Chapter I

Rickard

It had been a restless night with his mind wandering to the many things he had to ponder. Hoster Tully's proposal had come from all but nothing and Rickard could not help and think that there was more to it than a mere marriage.

Why would the man wish to subject his daughter to the harsh life here?

He had little to gain other than seeing one of his future grandchildren becoming the Warden of the North. Perhaps that would be enough for him, though Rickard was not convinced.

Hoster Tully was a wily man and did nothing unless it should benefit him.

"What is on your mind, my lord?" Lyarra pressed gently.

She often referred to him using his title, but it was done with the utmost affection. Rickard had gotten lucky to be matched with the woman. The two had fallen in love quickly and Brandon had been born within the year of them saying their vows.

"Tully," he sighed, "and the boy."

"Well, what do you plan on doing about our neighbour to the south?"

"I sent a raven last night explaining I would take his offer under consideration."

"And will you?"

"I do not know," Rickard murmured as he dressed in his surcoat. "I can see no benefit to the marriage for any involved. As Rodrick said, the girl would never be truly accepted by the people here."

"She would not," Lyarra agreed as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "The Warden of the North should have a Northern bride."

Rickard nodded.

"That does not mean I am unwilling to improve relations elsewhere," he explained. "Ned fostering in the Vale has been good for him, so perhaps a wife from there would be suitable. I know Lord Royce has a daughter as do the Corbrays and the Redforts."

"Not the Arryns?"

"Jon is childless, and I am unsure if Ronel or Alys have children. I will have to discuss it with Ned."

"Why not offer Ned to Tully?"

"He would see it as an insult," Rickard chuckled. "He would want a firstborn son for his daughter."

Lyarra nodded.

"Well, it is not a decision that needs to be made today, is it? Rodrick is right though. Brandon should be married to a girl from the North. Did you discuss it with Luwin?"

"Aye, and he agreed," Rickard informed her. "His counsel in Walys' absence has been useful."

"Walys would want you to accept the offer," Lyarra snorted. "He may be a Maester, but he's still a Riverlander."

Rickard hummed thoughtfully.

"I am going to write to the citadel to request that Luwin is allowed to stay, if he is amenable. Walys will soon wish to spend his final years in the south, and Luwin seems to be making a home here already."

"You have grown fond of him," Lyarra said with a grin, her grey eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Most have," Rickard pointed out. "He is a humble man and wise beyond his years. He spends his free time in Wintertown, healing the poor quite often."

Lyarra smiled.

"I think he will do well by Brandon when his time comes to take over from you."

"Not for many years yet," Rickard chuckled. "I'm not so old."

"No," Lyarra agreed, "but I am hopeful I will have my husband to myself before we are too old to enjoy it."

"We will," Rickard assured her. "Now, what are we going to do about the girl?"

Lyarra frowned.

Lyanna had always been rambunctious, stubborn, and impulsive. Yesterday, however, she could have gotten herself mauled by the direwolf. She was fortunate it had been friendly.

"I do not know," Lyarra huffed. "I am more concerned about this Jon Snow. Why would he offer his sword to a girl who has little to offer him?"

"She saved his life," Rickard reminded her.

"But to make such a vow… He is a stranger to us, Rickard."

"He is," Rickard agreed, "but… I do not know how to explain it. There is something about him, Lyarra. I do not know what it is. He has not had an easy life and I cannot help but feel that he has somehow been blessed by the Gods. Speak with him," he urged. "I am sure you will see it too."

"I will, before Lyanna is given the chance to accept him as her sword. I would see him for myself."

"Would you like me to…"

Lyarra waved him off.

"No, I would see him alone. If he is able to prove himself, I want to look in his eyes and see the truth of him."

Without further preamble, she took her leave of the room and Rickard could only shake his head. His wife had a way of knowing if someone was dishonest. Maybe raising four children had given her that ability, but Rickard had never been able to mislead her.

Not that he'd ever tried.

Lyarra had always been an excellent judge of character and he was certainly interested to see what she would make of the strange arrival.

A part of him felt sorry for Jon Snow.

Where her children were concerned, his usually tame wife could be as vicious as the snarling wolf the Stark family of old had chosen as their sigil.

