Chapter 02 – The Runaway Bastard of Winterfell

Ever since he let Ebrion out of Winterfell, Jon started to consider his future.

Bastards, even the ones parented by the Warden of the North, were unlikely to rise high in Westeros and had very few paths to follow in life. Doing an exercise in self-criticism, Jon knew he wasn't fit for a life of studies as a Maester, neither he could do keep the books to earn a steward position. The North had no spare castles other than Moat Cailin, so it was extremely unlikely that he would be granted a title in spite of his good relationship with either his Lord Father and Robb.

Jon exceeded in one thing however: swordsmanship.

The North had little love for jousts and the other realms were wary of the Northmen so it was unlikely he would be a squire, much less a knight.

He could stay as a master-at-arms once Ser Rodrik retired, this meant he would remain close to his father and Robb. It also meant that he would remain close to Lady Stark, making this idea somewhat less pleasant. Jon liked Ser Rodrik, but truth to be told he envisioned better things for himself and the idea of living his entire life in the same place, even if it was Winterfell was sounding less and less enticing as the days passed by.

If he wanted to do the opposite of living in one place, he could become a sellsword. He would have to move to Essos, and would be risking his life in a daily basis, but of the paths he had been considering it was the one who could see him earning the most gold. But, unlike most men, Jon never put much value on gold. There's no metal that could wash melt away the snow in his name, and there's no metal could that regain lost honor. He disliked the idea of taking lives, hence why he spared Ebrion, and he probably would lose himself fighting battles that weren't his own.

That left the Night's Watch as his main choice. There's plenty of honor in taking the black and defending his realm. He would have to kill, but it also meant that he could be protecting innocent lives. However, once he takes the black, there's no coming back.

A decision wasn't required yet, but one should always be mindful of his future…

His musings were brought to a sudden end as he felt the blunted tip of a sword pressed into his cheek. "Let's train."

Jon glanced up to the offender, his brother Robb.

For the last few weeks, his siblings, mostly Robb and Arya, decided to take onto themselves the task of getting him to open up by spending quality time with him. Despite knowing that they were unlikely to make him more cheerful, he appreciated them nonetheless.

"Don't go crying to your mother when your arse is on the ground." He warned with a smirk.

Robb's eleventh name day celebrations brought lords from the entire North, alongside their families. House Stark name days, excluding Sansa's, were modest celebrations. This year however Lady Stark pushed for a bigger feast as it was time for Robb to get more familiar with his future bannermen.

It was a sound idea, he admitted. Apparently so did his father think as invitations were sent for all the northern houses. Thus, from his seat in the lower tables, Jon watched as the likes of Houses Cerwyn, Karstark, Locke, Manderly, Mormont and Umber swarmed his Lord father and Robb. Suddenly he didn't mind being a bastard that much, he could swear that Arya was this close to smacking Wynafryd Manderly.

The celebration was to last half a week, and Jon decided to make himself as scarce as possible, he didn't mind the presence of his fellow Northmen but truth to be told he would rather be by himself.

For times like these, he discovered the library tower was his best alternative. Northmen usually weren't fond of books.

Unfortunately, his plans were brought to a halt by a familiar face and a chirpy voice. "Looking as sullen as ever Jon."

He looked up and saw eyes greyer than his and brown hair, longer and lighter than his. "Lady Alys." Jon acknowledged.

The girl unceremoniously sat down next to him and glanced at the book he was reading Winter's Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell. "Never took you for a scholar, Jon."

"I'm not. But I'd rather be here than seeing the Greatjon sing."

"He's surprisingly good." Alys pointed out.

"Aye, he is, this what scares me the most." He commented, causing the lady to laugh.

A good five years ago, Alys came to Winterfell alongside her father, Lord Rickard Karstark, who sought a betrothal between Alys and Robb. During her visit, besides spending time with Robb, she became acquainted with him, as she found him easy to tease despite his broody façade.

"Came to see your future husband?" he decided to banter, earning a solid punch in his arm for the trouble. Stronger than Sansa's. Oddly enough weaker than Arya's.

"Don't even think about it." Alys warned "I'd rather not be paraded as livestock."

