CHAPTER THREE

Corren Snow was very unused to being treated as just another one of the children. All of his life, he had been reminded that he was a bastard, less than his true born cousins. Though most everyone at Winterfell had been tolerant of him, few had ever shown him any real, positive affection. The suddenly, he was in Dorne and his uncle was introducing him to Lord Gulian and Lady Ashara, who he was told he would remain with when his family returned north.

The lord and lady's son, Jon, had led him to his own private room the morning of his second day at Starfall. The bastard of Winterfell was surprised to find that, rather than his usual converted store room, he had been given chambers in the same wing as the boy's himself. Though Lady Qorgyle had assured him that he would be treated as a treasured member of the household, he had scarcely believed her. He had expected to be taken on as a stable boy or perhaps even a page or a squire, but never had he thought that he would be trained just as the presumed future Lord of Sandstone.

"My room is just down the hall, and so are Obara and Nym's," Jon told the northern boy happily,

"Obara and Nym?" asked Corren. He had yet to meet anyone by those names.

"Nymeria and Obara Sand, they live here too. Their little sister, Sarella, is coming soon too. I hope you like her. She's close to our age."

"Are there any other?"

"My aunt, Allyria, but she's in Sunspear with her betrothed, Quentyn. Oh, you wanna come down to the yard? I've got a lesson with Obara and I'm sure she'd be happy to teach you as well."

Corren had no idea what kind of lesson that his new friend meant, but he was simply so excited to be asked that he could not find it in himself to care. He chased after the young lordling and found himself laughing, for what truly felt like the first time in his life, at his antics. Down in the yard, the two Sand Snakes were facing off against each other, Obara with a spear and Nymeria with her two daggers. The two were certainly a sight to see, one that blew the young northerner away.

The teens fought with a ferocity that no one would expect from two sparring sisters. There was no hesitation in their movements, as if they were not afraid to inflict harm, but, when the older girl got in a deadly jab that ended the match, it became clear that both could control themselves enough so that no one was hurt. Nymeria got up and brushed herself off with an extremely unhappy look that disappeared when she saw Jon.

The little boy ran into her arms and she swung him around as he shouted, "Nym!" He giggled at her wildly and gave her a large, toothy grin when she sat him down, showing off the missing front tooth that had fallen out the week before. With plain clothes and bare feet, one would never know that he was the son of a lord. He turned to the northern boy and gestured. "This is my new friend, Cory." Corren smiled at the boy's mispronunciation, rather liking the idea of having a nickname. "Cory, this is Nymeria and Obara Sand, the ones that I told you about."

"It's nice to meet you, Cory," said Nymeria, giving the obviously nervous boy a friendly smile.

"Nym and Obara are the best, though Nym's blade work could use a little fine tuning." Purple-grey eyes shinned as the little boy threw back the reprimand that his friend had so often given him during training. He was better with a spear, much to Obara's delight, but everyone insisted that he had to be well versed in all manner of combat. He was a fairly good archer and had recently begun working with a whip. All of these, however, were southern weapons, and he had almost drooled when he had caught sight of Lord Eddard's greatsword.

Before any lesson could begin, the group was joined by young Robb Stark and Winterfell's master-at-arms, Sir Rodrik. The older knight carried several northern swords with him and offered to teach them all how to use them while the Starks guested at Starfall, even the Sand Snakes. Jon and Nymeria were both over the moon at this, having always wanted to learn how to fight with swords. There were some such blades in Dorne, but it was not the way that their people fought. The Dornishmen were wild and passionate, and therefore so were their weapons. Jon's uncle Arthur, the Sword of the Morning, fought with the Dayne ancestral greatsword Dawn, but he was one of few.

The Lady of Starfall was, blessedly, free of duties for the remainder of the day, and so she went off in search of her son. Her daughter, still do young, could not have her lessons disrupted, lest her schedule be broken, so she sought out her eldest child, whose mornings consisted of military training. What she saw when she found him was not at all what she had expected. He was in the training yard, just where she had thought, but he held a blunted northern short sword and faced off against Corren. He was drenched in sweat and had a large bruise on his arm, but he seemed oddly happy.

As she watched, Jon skillfully managed to evade the older boy's strikes, even landing a solid one of his own. The mother felt that her son was doing rather well, especially for having never wielded such a weapon before. His opponent was stronger and more experienced, but that did not stop the younger boy from more than holding his own. Their fighting styles were so different that it made for a very interesting match. Where Corren's movements were rigid and precise from endless hours of practice, Jon swung his sword as if it were a staff, swirling with the fluidity of air. The older boy won in the end, though only just barely.

Seeing his mother watching, Jon hugged her with an excited, "Mama!" She hugged him back fiercely, reveling in his open affection. He rarely showed her such displays after his uncle Arron had told him that it made him look weak. "Did you see that, Mama?"

"I did, my little spear," Ashara smiled, kissing the top of his sweaty, curly black hair. "You were very good. You should have Uncle Arthur when he returns from Braavos. He'll be so proud to see what you've learned."

The little boy beamed at the mention of the uncle whom he so rarely saw. Sir Arthur Dayne had left Westeros almost three years before in search of Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen. They had fled the country after the deaths of their father, Aerys, and their brother, Rhaegar. Arthur had offered to be the one to seek them out, as few knew that he was alive and so his absence would not be noted. It was important to have their support in the war that was to come. He had sent a letter only a month ago to say that he was on his way home at long last.

Eddard Stark looked on his son and two nephews told Ashara all about their fighting lessons. The Lord of Winterfell would never consider himself a jealous man but, in that moment, he was envious of the Dornish woman. He had chosen not to take the boy, born Jaehaerys Targaryen but now called Jon Qorgyle, because he felt that his life would have been too hard. He would have been forced to claim the child as his bastard, staining his honor, and so he had instead asked his childhood love to shame herself. She had agreed to it, gladly, as soon as she had held the babe in her arms.

Seeing the little boy like that, how very happy he was, sent a pang of regret running through Ned like fire. He begrudged Ashara the chance that she had had to give the boy a good life and, sadly, even felt a little scorn for the child himself. Jon was supposed to be miserable, a bastard that was looked down upon, not the happy son of a lord. It was only right since he had killed Lyanna, she who held the purest soul that the world had ever seen. As if somehow sensing his thoughts, Ashara turned a disdainful eyes towards her childhood sweetheart, and he retreated back into the castle in shame.