Jon

He could not remember the last time he had slept so peacefully. The moons spent wandering the wilderness that Westeros had become had not been conducive to resting well, and often, Jon had simply passed out in the snow.

How he had woken again, he still didn't know.

Nonetheless, being here now in Winterfell had made it all worth it, even if his memories of the life he'd left behind haunted him so.

Daenerys…

He remembered watching her fall from the back of Drogon after he had been hit with one of the projectiles of the Night King. Despite being on Rhaegal at the time, he had been able to do nothing.

Daenerys had been crushed beneath her dragon and Jon had plunged Longclaw into the beasts' chest to prevent it becoming like Viserion.

It had all been for nothing.

Man, woman, and child had been cut down by the superior numbers of the dead, and even those that managed to hide and survive the initial onslaught had died from the hunger and cold they had been left with.

Jon had been the last one left.

Sam, Gilly, even little Sam… they were gone.

Arya, Sansa, Bran…

All of them. Every last person he'd met had eventually fallen to the dead.

He did find himself plagued with many questions that he knew he would never be able to answer. What he did know, however, was that he had been granted a chance, and he would not squander it.

Things could not be allowed to unfold as they had before.

He turned sharply towards the door as he was in the process of dressing. It had been swung open without warning, and he held a hand out towards Ghost as he stood, his hackles raised.

"It's okay boy," he murmured.

The woman that entered simply froze and gaped at him, evidently not having expected him to be in a state of undress.

"I apologise, my lady, I was not expecting company," he offered.

It wasn't as though he was entirely naked, but he had yet to put on his tunic.

"It should be me apologising," the woman replied. "I should have knocked."

"It would have saved us both the embarrassment," Jon snorted.

The woman nodded as she continued to stare, and Jon took the opportunity take in her appearance. He was quickly left in no doubt that she was a Stark; the hair, the tell-tale eyes, and even the way she stood.

"My name is Lyarra Stark," she introduced herself. "I'm the Lady of Winterfell."

Jon bowed respectfully, internally excited to meet his grandmother. Not that the woman knew it.

"Jon Snow, my lady," he replied.

Lyarra continued to stare at him for a moment as though he was a puzzle that needed to be figured out.

"I'm sorry, it's just that the resemblance between you and my own is quite uncanny," she whispered as she stepped forward to get a better look at him. "A stranger would only assume you are one of us."

She gently cupped his cheek as she took in his features, pausing briefly as her gaze swept across the scars on his brow, and even longer as their eyes met. For what felt like minutes she looked into them before smiling.

"You have honest eyes, Jon Snow," she murmured. "They are kind but hardened. You have seen things, haven't you?"

"More than I would have liked."

Lyarra offered him a sad smile.

"My husband said there was something about you, something that I needed to see for myself. I still find it odd that you are willing to pledge yourself to a girl who has little to offer, but you are not doing so to trick us or to gain anything. What do you want, Jon Snow?"

"Peace," Jon answered without thought. "I just want peace in this life, and the next."

Lyarra's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"That is a wise thing for one so young," she said amusedly. "Only someone who has experienced true difficulty could ask for something so simple. My husband was right. There is something about you, Jon Snow. Maybe you have been blessed by the Old Gods," she added, as she looked at the wounds on his chest. "I wish you luck today."

She pressed a kiss on his cheek before leaving the room and Jon simply stared at the door for several moments after it had closed.

It had been an odd interaction to say the least. He had gotten the impression Lyarra Stark could see into his very soul, and it was as unsettling as it had been warming.

Shaking his head of the interaction, he finished dressing and retrieved Longclaw.

"Do not remove that blade," one of the guards warned as he exited the room.

Jon handed the sword to him.

"I did not intend to," he assured the man.

The guard nodded, and Jon found himself being escorted through the halls of Winterfell he had roamed as a child. The last time he had seen the place, it had been nothing short of a ruin, razed to the ground by dragon fire and the marauding dead.

By the will of the Gods, he was back here once more, against the odds, and after all he had endured, there was nowhere else he would rather be.

(Break)

Lyanna

"Do you even know what it means to have a Sworn Sword?" Ned asked.