Jon supposed he interacted better with the fairer sex now than five years ago. Probably he spent so much time with Arya that it became less intimidating to him. He even managed to hold a conversation with more than grunts and nods.

"It makes sense, though."

"Marrying Robb?"

He nodded. "Lord Stark's marriage with his lady was the first recorded between a Stark of Winterfell and a Lady hailing from a Southron house hailing from Andal descent. Some of the Lords of Winterfell married Southron brides, but these were from houses such as Blackwood or Royce, who had a certain degree of affiliation to our customs. It makes sense that the next Lady of Winterfell is closely related to the North, otherwise some may think Lord Stark is forsaking tradition."

Alys stared at him in surprise. "You are surprisingly intelligent, Jon Snow. I'm sure my father will be happy to know that."

Jon doubted that Lord Karstark wasn't aware of that but nodded nevertheless. Robb could do a lot worse than Alys, who was in his opinion the prettiest of the Northern ladies alongside Wynafryd in his age group.

"Still your father is fond of Southron things."

"You mean Lady Stark? She was supposed to marry uncle Brandon, Lord Stark had to take his place to get the Riverlands to join the rebellion."

Alys shook her head. "I know that, I meant to say he was raised in the Vale, his best friend is from the Stormlands and your mother is from Dorne."

Jon was barely paying attention to Alys, but this last tidbit caused him to widen his eyes. "My mother is from Dorne!?"

"You didn't know?" the surprise was evident even if her voice was barely above a whisper.

"What's her name?" Jon himself felt astonished by how aggressive his voice had become.

"Ashara Dayne."

"The Sword of Morning's sister? How do you know?"

"I heard from my father, it's a well-known story in the North."

"Apparently not in Winterfell." Jon snapped. Then he took a few deep breaths and shook his head. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. I never knew about my mother…it's a bit of a sore subject for me."

"I had no idea things were that bad." The girl admitted, then grabbed his hands. "Jon, I know we're not that close but if you wish to talk…" she trailed off.

The bastard shook his head. "It's fine Alys, I'm fine. But thanks."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I'll beat someone in the training yards until I feel better." He admitted earning a chuckle from the lady before his gaze became steely. "Then I'll talk with my father."

After supper, Ned retreated to his study. The bannermen attending the feast brought not only gifts for Robb's name day but also complaints and concerns. He hated not being able to spend more time with his son, but he needed to lead by example and show, not to Robb but to all his children that the name Stark carried a duty to the North.

As much as he disliked monikers, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, the Warden of the North, admitted that some held credit as they reflected facts. Roose Bolton was known as Leech Lord for his habit of having leeches fed off his own blood, Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer indeed have slain a king, and there was Eddard Stark himself, known as the quiet wolf, a fitting title.

It was like that ever since he was young. Brandon was always boisterous, loud and outspoken. Ned was sure he would be a better Warden of the North than him should he lived.

I never wanted Winterfell, I just wanted justice for my family and my sister back.

But he failed.

The day he came back to King's Landing with a newborn whose real name could never be uttered without the wrath of the king in his arms and his sister body in a coffin he visited Robert. It has been eleven years since then, but he still vividly remembers how pitiful his brother in all but blood looked. On the verge of passing out, deep within his cups, two whores in his arms, whilst sobbing, bawling and repeating his sister's name. This was the day he saw how sorrow could destroy a man.

So, for the good of his promise, his son, his wife and the North he carried on.

He forgot his father's plans to integrate with the south, he forgot how Winterfell should've been rightfully Brandon's, he forgot violet eyes and a gentle smile. But he could never forget his promise to Lyanna.

He had a living reminder of it, after all.

I only wished you could see him, Lyanna. What he'll become. You'd be proud of him.

It was a twisted sense of irony that made Jon more like him than any of his other's siblings. Cousins.

When he looked at Jon, Robb and Arya he felt like watching history repeat itself in the most painful way possible.

Robb is like Brandon, sans the latter's wolf-blood, destined to become the Lord Winterfell deserves. Strong and firm, whilst gentle and understanding.

