He finally managed to get his mouth working and he said, "Th-Thank you for your praise, ser."

"I only said what I thought." He looked more closely at him, purple eyes narrowing slightly in concentration. "You are Jon Snow, Lord Stark's bastard."

"He knows me?" Jon could not help but wonder. "I am."

"Jocelyn has written of you and your family often."

He didn't know what to say to that. Everyone in Winterfell knew that she was the bastard daughter of Ashara Dayne but he had never known why she had come to Winterfell when she did. His father had never told them. "Jocelyn has been welcomed by all of us, Ser Dayne," he finally said, the words almost stumbling out of his mouth.

"Probably not by everyone," the Sword in the Morning remarked, giving him a level look. He didn't say anything else about Joce, choosing to focus on him. "Why are you out here?'

"Training, ser," Jon answered honestly.

"I saw that. But why are you out here when there is a feast going on in there?" He looked back at the hall.

He looked at the hall and all he could see was his father's wife giving him that look. "Lady Stark had made it clear that I was not to embarrass the Stark name whilst in her father's house," he explained. "So I chose to stay away from the feast."

The Sword of the Morning listened patiently as he explained. "You must be hungry," he said.

"I ate before I came out here."

He looked at the sword in Jon's hand and then at him. "I heard that you bested the prince in a bout."

The Bastard of Winterfell felt his throat go dry. "He insisted." As soon as he spoke those words he felt like a fool. What a thing to say to a Kingsguard! It sounded like an excuse and not even a good one.

"I also heard that you best him with two swords, one of which was his own.

What could he say to that? If he bragged it would probably seem rude. "I did," he chose to say.

"So you can wield two swords in tandem." He looked over him with focused eyes. "Tell me, is it natural or did you train yourself to do it?"

"Natural, ser," he answered.

A small smile broke out on his face. "It is rare to meet someone else who can claim such ability. Tell me, Jon Snow, would you mind if you sparred against me?"

The question struck him dumb. "You-you want to spar against me?" he couldn't help but repeat.

"Yes."

To spar against Ser Arthur Dayne, to test himself against the Sword of the Morning, was almost like a dream realized for him. It almost seemed too good to be true and for a moment, he wondered if it was to be a jape against him. "Your pardon, Ser Dayne, but do you not have to guard the king?"

"Rhaegar gave me the night off."

It took Jon a few seconds to comprehend those words. The Sword of the Morning said them with an ease that bordered on uncaring. That was not something he would think to hear a Kingsguard say. When he brought himself back to the present, he found Ser Arthur taking off his cloak. He wore no training gear but neither did Jon. All things seemed even. He couldn't refuse the offer, lest he be seen as craven. "As you command, Ser Arthur," he said.

He grabbed the additional sword and the Sword of the Morning took two in hand. They stood out in the middle of the yard, waiting for the other to make the first move. They held their swords in the same position, the points directed to the ground and kept away from each other. The one in Jon's left hand was shorted by a few inches something that Ser Rodrik had always told him would keep alive when they got close.

Ser Arthur watched him with calm eyes. "Are we going to stand here, Jon Snow, or are we to fight?" he asked.

There was a challenge to his voice and Jon wanted to rise to it. But he did not move to attack. They might have the ability given to them by the gods, but he was no fool. The knight in front of him had the experience as well. If he made a wrong move, he could end up losing the match. "Do you really think you have a chance of winning in the first?" a little voice whispered in his ear.

He ignored it. He took a step to the side and began to walk around the Kingsguard, never taking his eyes off the man. Three times he made the circuit and Ser Arthur did not move. He just waited. Jon felt nervous but he kept moving. He could not make the first move. Not against this kind of opponent. "If you will come at me, bastard, then I will come to you," Ser Arthur told him.

He spun around and brought his swords down against him so fast he almost didn't see them coming. He brought his own swords up in a hasty defense that jarred his arms. They held the lock but the swords were beginning to press down towards him. He pushed against them but they still kept coming down.

Finally he backed away, breaking the lock. But Ser Arthur followed him, his swords swinging in tandem. Jon raised his own blades in defense again, moving them in an easily recognizable defensive pattern. His opponent stuck harder and moved fast then him. If he tried to step away and resume his prowling like before, the Kingsguard would follow and attack again. He wasn't so much as fighting as he was trying to make sure that he lived.

"Come now, Jon Snow," the Sword of the Morning said to him as he swung his blade down low. "Surely you can do more than this!"

His blood boiled at the implications of those words. He had worked on his swordplay. It was all he really had! He would not let it be besmirched. With a shout, he lunged forward with his swords poised to strike. Ser Arthur stepped to the side but he stepped with him and continued the attack. He pressed against the knight, weaving his swords in series of hard strikes and cuts.

Ser Arthur looked somewhat surprised when he followed the step but it did not deter his skill. His swords seem to come alive in his hands and they warded off everything that Jon swung at him. He could push him away or step off in the middle of a parry, making him fall to the ground. In spite of this, the bastard felt like he was alive. If he fell to the ground, he would get right back up and keep fighting.