"Father explained it to me," Lyanna replied. "He said that it is like having a bodyguard, someone who will advise me, and will fight for me if I need him to."

"His brain must have frozen if he wants to be Lya's sword," Brandon chuckled. "He has no idea what he's getting himself into."

"Shut up, Brandon!" Lyanna growled, aiming a kick at her older brother under the table.

"Why would he want to be Lyanna's Sworn Sword?" Ned questioned thoughtfully. "There's not much chance of glory for him."

"I told you, his brain must have frozen."

Lyanna glared at Brandon and he fell silent. He knew better than to push her too far. The last time he did, he'd woken up with horse manure in his boots.

"I haven't even accepted him yet," she explained. "Father says I should at least see if he can fight. He's going to prove himself in the training yard today."

"Rodrick won't take it easy on him," Ned predicted. "Especially if he wants to be your guard."

Lyanna shrugged.

The entire previous day had been eventful. She'd found the man in the Godswood, had spent much of the rest of it caring for his direwolf, and then had met Jon who had offered his sword to her.

In truth, she didn't know what to make of it, though her father had explained the seriousness of the vow Jon had given.

She hadn't spent long enough with him to understand his motivation or character, but he seemed nice. As her father had said once they'd left him to rest, there was something familiar about Jon Snow that was both comforting and reassuring, despite the circumstances with which he had arrived.

"Well, if you don't want him, I'll take him," Brandon declared. "If he's decent enough with a sword, he'll be useful to have around."

"He has a Valyrian steel sword," Lyanna informed them.

Brandon's spoon clattered into his bowl.

"Valyrian steel? How did he get that?"

"He said he took from some wildlings that ambushed him."

"He fought wildlings?"

"He killed them apparently," Lyanna replied.

Brandon shook his head in disbelief.

"I met some that had been caught by Lord Dustin's men. They were bloody savages. They were covered in scars and had been caught eating human flesh. I'd like to know how one of them got hold a Valyrian steel sword. Would they even know what it was?"

"Unlikely," Ned murmured. "They probably killed whoever owned it beyond the wall or on a raid. There's dozens of them dotted around and many have been lost."

"True," Brandon conceded. "Is that him?"

Lyanna nodded as Jon was led into the Great Hall.

"Seven Hells, he looks like one of us," Ned observed.

The resemblance was remarked upon by the others within the room, but the man himself did not pay any attention to the stares and whispers. He simply sat at the table reserved for the stable boys and pages and helped himself to some oats.

"There's no way he isn't related to us," Benjen whispered.

"Could be related to the Karstarks," Brandon pointed out as he continued to stare at Jon.

"He looks like father," Ned murmured.

"He said his father is Northern but he didn't know who he was. His mother died giving birth to him," Lyanna revealed what her own father had told her.

Ned nodded thoughtfully.

"Could be one of the mountain tribes," he sighed. "I don't suppose we will ever know."

Lyanna watched Jon as he ate. He seemed calm despite every pair of eyes in the Great Hall being on him.

She heard the word bastard being murmured. Even in the North, being born on the wrong side of the sheets was frowned upon, just not as much as it was in the south.

A part of her wanted Jon to prove them all wrong, that even though he was a bastard, he was worthy to be seated amongst them.

"Jon Snow," her father called. "You made a vow to a Lady of House Stark and it is now time for you to show you are worthy of being her protector."

Jon merely nodded as he stood and was led away by the guards who had accompanied him into the room.

"Come along," their father urged each of the Stark siblings. "I'm sure you are quite keen to see this."

Lyanna fell in just behind her mother and father as they made their way towards his solar. Within the room was a balcony that overlooked the training yard where Jon would be judged by her and the rest of her family.

"You were right," her mother whispered. "There is something about him. I do not understand it, Rickard, but I could feel it when I spoke with him. I asked him what he wanted. Do you know what he said?"

"I'm sure you will enlighten me."

"He said he wanted peace."

Her father seemed to be taken aback by the answer, but before the topic could be broached further, they arrived in the solar and were shown onto the balcony.

Jon was already there, stretching and preparing himself.

"Here, lad, you'll want to put this on," Rodrik advised, offering the leather training armour.

Jon shook his head.

