Jon I
The howl of the winds blew towards him as he took a moment to look out from the ramparts, his breath exhaled the misty substance in the cold air. The lush and vast woods of Hornwood encompassing all, surrounding the castle, the hills shrouded in a milky fog. His medium dark hair almost hovering with the evening wind. Sun barely shining through the grey clouds.
He liked it up here. It was nice to enjoy time for himself, and to admire the beauty ahead of him. The Old Gods were alive here…
On many days, it was often the moonlight he watched from here. For some reason, they reminded him of his dreams. Wolf dreams, where he entered Ghost's body. Dirt and more often than not, the taste of blood and meat from a kill that his wolf would make. It was never the same without his littermates; Grey Wind, Lady and Nymeria had all left for the south, and Shaggy Dog was at Winterfell with Rickon.
There was pain though in many instances. Like Jon himself, Ghost missed his cousins. The loud, hot and tight confines of a city were no place for wild animals. He could sense their discomfort all the way here.
He discovered this minor rampart over a week when he had arrived, rarely used by guards or anyone passing by to its location in a tucked away little corner by the east side, which stared out to the huge Sheepshead hills which lay on Manderly lands to the south. The lord of whom was related as a cousin of Lady Donella.
Mostly, he had used it to think and contemplate. He missed his brothers and sisters, father too, but mostly Arya, now almost year since they had been in each other's company. When they had said their goodbyes at Winterfell, it was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Later that night on their return journey to Hornwood, he had made sure to escape to a far side of the camp. He had shed his tears behind a big bark tree, quick and relatively few.
In hindsight, his eyes probably did not look as dry as he had thought they had as he returned. But Lord Halys had been kind enough to say nothing and offered a comforting smile by the large fireplace. Choosing to say nothing that would draw attention.
Suddenly, he felt something warm and wet on his left hand. He knew who it was before he had to turn.
Ghost, his own dire wolf. An albino among the litter of greys, the Old Gods seemingly bent on ensuring he knew his rightful place as the bastard, the runt, in comparison to his trueborn sibling's own wolves.
He had not heard the quiet beast approach, having named him Ghost for that ability to remain as quiet as the dead themselves.
"Hey, there you are, boy." The massive wolf's big red eyes investigated his own. A playful inquisitiveness, an intelligence for an animal. It still amazed him even now just how big he had become in less than a year.
"Getting into any trouble?" he teased. Scratching behind the shaggy white wolf's ear, who received it fondly with happy whines and growls.
Jon chuckled. "No, you're too much of a good boy for that." He took a breath, knowing he had things to do. Lady Donella would no doubt he in her solar by now. He had finished his duties to aid Maester Medrick in gathering and calculating the harvest that would have to last through the coming winter.
With that, he gave one more scratch before leaving through the heavy door. Ghost following closely, having been allowed inside the castle keep, Jon having proved he could be trusted, so long as Jon accompanied him.
Hornwood was a great keep, even though not as renown or strong as either Winterfell or the Dreadfort. It was made primarily out of great dry stone. An outer wall battlement, watch and flanking towers which were massive. Two other layers were the same, the keep in the centre, the pinnacle the highest point of the castle. He slightly picked up a step, deciding to hurry along.
All along the walls, he spotted the dark orange tapestries of house Hornwood, the great brown bull moose its sigil.
He passed by the many household guards and men-at-arms, most of whom he now knew off by heart; great Al the Songbird, Peet the longer, Buck, Ruddy Hamish, one-hand Nedric, who had lost his left limb at the battle of the Bells at the Stony Sept during Robert's Rebellion. He had engaged with a large axeman, a mace and dagger badge sown onto his tunic. He managed to strike him in the head with his sword, but somehow, the dying man had managed to partially hack his hand. It barely hung on by the skin, some flesh and some bone.
If it hadn't had It amputated and cleaned by a Silent sister that night, whom he also had insisted he had then bedded, he wouldn't be here to tell the story, of which Hamish had quipped that was unfortunate.
He bid his greetings and acknowledgements to all of them as he went. It had not been as smooth as he would have liked the first day. He would take himself very seriously, his duties, as well as his skills. Unfortunately to the men, it came across as arrogance; that he was their better. It was only in the following weeks that he had learned for himself just what conduct he had to take. And it had led him to humbling himself, teaching and improving, rather than domineering and bullying.
Ghost strolled with him until they reached the entranceway to the main keep. Where the Hornwood family lived and slept. Ghost was not permitted here. Lady Donella would not take any risk of the wolf acting up and endangering her granddaughters.
"Go on, Ghost. I'll find you later." he patted the dire wolf who then walked away. Smart as ever.
The chambers to Lady Hornwood's solar were clear, a heavy door with a metal carving of a moose in the centre. Two bearded guards stood, with orange surcoats and the moose at the centre.
The Lady Alys was likely to be in another chamber, watching over her newborn second daughter.
As he went through. He heard giggles and happy laughter of a small child. He smirked himself.