He didn't know how long the yard echoed with the clash of swords. What he did know was that he was losing the spar. But it just incited him to fight harder, to see if he could win. He swung his swords again and again, wanting to break past that defense and land a touch on the Sword of the Morning, at the least.

He stepped forward, swinging his swords from high and low. The high was met by a strong parry but the low was able to brush pass a weak defense. He pushed forward, hoping to land it on Ser Arthur's side. But the next thing he knew, he was flying through the air and landed face first in the dirt. He wondered in confusion for a moment, trying to understand what had just happened. Then he realized that weak defense had been a feint and he had fallen for it.

He tried to get back up, only to feel the edge of a sword at his neck. Once he felt it, he knew that it was done. He had lost. But did he have a chance in the first place? The sword withdrew from his neck as Ser Arthur said, "You did well, Jon Snow. I see that the name the prince has given you is well deserved."

He got back to his feet and faced the Kingsguard. "Thank you, Ser Dayne."

He walked past him and put the training swords back where he had picked them up. "Once you have some experience, come find me if I'm still alive," he said, going back to where he laid down his cloak. He picked it up and threw it back around his shoulders. "I think it might turn out differently." He walked back into the hall, leaving Jon Snow there in the yard.

The bastard watched him go. Once he was gone, he released the breath he didn't know that he had been holding. "I just sparred against Ser Arthur Dayne!" he told himself with excitement. He went over the memory of the spar again and again, remembering each detail like it would mean life or death in the end. He couldn't believe it. Not only did he spar against the Sword of the Morning but the man had said with a few years, there was a chance he could best him. He was filled with pride and couldn't wait to tell Robb about what had just happened.

But then he remembered where he was and that pride was crushed. Lady Catelyn did not want him to embarrass the Starks. He could not boast about dueling Ser Arthur, not in Riverrun. It wouldn't matter if he had won or lost. Once more he felt ashamed at the fact that he was a bastard and not a trueborn Stark.

He looked over at Ghost but the wolf stood away from him whilst trying to keep his nose out of his direction. The action was confusing until he looked down at himself. He was completely filthy and his clothes stank too. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of it. He looked at the hall. The only way to get to where clothes could be laundered would be through there. But it was too risky, much too risky. There was only one thing he could do. "Come on," he said to Ghost. "We're heading to the river."

When they did reach the river, he stripped to his smallclothes and waded into the water while Ghost watched from the bank. He wasn't exactly sure how to wash clothes properly. He was going to have to figure it out. He put the shirt under the river's stream and held it there for a few seconds. When he pulled it out, it was sopping wet and the dirt had cleaned out some. He wringed out the water and more of the dirt came off.

He repeated the process again until he was sure it was clear. Then he turned to the hose. As he washed, he started to hum a song. It wasn't a complete song. It was something that he was still working on and it was something he kept private. Not even Dom knew about it. He wasn't sure when he started working on it, sometime during his childhood. He knew that it wasn't complete and he still worked to finish it but he didn't know if he ever could.

He came upon the stopping point as he worked on the hose. The hum fell into uncertainty. He tried different notes to the song, going unsteadily and uncertainly forward. At times he paused and tested notes. "That is an interesting little song you're humming," said a voice from behind him.

He went completely still, his hose still gripped in his hand. He turned his head slightly back and saw Tyene Sand standing at the bank. "Lady Tyene," he said politely to her.

"Lord Snow," she said back.

"I'm not a lord."

"And I am not a lady."

"You lie, at least somewhat."

She went still and eyed him. "I beg your pardon?"

"I've heard others say that you are the epitome of being a lady, perhaps even an incarnation of the Maiden."

"And what do you say?"

He looked away and going back to the clothes. "I would say that you are a lady to those who wish to see you as a lady."

"Interesting," she remarked. "But I am not here for me." He heard her take a step out into the water. "What are you doing out here, Jon Snow?"

"Trying to wash my clothes," he admitted, holding up the shirt so she could see it. He wondered where Ghost was. Was he still resting on the bank?

"Why?"

"They're dirty and I believe the washerwomen are celebrating tonight too."

She didn't say anything, so he went back to doing the best he could in washing the clothes. "What's going on here?" he heard Princess Arianne's voice ask.

"The lovely Lord Snow is taking a bath to clean himself, dear coz," Lady Tyene replied. "He seems to be quite dirty."

"I'm not bathing, I'm cleaning my clothes," he said inwardly. Why was the Sand Snake twisting his words around to mean something that it wasn't?

"Perhaps we should join him, Tyene? The night is a bit warm and I'm sure that a dip in the river would be the right thing to cool us off."

"I think you're right, Ari."

"Wait, what?" He turned his head to look back at them, only to see that they were undressing themselves without shame. He whipped his head around and focused on the opposite bank, the shirt and hose clenched tight in his hands. "Do not look. Do not look," he told himself as he heard them step into the river.