"No thank you, it will only slow."

Rodrik looked questioningly towards her father who merely shrugged in response. Fighting without armour was not the best idea. They may only be using training swords, but they still hurt to be hit with.

Lyanna knew that from experience.

Jon did wisely accept a pair of leather gloves and simply waited and Lyanna looked on with interest, with Brandon, Ned, and Benjen also leaning on the rail of the balcony in anticipation.

Rickard

"I would advise you not to hold back, Jon Snow," he addressed the man. "I can assure you none here will take it easy on you. If you wish to protect a daughter of House Stark, you must prove you are able to do so."

Jon Snow nodded as he picked up a training and Rickard peered at the man. Something in his eyes had shifted, akin to the gathering of dark clouds before the unleashing of an almighty storm.

"By your leave, Rodrik," Rickard instructed.

The Master-at-Arms offered the Lord a bow.

"Are you ready, Jon Snow?"

Jon gestured he was, and Rickard looked on, ready to pass his own judgement on the young man.

"You first," Rodrik instructed, pointing to one of the dozen or so Stark guards that had been chosen for the task.

The man unleashed a guttural roar, swinging his sword downwards in an attempt to split his foe in two down the middle. Had Rickard blinked, he would have missed the speed with which Jon Snow sidestepped the blow and felled the overreaching guard with a punch to the jaw.

The man slumped to the ground unmoving and Rickard raised an eyebrow.

Jon Snow was fast and had shown no sign of wavering. Yet, it wasn't enough.

The next attacker Rodrick instructed was more calculated, luring Snow in with probing jabs with the tip of his blade, mixing it up with sporadic strikes that were repelled with ease at every turn.

When Jon responded, it was with a savagery that belied the calm nature of the man that Rickard had seen thus fur. What was odd, however, was that each swing of his sword was purposeful, precise, and fluid.

Each strike flowed from one to the next seamlessly, and yet, Jon never looked as though he was not ready to defend himself from any rebuttal.

"He's good," Brandon commented, applauding politely as Jon bested his opponent.

Rickard got the impression they hadn't seen anything yet, and he held up two fingers towards Rodrik. Now it would get interesting.

Two more of the guards sprinted towards Jon who ducked below the blade aimed at his head and intercepted the second man, pinning his sword arm between his own and ramming his head into his attacker's nose.

Not forgetting about the other, he turned sharply so that sword swinging towards his back impacted against the man he held. Releasing him immediately, Jon kicked to the wounded Stark guard in the chest, sending him sprawling with a groan.

Undeterred, the second guard continued his attack with Jon parrying three blows, stepping to his left on the third and slamming the flat edge of his sword into the man's exposed back.

He stumbled before he fell into the dirt where the tip of Jon's blade was pressed against his neck.

Rickard was impressed, but he was keen to challenge the man. Holding up three fingers this time, Rodrik complied and instructed three more of the guards to try their luck.

Believing they had a significant advantage now, they charged, and much to Rickard's surprise, Jon picked up a second sword.

It was mesmerising to watch him retreat, meeting each blade as it was swung at him from different directions. His fluidity didn't waver, and when the opportunity presented itself, he fought back, leaning out of range of a swing of the attacker in the middle, and spinning beneath the two other blades.

Rickard winced as Jon used his own swords to sweep the legs out of the middle man, and stepped on his blade to prevent him from using it as he continued to defend himself against the others.

Once more, he proved how proficient he was as he used the two guards' own leverage against them, throwing one who had overreached into the path of the other's attack.

The blow caught the man behind the ear, and he collapsed to the ground. Before the other could raise his blade again, the tip of Jon's was at his throat.

Rickard clapped with the others.

Jon's swordsmanship was certainly above that of the guards, but he was curious to see how he would fare against someone more seasoned. Rodrik Cassel was one of the very best the North had to offer. Rickard had known the man for many years and he'd always been impressed with his ability.

He'd not hesitated to appoint him as the Master-at-Arms in Winterfell, confident that he was the very best in the region to teach his children the art of combat.

"Rodrik," Rickard called, offering nothing more than a nod.

With a bow, the Master-at-Arms retrieved a sword of his own and took up his potion in front of Jon Snow.