Arya is like Lyanna. Willful, wild, relentless. Now Ned felt his father's flight. And he swore not to make the same mistakes with her. She won't die in birthing bed, alone and far away from home. He swore.

And then there is Jon. Thankfully, he inherited most of his features from Lyanna rather than Rhaegar. Better yet, Jon never showed any signs of the Targaryen madness that seemed to plague his father's family, something that he feared when he brought him from the south.

Ned could never forgive Rhaegar's actions, even with Lyanna reassuring him she wanted to go to him, he should've known better, she was just fifteen at time. Jon's father was not mad but his sick obsession with Lyanna caused not only the rebellion but also ended his wife and children's lives. People often described Rhaegar as being both melancholic and intelligent, traits that he could see were present in Jon too. At the same time, he could see in Jon a love for his family he knew Rhaegar did not have, alongside a drop of wolf blood, those clearly belonging to Lyanna.

However, unlike his father and mother, Jon would forever be tainted by the stigma of bastardry. Lyanna said he was trueborn, Rhaegar had his marriage with Elia annulled, but Ned had his own doubts, she already was half-delirious from the blood loss and passed away shortly after.

As selfish as it sounded, Ned liked to believe there was no annulment and Jon was born a Snow not a Targaryen, it would gut him to know that the status that cast an oppressive shadow at the nephew who became as much as a son to him was made by his own design, even if it was to protect him.

It is often said that bastards grow up quicker due to their statue, a truth if considering Jon. At the age of eleven, Jon is more mature than any of Ned's children, and with the potential to be an even better man that Ned ever was.

Left unspoken were Jon's flaws. His own lack of confidence or self-belief often caused him to give up on affairs he feels himself uncapable to do. Those were often followed by Jon shutting himself away, refusing to speak of his thoughts and most likely wallowing in his own negative thoughts, sorrows and self-doubt. Finally, there were small moments when he would see the temper from his father's side mix with Lyanna's wolf blood, alongside with something dark and foreboding clouding his eyes, only to be quickly replaced by an impassive indifference; those were the ones who he feared the most.

Jon was still young; he would let him enjoy the last years of his youth as peacefully as possible. Then he would talk about Lyanna.

Now, how do I politely tell Lord Frey his brood will never marry my daughters and to fuck off? Ned wondered as he saw yet another betrothal proposal.

A knock on his door caused him to stop writing his response. "Who it is?"

"Jon." Was the muffled reply across the oak door of his study.

It was rare for Jon to seek him out. He guessed it was partly Cat's fault. Making a mentally note to talk to her yet again about treating Jon better, he responded. "Please come in."

As Jon did, Lord Stark took a good look at the boy. A two years ago when Jon came asking permission to hunt in the woods, he was reluctant. But Benjen vouched for him, praising his skills and reassuring him Jon was prepared. Now, Ned could see he did the right decision, by spending so much time at the Wolfswood Jon grew from thin to strong, and had unmatched skills when it came to bows and tracking. His hair became a bit more untamed, with some of its locks frizzing out due to increased exposure to the forest's harsh conditions. It made him also vaguely resemble his uncle Brandon.

"Jon." Ned greeted offering his son a smile, which he tentatively returned. "Have a seat."

"Thanks, my lord." The younger Stark muttered as he took a seat across Eddard.

"Son, you can call me father."

Jon nodded. "Father."

"What troubles you, son?"

Lyanna's son relucted a bit, but spoke. "I talked with some of the other Lord's children."

"Alys certainly seemed to enjoy spending time with you and so did the Smalljon."

"The fucker hit my stomach with the pommel of his sword at the training yard and I nearly shat my pants." He blurted out, eyes widening as he noticed his slip.

Rather than scolding him for his crude language, Ned just laughed. "Just use those exact words near Arya or Bran."

Once again, he remembered of the Targaryen who fell at the Trident as he saw a flash of melancholy in the eyes he inherited from Lyanna.

"I want to talk about Ashara Dayne."

The only time Jon could remember his father displaying anger was when he received news of the former Lord of Bear Island selling poachers into slavery. That was until now. Lord Stark did not raise his voice or moved from the chair he was sitting at, still Jon clearly could see the greyish eyes turning into steel.