He pushed down the shirt into the water, making sure that it was good and wet. When he brought it out and lifted it up to twist out the water, he felt fingers on his risen arm and on his back. They felt like little flames dancing against his skin but his skin felt cool. His throat felt dry but he kept his eyes on the clothes. "What lovely skin," he heard the princess remark from behind him, trailing her fingers across his skin, "So pale, like your namesake."

He forced himself to reply. "The snow is paler, Princess Arianne."

He could hear Tyene giggle as she traced a finger of hers across his muscles. "You would know of such things, Lord Snow."

"Please do not call me that."

"Why? Is it not fitting? Does it not satisfy you?" She actually sounded downtrodden and sad when she asked the question.

He kept his gaze focused on his clothes. Even though he wanted to look her in the eye and tell her why, he would not turn his head. "It is not right. I am a bastard."

"Tosh," the princess declared. "That does not matter."

He could feel her hand trailing around his back to his hip, cupping it as if she wanted to hold it. He kept his eyes forward. "It does to me."

She made the faintest sound of irritation and her cousin spoke again. "I believe you were going to me about that little song you were humming to yourself, Jon Snow?"

"No, I wasn't," he thought to himself. But he couldn't say that. It would be wrong. "What of it?" he asked, trying to ignore the fact that her fingers trailed a circle on his shoulder. It felt like all his blood was going to his groin.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing, a little nonsensical tune," he answered instantly.

"Oh, I think you are the liar now, Jon Dualfang. Nonsensical tunes aren't worked on. They are sung once and forgotten."

"I…I had some time on hand?"

They shared a giggle at that. "I can just imagine. What do you do in the time given to you?"

"It must be a good amount," Princess Arianne remarked, her hand slowly coming around his waist to his front. "The ladies in Riverrun hardly see you until they go looking for you. It's like—"

Her hand was about to his groin when he acted. Quick as lighting he dropped the shirt, grabbed it, and yanked it away. "No," he told her, anger coating embarrassment. His eyes almost fell upon her but at the sight of bare skin he whipped his eyes forward again.

"Oh, oh my," she said, actually sounding breathy with surprise, "How forceful of you, Jon Snow. Perhaps you have the blood of the wolf after all."

"It does not seem to be nearly awakened enough, coz," Tyene said, moving her hand down his back. Her fingers danced against his skin as they went down. "He doesn't look at you or me."

"Yes, I've noticed that too." She twisted her hand around until the palms touched each other.

Jon felt his groin stir at the sensation their fingers played against his skin. "Your Highness," he tried to say, his voice almost strained.

"Why do you not look?"

"It's not right."

She didn't object to his protest or sound annoyed. Instead she reached out with her fingers and clasped his hand. "Look at me," she told him. He looked at the other riverbank, refusing to even turn his neck. "Jon, loo—"

"What exactly is going on here?" the voice of Prince Viserys asked from behind them all. The princess and her cousin turned, letting go of Jon. In that moment, not wanting to look the prince in the eye, he did the only thing that seemed to work in his mind. He dove into the deeper end of the water, still holding his clothes, and let the current take him away.

He swam for a good two or three minutes before breaking through the surface of the river and swimming for the bank. He waded out of the water to a nearby outcrop of rocks. There he sat down, his sopping clothes still in his hands. Ghost bounded up to his side a few moments later. He gave the wolf a look. "If you were human, I would say that you enjoyed that." The albino just lolled its tongue out before sitting against him. He leaned into the fur, welcoming the warmth it offered.

He stayed there, slowly drying off from the air and Ghost's fur. When he felt like he was dry enough, he stood up and turned around. Viserys was standing there. "Jon," he said. "What was happening back there?"

Jon knew that the prince didn't like to be address as such, not unless the situation called for it. So he answered honestly. "All I was trying to do was attempt to clean my clothes."

The king's brother looked him in the eyes. Then he sighed. "Toss me your clothes and go wait in the godswood. I'll bring you back some dry ones." He grabbed the clothes and held them out so they wouldn't drip on his own. He walked away and Jon left for the godswood, Ghost following behind him. As he walked away, he hoped that he wouldn't run any more of the ladies tonight.

End

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

Yes, I kept Tommen the same. There was no real reason to change him. But he's going to turn out different. If you're wondering what a back brother is, it's something that I came up with and will be explained soon. And for the record, no, it doesn't imply anything dirty.

I trust you all liked the spar between Jon and Ser Arthur. I'll admit that I'm not the best at writing fight scenes but I do the best I can. And I do think that sometimes one of the Kingsguard gets the night off, especially when all seven of them are there.

Originally, it was supposed to be Tya who found Jon cleaning his clothes in the river. But I scrapped it because A: it would've drawn a parallel between her and her mother and we've already had that. B: She doesn't really have the courage to wade into the river naked like Arianne and Tyene did. That was what I was going for, them teasing and trying to make Jon crack.

I'll see you all next chapter!