Now Rickard would see what the lad was made of.

"You're making him fight Rodrik?" Brandon asked, surprised.

"Aye," Rickard answered simply.

Jon deposited one of the swords he was carrying, and the two began circling one another.

As Rickard had become accustomed to seeing, Rodrik struck first, attempting to find his range and testing Snow's defences. Jon seemed to take it in his stride and as the two traded blows, the sound of steel clashing across the yard, the Lord of Winterfell was able to truly see how able the younger man was.

He did fight with the savagery the North was known for, but he was no mere Northman. There was a little of the pageantry of southern nights; the way he twirled his blade and body with a grace that would please a crowd, though he did not do so simply for show.

No, it was done with purpose, just as every step he took and every movement he made were. Rodrik Cassel was an excellent warrior, but Rickard quickly realised that somehow, Jon Snow was better by a wide margin.

How had the boy become so proficient?

He had not balked, even when facing three men at once, and he was not intimidated by Rodrik. He seemed to simply take it all in his stride as though he had fought a dozen battles, and as Rickard caught a glimpse of Jon's eyes, it certainly seemed he had.

The was something of a haunted expression, the look of a man who had fought for his life on more than one occasion, and even as he stepped away from Rodrik's blows, he seemed to only be getting better with each passing moment: faster, stronger, and sharper.

Who was this man?

"He's unreal," Ned whispered. "I thought Lord Corbray was good."

Rickard nodded at his son's assessment.

Even Rodrik, as good as he was looked to be a beginner against Jon Snow.

What he had accepted to be an inevitably, Jon did get the better of the Master-at-Arms, his footwork, speed, and precision proving to be too much. With a single blow to the chest, Rodrik was on his back with Jon Snow standing over him.

"Yield?" the younger man asked.

Having had the wind knocked out of his lungs, Rodrik nodded and Jon offered him a respectful hand to assist him to his feet.

Once more, the yard filled with applause and Rickard found himself smiling as the two combatants shared some private words, both grinning from ear to ear as they parted.

Jon had certainly earned Rodrik's respect, and he had returned it in kind. He had not boasted of what he'd done and had been both honourable and humble in victory.

Despite whatever blood flowed through his veins, he had proven himself a true Northman, and as those looking on fell silent, Jon took a knee below Rickard and the rest of the Starks.

"What do you think, Lyanna, has Jon Snow proven himself worthy of being your Sworn Sword?"

The question was rather redundant, but Rickard was beholden to the formalities.

"If she doesn't want him, I'll take him," Brandon snorted.

Lyanna glared at her older brother but said nothing before she took her leave of the balcony. Only a few moments later, she stepped into the training yard and stood in front of the kneeling man.

"Why do you want to be my Sworn Sword?" she asked curiously.

The same question was plaguing Rickard.

If he so chose to, Jon could likely make a fortune travelling the land and entering the various tourneys that were held. He could probably be a Kingsguard if that was his ambition.

Rickard had never seen such a sword in person. He'd heard of the likes of the young Arthur Dayne, Barristan Selmy, Duncan the Tall, and even his own ancestor, Cregan Stark.

Jon Snow was likely a name that could be spoken amongst them, yet, he was choosing to guard a young woman here in the cold North.

Peace

He had said that was all he sought, and he would certainly find that here, though they were words of a weary warrior who had known so much upheaval.

"You saved my life," Jon answered simply. "You and your family are worth serving, if you will have me."

"What if I say no?"

"That is your choice," Jon answered solemnly as he looked up and met Lyanna's gaze. "If I cannot find peace here, I will find it somewhere."

Lyanna looked into his eyes for a moment before she nodded.

"You already gave me your vow, and now you shall have mine."

Lyanna looked towards Rickard who gave her his blessing with a nod.

"I vow that you shall always have a place at my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Rickard led the applause this time as he turned towards Lyarra.

"I think we should dine privately tonight," he suggested. "We can invite Jon and get to know him better."

Lyarra nodded and Rickard turned his attention back to the young man.

Jon Snow was certainly interesting, and he was looking forward to getting to know him since he would evidently be remaining at Winterfell, shielding his daughter for as long as she wished to have him in her service.