"We shall not speak of her." His voice was firm and unwavering, an order not an explanation or request.

But Jon was also firm and unwavering, for the first time in his eleven years of age openly defying his father. All his life he wondered who his mother was; he liked to picture her as beautiful, highborn and kind. Lady Ashara by all accounts was beautiful, hauntingly so, a daughter of House Dayne who once were Kings of the Torrentine, and sister of the legendary Ser Arthur Dayne.

If she was his mother why take him from her, why do not tell him about his other side of the family?

"I am her son?" he demanded

"Who told you that?"

"Alys knows, the Smalljon knows, Ser Wylis knows, so why am I the last one to know my mother's name?"

His father tone rose, and so did his.

"Do not utter her name." Lord Stark warned

"I do say it. Ashara Dayne. Why did you take me from my mother?"

"ENOUGH!" His father yelled. "Do not say her name, I forbid it."

At this point Jon should've been frightened, but the search for his identity made impossible for him to back down. "Why?"

"She is not your mother."

"Then who gave birth to me?" Jon demanded.

Lord Stark raised held his temple in annoyance and stared at him. "This is not the time to talk about your mother."

"I've been denied my identity for eleven years, no more."

"Ashara is not your mother." The look in Lord Stark face looked pained.

"You're lying." Jon spat out and turned to leave.

"You will not. There's a good reason I forbade people from speaking about Ashara in Winterfell, but it's not related to your mother."

"Then? Tell me why you don't speak of her or tell me about my mother."

"This is not the time."

"Robb, Sansa, Bran and even Arya, have something to relate to their mother. Yet I have nothing to relate to mine. Isn't enough to be always remembered as nothing more than the sole stain in your name? Now you won't even let me know of my mother?"

Lord Stark's shoulders slumped a bit. "Jon, I understand how you feel…"

"You don't." his reply was as cold as ice. "You're not a Snow, a bastard, you never had to hide at parties to not offend the guests."

"I can promise I'll try to make things better for you at Winterfell…"

"I've endured those little punishments; the glares sent my way... But I need to know about my mother." He then broke down, trying his best to not shed any tear. "Please."

"I can't Jon…not yet."

At this point he realized this was a losing battle, his father wouldn't say anything more. He managed to control the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes, and got up, offering a bow and doing his best to prevent his voice to croaking. "Lord Stark, I apologize for wasting your time."

He already closed the door when he heard his father's words. "I'm truly sorry Jon."

With a quick sidestep, he avoided another of the blows sent his way. Instead of attempting to counter-attack, Jon settled to establishing his footing at the ground, glancing around to see anything that could be used in his favor.

His opponent is breathing a bit heavily, but still seemed good enough to continue the fight. Jon attempted to bait him into an attack like he did many times before, by twirling his sword and glancing at him in a dismissive manner, something he knows that irks Theon. Much to the Greyjoy's credit, he didn't bite into his taunt.

Theon held the advantage in strength and height, the latter also giving him more reach than Jon, who held a major difference in speed. Still, the snow littered field made the bastard uncomfortable to go for an attempt to overwhelm the Greyjoy. Theon closed in and the dance restarted, with Jon mostly dodging, whilst attempting a counterattack when a clear enough chance was presented. He dodged another hit and cursed himself when he saw the smirk on is father's ward's face, and felt the pain of his knee buckling under the leg swipe sent his way.

Jon let go of his sword, rolling in the icy terrain and quickly grabbed a fistful of snow, throwing in the face of Greyjoy who was quickly closing out. The older boy cursed as he took his hands to him face and Jon quickly scurrying away to retrieve his weapon.

"Bastard." Theon growled.

"That I am." He replied with a smirk, before readying himself to return to the spar.

Theon went for a sequence of slashes and thrusts in an attempt to overwhelm and corner him, but was too overzealous in an attempt to poke his belly. It was all he needed. A swift strike at the outstretched hand was followed by a quick change of direction of the blade, Jon in a single motion both disarmed the opponent and put his sword at his neck.

"I yield." The older boy conceded, earning a nod from Jon.