Lady Donella Hornwood, formally a lady of house Manderly, sat in a great armchair, grey-haired and dignified in her furs over her dark orange dress, a young serving girl sat near the side to help as needed. As she played with her eldest granddaughter of two years, Hollie, who enjoyed the lady's white pearls, a gift from her betrothed lord husband at the time, which she still proudly wore to this day. A vibrant and playful little girl who enjoyed running across the castle, who still gurgled and played with the lady's grey hair. She was often chased by either her grandmother, mother or a servant woman or two. Sometimes all of them at once.
He stood quietly, hands behind his back.
"Jon." The kindly Lady acknowledged with a kind smile.
"My lady." He softly replied.
"Maris, please take my granddaughter for her nap." She asked, handing her still lively granddaughter over.
"Yes, m'lady." She replied. quietly making her way out when the child was in her arms.
"She grows fast, lady Hornwood." Jon commented once the door softy smacked shut.
"Aye she does, Jon. And already, I face a deluge of offers for her hand in marriage. Can I not have just a few years as a nan before that little girl is sold off?" a sense of melancholy in her soft and refined voice.
"I wouldn't know of such things, my lady. I only know Lord Daryn and lady Alys will always what is right by their children. Just as you would." giving his due respect to the currently absent heir, as well as his lady wife.
With that, she simply smiled.
"You are indeed your father's son."
"I'm just a bastard, my lady. Nothing more."
"As the lady of Hornwood, you will accept the compliment, yes?"
He took a pause. Choosing his words more carefully.
"As you command, my lady." He said with a soft smile. Which seemed to please her.
"How goes your training? Does everyone treat you well?" she asked.
"Yes, my lady. I have no complaints; the people of your household have all treated me kinder than I could ever dare hope for."
The lady walked to a big table; it had an opened letter inside. The seal wax broken. One which he had seen a few times back at Winterfell. It was the royal seal. He decided to say nothing for now.
"I'm very glad we could treat you as such. A son of Lord Eddard deserves nothing less, and you live up to his reputation." She praised with a smile, but it felt unearned to him. It always did.
As he looked at the huge window, the massive and stout keep matched even the highest mountains, a sight to behold.
he looked on at his reflection: "a younger Ned Stark" people said, always with fondness. The same brown hair, long face and wintery grey eyes. Down to the tendency for solemnness and a need to place duty first above all else. Or so he was told.
"I'm just a bastard, my lady. I'm not a Stark."
The lady's experienced and wise eyes bore into his.
"I know things can never be easy for you. Few understand what you live with. I certainly cannot and never will." She spoke honestly. "But you've proven yourself. The household loves you. Maester Medrick, and the Steward have not a bad word to say of you, and Ruari Flint says you're an ideal lad to have around to train the household guard and keep them in shape. Learn to give yourself a chance, Jon."
The White Wolf was what they called him. For his personal coat of arms, the inverted colours of house Stark. A grey background with a fierce albino wolf at the centre, red eyed and fangs bared. But often, it was Ghost himself that made his presence known, few would mistake him when he would go about his business, the massive beast of a wolf at his side as his loyal friend and companion. Even now, it was hard to embrace it all. Even at the urging of lord and lady Hornwood, as well as Alys and Daryn.
"Do you intend to be known as the Bastard of Winterfell your entire life?" Alys had once asked, blunt and honest, even as she could no longer walk unassisted in the final days of her second pregnancy. A knowing grin on her face, "White Wolf has a good ring to it. Make it your own." She had urged him to accept himself. The lady Alys was a friend whom he had grown fond of, having known her when they had met at Winterfell. Her father having taken her with him during a visit from Karhold. She had a spirit and tenacity that made him think of Arya.
"I sometimes wish Lady Stark would see it that way." He admitted. In the past, expressing any ill feelings about the lady of Winterfell would be unthinkable, but for the entire year that he knew the lady, he knew he could be honest, and it was how she preferred it. But he would never seek to demean the lady herself.
"I would never go against my brothers and sisters." He spoke bitterly, but in a manner still controlled.
Lady Hornwood looked on, sympathetically.
"Lady Stark does not mean you genuine ill, Jon… I know very well how she feels. I hold no true venom towards my husband's bastard, Larence." She lightly cleared her throat as she continued. A sigh also escaped her lips. Lord Haly's past tryst with a serving girl that bore the bastard, who was currently a ward of Lord Ethan Glover, still stung no doubt, "I know him to be a good boy. Tenacious and bold, I doubt he would ever seriously attempt to usurp my Daryn… but we mothers, when even the most remote threat comes to our children… we can only think with our hearts, rarely our minds."
A moment of silence hung in the air, before the lady went on.
"Jon, this isn't why I called you here."
That drew his attention. Curiosity and concern in his belly. His attention again turned to the white letter still in her soft fingers.
Her eyes turned to him, then she handed him the later, "A raven arrived today from King's Landing. The king and lord Eddard have formally made a betrothal between house Baratheon and Stark. Your sister, Arya, is to marry the crown prince. She will be the next Queen, Jon."