It was certainly a relief for Rickard knowing there was someone else sworn to do so. Brandon was home from fostering, but Ned would be returning to the Vale in the coming moons.

Lyanna did have a tendency to get herself into trouble, but she had never truly been in danger here, though one could never be too careful.

No, having Jon sworn to his daughter was indeed odd, but Rickard got the feeling he would come to appreciate the man's vow in the years to come. Lyanna was almost a woman frown, and one day, she would likely leave Winterfell for a life with a husband.

With Jon being there, the prospect was still daunting, but less so.

"Come on, let us get ready to eat," Rickard urged, ushering his other children back into the keep.

Jon

He handed back the gloves he had borrowed and retrieved Longclaw from the guard who returned the sword with a respectful bow whilst Lyanna spoke to one of the washerwomen.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" the girl asked as they made their way back towards his room without the burden of being escorted.

"I picked things up along the way," Jon answered honestly.

He had been taught by Ser Rodrik when he was a boy, by Aliser Thorne at the wall, and he'd spent much time among some of the greatest warriors in Westeros and beyond when he'd left.

He'd learned much from the Dothraki and Unsullied alike, but more than anything, it was his experience with a blade in hand that was Jon's strength. For the hours he had toiled in the training yard throughout his life, he'd spent just as much fighting for it.

Although his encounters with the wildlings and the dead had been frightening, his skill had been honed to be razor sharp.

"Does being my Sworn Sword mean you will teach me?"

Jon nodded.

"I will," he confirmed as they entered his room, "but if I am responsible for your life, you will follow my rules."

"What rules?" Lyanna asked with a frown.

"I haven't decided them yet," Jon replied with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes at him and immediately went to pet the waiting Ghost.

"That's my first rule," Jon decided. "If for any reason I'm not with you, Ghost will be."

"Really?" Lyanna asked excitedly.

"Yes, but he will follow my rules too. He likes you, but he listens to me. Remember that."

Lyanna nodded her understanding.

"Good," Jon sighed as he removed Longclaw from its scabbard.

Despite everything, it remained untarnished, even if it did look considerably different since he'd arrived here. The blade had been beautifully rippled with different hues of grey, and now, it was mostly white with a silvery tone.

It still felt like Longclaw always had, but it looked different now, and Jon knew it could no longer keep its name. It would certainly raise questions if his Valyrian sword shared a name with the Mormont's.

"Does it have a name?" Lyanna whispered.

Jon shrugged.

"Maybe, but I never learned it."

"A sword like that should have a name," she pointed out. "All people who own a Valyrian steel weapon name it."

"They do," Jon conceded. "I'm just not sure what it should be called."

"Well, it should be something meaningful, but something people will fear."

Jon chuckled amusedly.

"What would you name it?"

Lyanna's brow furrowed, and she looked a lot like Arya had when she was presented with a conundrum.

"I don't know," she huffed.

"I'm sure we will think of something," Jon comforted, standing as a knock sounded at the door.

He opened it to be greeted by the sight of three women.

"We've brought you a bath, Jon Snow."

"I didn't…"

"I did" Lyanna declared as she stood. "If you're going to protect me, I won't have you filthy. You're going to be bathed and have a haircut. I'll have some clothes sent for you."

She looked at him stubbornly and Jon chuckled once more.

"Fine," he agreed. "Ghost, you with her," he added as Lyanna left the room.

He stepped aside and allowed the women to enter. Two of them each carried one end of the tin tub and a large, steaming jug of water in the other. The third carried two jugs, and as the bath was placed in front of the fire, each emptied their loads into it.

"We will be back with more," the woman who had spoken to him explained before they vanished.

Jon could only stare at the bath.

It had been so long that he'd had a wash, and his mind drifted back to the night he and Daenerys had shared the experience. He had washed her hair for her and she had returned the favour.

They had remained in the water until their skin had wrinkled and it was no longer warm before they'd fallen into bed as they were wont to do.

A lump formed in his throat at the memory.

She had died only two days later and Jon had never truly mourned for the woman he'd loved so dearly. He'd simply had to carry on, even when all was lost, he'd simply moved on.