"Good fight."

"It was."

Jon turned to the guard overseeing the spar. "It's time to go?"

"Yes, Lady Sansa already rested enough."

During Robb's name day party, Lord Manderly invited Lord Stark and Robb to visit White Harbor and discuss trade. A few days before their departure, Robb fell ill and the Maester advised it was better for him to not overexert himself travelling. Rather than rearranging the trip or cancelling it altogether, his father decided to bring him, Lady Stark argued that Bran should go in his place but was shut down.

Much to their surprise both Sansa and Theon asked to come, for different reasons. Sansa became fast friends with the Lord's granddaughter Wynafryd and wished to visit her and rhe city, whilst Theon said he wanted to see the sea once again.

They took the Kingsroad, escorted by a good fifteen guards, and headed south towards Castle Cerwyn. The trip towards the castle had so far taken longer than the norm as Sansa often felt tired of riding and asked for breaks, for instance the trip to Castle Cerwyn took almost the entire first day of the voyage rather than just half a day.

Thankfully, the group already passed through the Kingsroad section and crossed the White Knife. Jon believed they could reach the city in the next day if they picked up the pace.

He rode besides Theon, much to the Ironborn's surprise. Despite the older boy's tendency to make snide comments and overall arrogance, Jon ultimately had more in common with him than Sansa.

"You truly miss the sea?" he inquired

"Why do you care?" Theon replied with a bit of edge in his voice.

"Just making conversation."

After some silence, he saw Theon nod. "I do."

Sensing the Ironborn would speak no more, Jon sighed.

And they call me the brooding bastard.

The largest settlement in the North, White Harbor provided a strong contrast to Winterfell and its adjacent Wintertown. Despite being further south than Winterfell, it was chillier due to both the lack of heating provided by the springs and the presence of sea air bringing coldness to the city. Whereas Winterfell was made of darkened granite, White Harbor was made of white stone with slate roofs.

The city also distinguished itself from the rest of the North for mostly following the Faith of the Seven rather than the Old Gods, a fact Jon remembered as he rode by the tall statues in front of the Snowy Sept. Besides the large sept, Jon could glance at several smaller stalls in a market area.

They were led through the cobbled streets, with the smallfolk cheering at Lord Stark and his heir.

"They think you are Robb." Sansa remarked in a neutral tone.

"I take offense to that, I'm prettier than him." He jested, earning chuckles from Lord Stark and Theon.

Finally, they were met by Lord Manderly, alongside his son Wylis, and his granddaughters Wynafryd and Wylla.

The Lord Manderly, easily the largest man Jon ever saw, didn't look down on him due to his status, and showed courtesy to the entire party, only slightly faltering when speaking with Greyjoy. It seems that the Ironborn's fame reached the shores far out of their reach.

Soon enough, the courtesies were replaced by a guided tour of the city, and then a project was presented. Jon supposed no bannerman would miss the chance given by his overlord's visit to present projects that, most likely than not, would benefit them.

But credit must be given to Lord Manderly's project. An ambitious plan to create a fleet based in White Harbor, which could be used to both trade or defense. Further plans would also include founding a walled city in the confluence of the rivers, to serve both as a secondary harbor and a hub to connect the nearby Winterfell and Castle Cerwyn to the trade. This of course would require heavy funding from Winterfell, but the Lord of White Harbor assured his father that trade with Braavos would thrive, repaying the investment made.

At night, Lord Stark called him to his room in the New Castle. He was surprised when he found Theon and Sansa were there too.

"Take a seat." He offered gesturing to a chair. "Do you know why I called you here?"

Jon had no idea. Apparently neither did Sansa or Theon as they also shook their heads.

"I assume you paid attention to Lord Manderly's proposal." After he nodded, his father continued. "What are your thoughts?"

He glanced to the rest of the trio, seeing no one took initiative, he was the first. "It holds merit. He makes good points."

Theon was next. "The North needs a fleet. Otherwise, it will be left defenseless."

Sansa was the last one. "I like it, maybe we could bring a bit of the southern touch North."

Lord Stark hummed. "Can you perceive any drawbacks in the project?"