As he read the letter, he hid how his heart sank at what this meant. This all but ensured he would never get to see her again. And even if he did, he would never be permitted to speak to her. No Queen could dishonour herself by socialising with a bastard.
Arya as the Queen? he knew his little sister: wild, wilful and loath to ever settle down as a proper lady. Let alone as a Queen, how could father have ever talked her into it? He did not see it.
"Jon." The quiet but proud lady asked, drawing his attention.
"A second letter arrived, a day after we received this one." Her words bore a solemn and uncertain tone.
"Why didn't you tell me before?" his voice raised. Something he had never done with Lady Hornwood. He knew it was wrong, but in that moment, the idea of anymore information being withheld from him, especially regarding a member of his family.
"Please… read it, Jon." She responded, seemingly choosing to forgive him of his attitude.
He carefully took it from her hand.
"We received it the night after we received the announcement of your sister's betrothal." As he took it, unfolding it carefully, as if one wrong movement would cause the paper to dissolve before his very eyes.
He read its contents carefully. King Robert had perished by a tragic accident, bravely and boldly, in the middle of a tourney melee against a Reacher lord, the side of his head caved in. He had died not a few hours later.
The king's son and heir, Rickard Baratheon, the namesake of his lord grandfather, the one who had been cruelly executed in the middle of the throne room by the Mad King, was now King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men.
The new King and his sister were to be wed within the end of the year.
He placed the letter back onto the table, his hands resting. Taking it all in, after a minute. A comforting. Lined hand went to his.
"I'm sure she is well cared for and treated as our future Queen." She spoke with some slightly refined optimism.
Hardly He had wanted to say, with a mixture of anger and sadness. He had received at least three letters from Arya. The two still strong writing companions.
He's an idiot and a bully she had stated in her last letter regarding the prince, no more than a week ago. Too used to lords and ladies catering to him and praising him.
Before now, it had all amused him. Of course, while all the ladies loved him and dreamed of the young prince taking them as their bride – his eldest sister, Sansa included – or for some, even just as a mistress.
Of the countless important southern ladies, it was his little sister, of the North, who was to be Queen.
The king's father had been the closest of friends of their father. And it seemed clear this Rickard idolised King Robert. He would only wish that this would be enough to ensure Arya received the treatment she deserved.
"I'm sorry… you've seemed so overwhelmed with your work. I wanted you to finish your gathering of the harvest for the winter. Nothing will have truly changed within just three days."
Jon nodded. Knowing it was not the Lady's fault.
"I'm sure my father would not have agreed with this betrothal if he had any doubts…"
The previous natural calm. Only occasionally lifted by the sounds of the crackling fireplace and creak of the windows, seats and wind, as well as their own voices, was all suddenly upended by the rapid knock on the door.
"Lady Hornwood. Please, I must report a terrible event!" the familiar voice of Maester Medrick came.
"Please come." She urged.
In came the Maester. A red-faced portly man, but with a receding headline with some blonde streaks.
He looked on, worried. Tugging on the chain of his order that wrapped around his neck.
"What has happened, Maester?" she spoke. Concern on her face.
Jon himself stood at attendance. An attack maybe? The thought left him as soon as it entered his head.
"We just received a rider, from one of the villages outside the mountain range. There was an attack. The women and girls were taken. Men on horses came, at least thirty, maybe more. They lit the town on fire, killed the men and women. They were almost all butchered, even babes were not spared, some butchered, some thrown into the fires. "
Lady Hornwood's hand went to her mouth in shock and horror. Jon was disturbed too. Who could have done this?
"They came from the north, he said. They bore no banners and demanded no money. They simply killed everyone and took every woman and girl they could." He stated in anguish and horror.
"Wildings?" the lady stated in uncertainty.
But that could not possibly be, or at the very least, unlikely, Wilding attacks were rare this far south, they often had to tread through Umber, Karstark and Bolton lands. Who's lords had become efficient in dealing with trespassers from beyond the wall, who had been lucky to dodge the Night's Watch.
"We're not sure, My Lady. I'll send ravens to the Dreadfort, Last Hearth and Karhold. The lords of those keeps are gone though, and it will be some time until they will be back."
"How could any Wildings have made it that far?" Jon stated. Drawing the lady and maester's attention.
"They get better at bypassing the wall every decade, Lord Jon." The maester answered.
"Something doesn't feel right about this…"
"Regardless." Lady Hornwood stated, clear and collected, of lady Hornwood drew his and Medrick's attention. A quiet strength in her voice.
"These brigands must be brought to justice." She turned to him. "Jon, in the absence of my husband and son, I entrust you with this responsibility. You shall have the command of fifty men of the household guard and learn of the full events that have taken place. You will find these criminals, restore the King's peace, expose their purpose and execute justice upon them." she spoke with finality.
Jon went to one knee. Fully taking on this task.
"It will be done, Lady Hornwood."