He wiped away the tears that had spilled down his cheeks as the door opened once more and the women entered with another few jugs, some scissors, and a selection of oils they added to the tub.

"We will give you some time to get in."

Once more, Jon was alone and he removed his clothes. Lowering himself into the water, he took a deep breath and took a moment to enjoy the feeling of the heat washing over him.

Again, the women returned, this time with a pile of clothing. Without saying a word, they set about washing his hair and Jon retrieved the bar of soap and began cleaning himself.

"Do you wear your hair long, Jon Snow?"

"Just enough that I can tie it," he answered.

He caught sight of himself in the looking the glass in the corner of the room and realised he was long overdue a haircut. It had grown past his shoulders, and even his beard was scraggly and unkempt.

He would fix that himself when the women had finished fussing over him.

Jon appreciated their efforts, he truly did, but it wasn't the same as when Daenerys had washed it for him and he doubted it ever would be.

Rickard

"He was impressive, wasn't he?" Lyarra asked as she dressed for dinner.

She hadn't said much since they'd taken their leave of the solar, lost in her own thoughts at what she had witnessed.

"He was," Rickard agreed. "I have heard of those who are born to wield a blade. I expect Jon Snow is one of them. He will be quite an asset to Winterfell."

Lyarra nodded.

"Under normal circumstances I would urge caution, but you were right. There is something about him. I don't know what it is, it's just him."

Rickard felt the same.

He couldn't quite understand it. There was just something about Jon Snow he could not help but trust. Perhaps it was that he was Northern, or it was the solemnity with which he spoke.

"Lyanna seemed pleased by the outcome."

Lyarra's nostrils flared in amusement.

"She will have Jon in the training yard teaching her."

"Is that such a bad thing? Wouldn't it be best for everyone if she could handle a blade?"

"Yes," Lyarra sighed. "I just wish she was not so impulsive."

"She gets that from you, my dear," Rickard pointed out with a smirk.

Lyarra hummed.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"As radiant as ever," Rickard replied without hesitation.

"Flattery will only get you so far, Lord Stark," the woman said dryly. "Come on, we don't want to be late."

They left their chambers and made their way back to the solar where they always dined privately if they chose to do so. Already, Brandon, Ned, and Benjen were waiting for them, the later of the three attempting to replicate some of what he'd seen Jon do, though Benjen was armed with only a stick.

"Did you see how he spun under the sword?" he asked excitedly, falling on his behind as he attempted the move.

"I don't remember him falling on his arse," Brandon chortled.

Benjen scowled as his older sibling as Rickard pulled him to his feet.

"You've got years of learning the basics before trying anything so fancy, lad. Now, sit down. Jon and Lyanna will be here soon."

It was his daughter who arrived first, and Rickard almost reach for Ice instinctively as the enormous wolf padded in after her. He'd caused no trouble since he'd arrived, and he looked almost comical with his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.

Ghost, however, was still a direwolf.

"Why is Jon's wolf with you?" Benjen asked enviously.

Lyanna grinned at the boy as she took a seat, gesturing for the wolf to remain at her side.

"It's one of Jon's rules," she announced.

"His rules?" Ned questioned.

Lyanna nodded.

"He said that if he is going to be responsible for my safety that whenever he isn't with me, Ghost will be."

It was a good rule and Rickard nodded approvingly.

As utterly terrifying as the wolf was, he would certainly feel better if it was following Lyanna around, even if he cut quite the imposing figure.

Then again, he wasn't sure who would appear more intimidating now, the wolf, or the man he had chosen as a companion.

"Where is Jon?" Lyarra asked.

"I thought he could use a bath and a haircut," Lyanna explained. "I told him that I wouldn't have him around looking scruffy."

The boys snickered and Lyarra tutted at their daughter.

"I bet he's already regretting offering you his sword," Brandon chuckled. "He has no idea what he's getting himself in for."

"Shut up, Brandon!"

"Both of you be quiet," Lyarra cut in sharply. "Do you want Jon to think we are no better than savages?"

"Lya is a savage," Brandon quipped, wincing as the girl kicked him under the table.

"I don't think Ghost likes it when you insult me," she cooed. "Maybe I can convince him to nip your arse if you annoy me."