When Sansa shook her head, it was Theon who spoke. "The fleet at White Harbor won't protect you from the Ironborn." The heir of Pyke's voice was impassive and showed no emotion whatsoever. Jon wondered how Theon would react should a raid in the North was made by the Ironborn.

"Jon?"

"He makes it sound way too easy."

"You think it is not?" Lord Stark asked him and he felt two other pair of eyes evaluating him

"I have no idea." He admitted. "Theon knows about sailing more than anyone in Winterfell, and Sansa is far smarter than me when it comes to numbers and administration. I'm just wary of people's intentions."

"Brooding bastard." He heard Theon mutter.

The other occupants of the room paid no attention to Theon's comment and it was Sansa who spoke next. "Jon makes a point." She conceded, surprising him. His sister rarely agreed with him on anything. "It sounds way too expensive."

"It is." Lord Stark admitted.

"If anyone benefits from that it's Lord Manderly who gets a fleet protecting his shore and a new city for his domains as he'll most likely push to have it built in his lands." He pointed out.

"Things aren't that simple Jon. The Manderlys are the only house in the North capable of supporting this endeavor both with their finances and knowledge." Lord Stark explained. "White Harbor is not only the sole city in the North but also its major harbor. They know best how to plan and build a city and they know best how to conduct trade."

The bastard just nodded. "Do you have the coin to cover the costs?"

His father shook his head.

"You could ask the king for a loan." Sansa suggested. "He's your best friend and wouldn't deny you."

"Or the Iron Bank of Braavos." Theon completed.

Lord Stark grimaced. "I believe King Robert would gladly loan, or even gift the gold for this endeavor, but it isn't fair to ask this of him."

"Why?" his sister asked.

"This concerns the North, not the Seven Kingdoms. If Robert were to concede funding other lords who supported him would ask the same. When the coin inevitably runs out, he will deny someone and will create grudges, not only to him but also to the North."

Jon sensed there was more left unsaid as his father eyes darkened significantly at his explanation, but his companions seemed to accept his reasoning.

"As for the Iron Bank…those men are dangerous, there's a not a saying but a promise about them: The Iron Bank will have its due. Even Kings are wary of them, saying that should their debts are left unpaid the Iron Bank would demand their crowns."

"What if House Manderly borrows the coin?" Jon suddenly asked

"I can't ask that of them, Jon. You know very well we should never ask for others to do something we ourselves are unwilling to do."

The bastard nodded. "But what if they were to take the loan from Winterfell?"

"Father already said Winterfell has no gold to spare." Sansa admonished him

"No, it doesn't, but it will have at some point, right?"

His sister and Theon glanced at him curiously, but apparently Lord Stark seemed pleased with his words. "Go on."

"Winterfell collects taxes from all the houses in the North, the treasure doesn't have enough coin to fully implement Lord Manderly's project as of now, but we could delay payments in some areas. Ask for the Manderlys to assume full responsibility for the payment and running of the project but lend them both the credibility of the North and their own future taxes payments."

Lord Stark nodded. "This could work, we won't be seen as favoring a sole house as the project and their fruits will be of their own doing, but we will be guaranteeing their allegiance and expanding ties as they won't forget the help provided."

It was Theon who spoke next. "Snow's suggestion is a good one. By having the Manderlys overseeing the project they won't be as likely to spend your coin."

Jon could barely nod in gratitude before Sansa offered her own suggestion to Lord Stark. "You could ask for the support of other houses, mediate a contract that will see them profit once the Manderly fleet is complete."

Lord Stark offered them a rare smile. "Lesson finished."

He immediately glanced at Sansa and Theon, who were as confused as he was.

Seeing their reaction, his father explained further. "During your lives, you will eventually be forced into making though choices and balancing different interests. Either as lord, lady or in any position of leadership your decisions will be required. I already had something akin to Jon's idea in mind but I wanted to see where you stood when making those judgements with little information. I'm glad to say I was pleasantly surprised." He gave them a meaningful glance. "Sansa, Theon, you managed to offer decent suggestions to me and weren't stubborn to let go of them when a better one came along in the form of Jon's, even bettering it."