"Lyanna Stark!"

The girl knew she was in trouble when Lyarra used her full name.

"There won't be any arses being nipped," a voice sighed.

Rickard's eyes widened at the sight of Jon Snow as he entered the solar. With his hair trimmed and tied back, and his beard shorn, his resemblance to the rest of those at the table was only more obvious.

When he stood next to Ghost, he looked as though he was one of the Kings of Winter buried in the crypts come to life, something the other Starks at the table seemed to notice.

"Go on, Ghost. Go hunt for some food. I'll keep an eye on her for a while."

He wolf licked Lyanna's cheek before complying and Jon took a seat, aware of the odd looks he was receiving.

What took Rickard aback wasn't merely the likeness he shared with his family, but how young the man was. With his long hair and beard, he could have been any age between thirty and forty namedays, but without it, he was undoubtedly much younger.

"How was your bath, Jon?" Lyanna asked.

"Much needed and appreciated," he responded gratefully. "I feel like a new man."

"You definitely needed it," Lyanna snorted, her cheeks reddening slightly.

Was she attempting to flirt with him?

If she was, Jon either was or chose to remain oblivious to the fact.

"How old are you, Jon?" Lyarra asked the question Rickard had been pondering.

The man paused for a moment, seemingly thinking.

"Twenty," he answered. "I will be twenty-one in a few moons."

"How did you get so good at fighting? You're not all that much older than me," Brandon queried.

"Practice," Jon answered. "Outside of here, there's plenty of chances for that. There's bandits, Wildlings, and even Iron Islanders if you wander too close to the coast."

Rickard grunted.

The Iron Islands had not been cause of too many problems in recent years, but they came across to the mainland sporadically to try their luck.

"Ah, dinner is here," he declared as some of the workers brought in plates laden with various foods and jugs of ale. "Help yourself, Jon. I'm sure you could use a hearty meal."

The man nodded gratefully and Rickard continued to watch him.

He truly was intriguing to say the least.

"Do you have a wife and children?" Lyarra asked.

Rickard had not even considered the man might have a family, but as he saw Jon's expression fall, he quickly realised it was a sore topic.

"No," he answered quietly. "There used to be someone, but she died not so long ago."

"I'm sorry," Lyarra offered sincerely. "I wouldn't have mentioned it if I'd have known."

Jon smiled sadly as he waved her off.

"It's okay," he assured her. "I'm still just getting used to it."

The mood took a sudden turn, and as Rickard watched Jon picking at his meal, it appeared the young man had the entire weight of the world on his shoulders.

He hadn't said as much, but it was clear he had endured considerable hardship. It appeared the death of the woman he'd loved had been only a part of it.

"Well, I have arranged for you to have your own rooms in the main keep," Rickard informed him. "If you're going to bear the burden of my daughter, you will need to be on hand."

"You act as though I'm always getting into trouble," Lyanna grumbled.

"You're always causing trouble," Ned snorted.

"I am not!"

"Yes you are!"

"Are they always like this?" Jon asked.

Rickard chuckled.

"You have no idea, Jon Snow."

"Will you teach us some things with a sword?" Brandon asked Jon.

"Jon is going to teach me," Lyanna answered before the man could.

"I can teach all of you, if your parents don't mind," Jon answered amusedly. "I don't want to be stepping on Rodrik's toes. He's an excellent teacher."

"I'm sure he would be grateful for your assistance," Rickard returned. "This lot can be a handful."

"I can see that," Jon chuckled, eliciting a glare from Lyanna. "That look won't work on me, and if I am going to teach all of you, you will follow my rules."

"You still haven't told me the rules yet," Lyanna pointed out.

"Because I will make them up as I see fit," Jon said with a grin. "Now, eat your dinner. If you want to train with me you will be up with the sun. I won't accept any slacking, young lady."

Lyanna looked horrified by the very idea, but much to Rickard's surprise, she offered no smart remark or argument. Instead, she did as she was told, something she rarely did out of principle.

Rickard nodded approvingly as he met his wife's gaze.

Jon Snow was an interesting man already; mysterious and perhaps a little broken, but Rickard was looking forward to seeing what the coming moons would bring.