His lord father then glanced at him directly in the eyes and offered him such a sincere smile he even forgot he was angry about their discussion in Winterfell. "Jon, you were the one who impressed me the most."

He forgot his decorum. "Thanks, father."

The next day saw Lord Stark engaging in discussions with the Manderlys regarding their plan, and thus, he, Sansa and Theon were given permission to explore the city on their own.

After Sansa ran out alongside Wynafryd and Wylla to do whatever girls do and Theon ran to the nearest brothel to try his luck, Jon found himself walking through the harbor. The main, and in truth unique, port in the entire North, White Harbor offered him a good chance to see beyond Winterfell for once.

The city in the North was said to the smallest of the five main cities in Westeros, thus Jon could never imagine what Oldtown or King's Landing looked like as he already was in awe of White Harbor. The harbor was more vibrant than anything he saw in Winterfell and as lively as the castle got during feasts and celebrations. Nearby, Jon could see the fish market and a fair of sorts, with merchants displaying their goods.

He glanced at the wares, swords and different types of weapons were the ones who interested him the most, but he was too intrigued by the Braavosi dye and the Ibbenese artwork in whale bone.

He stopped when he saw small direwolves figurines, made of different materials such as jet, amber, obsidian and even ivory. A perfect gift for his siblings. The merchant, an elderly man, demanded a fair price, one which Jon had no conditions of paying. When he was offered to work to pay for a discount, he gladly took it, and hence he spent most of his free day unloading crates from the old man's ship.

"You did well." The man said, offering him a piece of bread as Jon laid exhausted at the ship's deck, after finally carrying the last crate.

"Thanks." He said, accepting the meal.

"You're not from White Harbor, right?"

Jon nodded. "How can you tell?"

"A man who does some lightly travelling can tell people from Westeros apart with some ease. But only someone who spent most of his life on lands other than his own can spot the minor details that can identify whether you are from White Harbor or Winterfell."

"How…"

"Kid, you are a younger version of Ned Stark, it's not hard to tell you apart from these fat, rosy cheeked men from White Harbor."

"I admit I never paid attention to these small details before. I should've. Now that you pointed out most of the residents of Winterfell are leaner than those in White Harbor."

"Fat is good when it chills, not all places are as warm as the walls of Winterfell. Of course, in some places people get fatter simply because they overeat."

"The Reach?"

"One should not group people altogether, but it's hard not to do it when their most noted contribution to Robert's Rebellion was feasting in front of Stannis Baratheon's walls for most of the war."

Jon nodded. "I take you've been in the Stormlands too."

"Storm's End, Gulltown, Lannisport, Starfall before the Daynes closed out their port."

This last bit of info caught Jon's attention immediately. "Starfall?"

The old man sighed. "A secure castle built in an island in the Torrentine. Tricky to travel too, saw many ships lost in their treacherous currents leading to waterfalls."

"It's closed? Why?"

"I have no idea; some say it was Ashara Dayne's order but it's just rumors."

"Why would she do that?"

"Some say she's in grief for her lost child." The man's words caused Jon's stomach to turn. "I doubt so. The Daynes were always close to the Targaryens, so it would make sense for them to keep their heads low."

The bastard nodded, as desperate as he was for more information, he knew the man was starting to suspect him, so he forced out a smile and asked about the Essos.

As the man spoke about Lys, Jon could only nod, his mind drifting to Starfall, and many unanswered questions.

Jon came to the halting conclusion he didn't belong in Winterfell when he came back after a moon's turn in White Harbor.

He was embraced by Robb, Arya and Bran before revealing their gifts. They hugged him once again as they received the direwolves' miniatures, Robb's made of jet, Arya's made of ivory, Bran's made of amber and were joined by Sansa who was surprised by her pearl miniature.

Jon too had a received a miniature from Will, the merchant he helped, his made of dragonglass.

When Lady Stark revealed she was pregnant, she declared the unborn baby as the fifth child of Lord Stark and Jon had to admit it hurt him a bit more than he would've liked.

Feeling as an outsider when he looked the Stark children joyfully embracing their mother and Lord Stark, Jon took his leave.

His time would be better spent planning his escape from Winterfell.

The reassuring squeeze on his shoulder gave him a much-needed burst of strength. He glanced at his brother in gratitude.

When his mother delivered the news, she was expecting a child, he was overjoyed, but unlike Sansa, when he was too young to remember, or Arya and Bran when the birth went off without any hitch, his newborn sibling was proven to be a different affair.

Maester Luwin confided to his father that some complications were likely to arise. Robb didn't know the exact details, but his father grim face worried more than anything. Sansa and Bran openly cried each time they heard their mother's screams, Arya was trying to hold on like him and Jon but was failing.

Robb, however could not afford to cry, he needed to be the one who gave his siblings strength as dire as the situation was. Yet he was failing miserably at that, barely holding himself together.

He never was one to preen on the subject of Jon's mother as he knew it was always a point of contention between his parents and sour subject to Jon, but from the little though he put onto it, he believed Jon to be younger than him.

But at the moment Jon was the one acting older. It was Jon who held Sansa's hand and hugged Bran. It was Jon asked Arya for help outside just so she could cry. It was Jon who stood unmoving by his side, lending his support without uttering a single word.

He realized then his sullen, brooding brother was also his best friend.

"Thanks for everything Jon." He muttered

"Don't worry brother, it will be fine." His voice as low as a whisper brought him confidence as a promise.

He wished his mother could see Jon as a son too, but knew this was too much to ask of her.

It did not stop being unfair to Jon.

His brother had all the reasons to hold him and his siblings in nothing but contempt. Yet he didn't, in fact he was sure that Jon had a better relation with Arya and Bran than his.

In the last few moons Jon had been acting a bit more aloof than the normal. Even Arya couldn't get him out of that mood. He promised he would try harder. Make Jon feel welcome at his own home, as he deserved it more than anyone.

The sound of a door opening alongside the end of his mother cries caused everyone in the room to turn to Lord Stark who just had left the birthing chamber.

He, albeit disheveled in appearance offered them a tired smile. "It's a boy, healthy and strong. Rickon Stark. Your mother is tired but will be fine."

Soon they were hugging, everyone but Jon, who offered them a regal smile and addressed their father. "Congratulations, Lord Stark. I'll take my leave now."

"Jon, there's no need to…" he attempted to call out but was stopped by his father.

"Let him be, he enjoys solitude, he will be fine."

He reluctantly nodded, overseeing the retreating form of his brother.

For a long time, Robb's biggest regret was saying Jon could never be Lord of Winterfell as he was a bastard. He had no idea how much these words hurt him, and when he finally realized the harm his words did, he was too ashamed to bring the topic back and apologize.

Now he regretted not trusting his instincts and following Jon, stopping him.

When the morning came, Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, his brother and best friend was gone.

Notes: Not much to say about this chapter, you can see some of the changes I proposed in the canon discussed. I decided to have Jon in scenes with Theon and Sansa as opposed to Robb and Arya who are the most common choices to flesh out their relationships a bit more. As result the Jon who departs Winterfell is on better terms with Greyjoy, actually interacted with Sansa, and is a bit warier around Lord Stark due to their talk regarding Ashara, who is very much alive in this story.

The next few chapters will include plenty of traveling, which is something to look forward to if you're a fan of this particular trope. It will probably take a bit longer than this one as chapters tend to get a bit longer and more complex.

Now to discuss some of the reviews:

Pixie Duck: I promise that by the start of canon most of the characters will have completely different story arcs. As for pairings, I tend to keep multiple options in mind before I get to a stage where I need to pick one, the story is just starting and as of now, there's plenty of time before romance becomes a point of emphasis.

surge911: Not burning out became a focus for me, not only in writing but life as a whole, now I feel I'm more capable of handling those things. Don't worry, Ebrion won't venture that far north.

suppes1 : Ebrion's appearance was based on Vermax from HotD, the main difference is that Ebrion's scales are a bit darker. As I said in the review above, I usually consider several pairings before making a decision, as for Dany...we will see. I have a valyrian steel sword in mind for Jon but it most likely won't be Dark Sister or Blackfye.