Jon II

It was not even autumn yet and there was already a heavy chill in the air. Uncle Benjen, being a Ranger for the Night's Watch, was well aware of the colder weather, having dealt with it at Castle Black before setting out to ride to Winterfell. Jon was also prepared for it, growing up in the north had prepared him for these chilly autumn nights, even if he hadn't seen a proper winter since he was a boy.

Those who weren't prepared for it were Lord Tyrion and his small guard of five men. They had brought some heavier clothing, but it was clothing meant for autumn in the Westerlands, over a thousand miles south. Reading about the cold of the north and experiencing it were two completely different things, and the Westerlanders were finding that out for themselves. And unfortunately for the southerners, there were no towns on the King's Road they could stop at to buy heavier clothing.

Despite the cold weather, the eight of them had made good time through the wolfswood. Their nights through the thick woods had been alive with the howls of wolves, whether from one pack or many Jon didn't know. Ghost had pricked up his ears at the nightly howling but never raised his own voice in reply. In the months since discovering the direwolf, Jon had not once heard him yip or howl or bark or even growl, like the rest of the direwolves from the litter. He had seen Ghost bare his teeth in a silent snarl, but never had he heard the pup make a sound. The lack of sound those first few days was part of the reason Jon had named him Ghost.

On the tenth day since leaving Winterfell, as they had exited the wolfswood and came across the wooden holdfast of House Spyre, the land and its ruling family both sworn to House Umber, they came across a trio of others making their way to the Wall. The trio was led by Yoren, another member of the Night's Watch that Uncle Benjen referred to as one of the wandering crows, a small group of Night's Watch men who walked the realm recruiting new members. Yoren had a twisted shoulder and a sinister look about him. His black hair, as dark as the cloak he wore, was greasy, and his beard was matted. And, though Jon couldn't fully confirm it, it looked like the man had a case of lice.

The first night they had come across the new trio, after Jon had been told who Yoren was, he had approached his Uncle. "Wouldn't it make more sense to send someone more…" he had trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence in a tactful manner.

"Comely?" his uncle had said in the following silence. Jon had flushed at the tone in his uncle's voice. "The Night's Watch needs all the able bodied men it can get. Yoren used to be a Ranger, until he fell off his horse during a wildling ambush and messed up his shoulder. With his limitations, wandering the lands and bringing back new recruits allows him to still help the Watch."

"He could at least bathe," Jon had muttered.

"And how would you expect him to do that? Many do not offer hospitality to wandering crows, especially when they travel with the type of men who often join the Watch, and the last time he was near waters warm enough to bathe in are south of the Neck."

That made sense to Jon, especially since the two boys that traveled with Yoren, who both looked around his age, were rapists. When his father had first forbidden him from taking the black he had been angry, he felt like his father had denied him the chance of making a name for himself, even a bastard could become Lord Commander in the Night's Watch after all, but seeing the two sullen boys who would have been his sworn brothers, and who were only joining because it was either that or being gelded, had bought the realization that his father had likely been correct. He truly had no idea the reality of joining the Night's Watch, and had only wanted to do so based on some idealistic fantasy he had developed based on stories from Uncle Benjen and old tales from Old Nan.

It was another eight nights, eighteen since they set out, that Jon had decided to stretch his legs and had come across Lord Tyrion laying separate from the group, a bottle of wine at his side and a book in his hands. He was covered in the bearskin cloak his Uncle had given to the man shortly after entering the wolfswood. Jon got a sense that like his father, his uncle was not overly fond of the Lannisters and that his offering of the bearskin cloak was more as a courtesy than any sort of fondness of Tyrion.

"Why do you read so much?" Jon asked.

Tyrion looked up and with a sigh, closed his book upon one of his fingers. "Look at me and tell me what you see."

Jon's brows furrowed in confusion. "Is this some kind of trick? I see you, Tyrion Lannister."

Tyrion sighed again. "You are remarkably polite for a bastard, Jon. What you see is a dwarf. You are fourteen and you are already taller than I will ever be. You see what I ride on, a special saddle to keep me from falling off my horse. And I'm sure you've noticed I never joined in the sparring sessions because my arms are too short to properly wield a sword. Had I been born a peasant they likely would have left me out to die. Alas, I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock and things are expected of me. My father served as Hand of the King for twenty years. My brother later killed that very same king, as it turns out, but life is full of these little ironies. My sister married the new king and my repulsive nephew will be king after him. I must do my part for the honor of my house. Wouldn't you agree with that? Yet how? My legs may be too small for my body, but my head is too large. Although I prefer to think it is just large enough for my mind. I have a realistic grasp on my own strengths and weaknesses. My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his Warhammer and I have my mind … and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone. If it is to keep up its edge." Tyrion tapped the leather cover of the book. "That's why I read so much, Jon."

Jon absorbed that all in the silence. They had had similar conversations during their mornings together in the Winterfell library, about the difficulty they each faced being what they were. Jon should have realized that Tyrion's constant reading was a way to prove his worth to his family. Just as Jon tried to prove his worth to his father by throwing himself into everything he did, whether that be lessons with Maester Luwin, sparring with Ser Roderick, or riding with Hullen.

"What are you reading about?" he asked.

"Dragons," Tyrion replied.

Jon snorted. "What good is that? There are no more dragons!"

"So they say. Sad isn't it? When I was your age I used to dream of having a dragon of my own."

"You did?" Jon didn't know if Tyrion was having him on at that. On the one hand, having a pet dragon that obeyed his commands would give Tyrion respect and power his short stature denied him. On the other hand, the dwarf had a dry sense of humor and was often sarcastic.

"Oh yes, even a stunted twisted ugly little boy can look down over the world when he is seated on a dragon's back." Tyrion pushed the bear skin aside and climbed to his feet. "I used to start fires in the boughs of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I'd imagine my father burning. At other times my sister." Jon stared at him in equal parts horror and fascination. Tyrion guffawed. "Don't look at me that way. You are to tell me you've never had such dreams growing up?

"No," John answered immediately, horrified. "I would never."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow and deep down, in the parts of his mind he didn't like to acknowledge, Jon knew the man was right. In times of anger, like when Lady Catelyn was particularly nasty to him, or that time when he and Robb were playing like they always did as children, and he had called being Lord of Winterfell first and Robb said, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." In moments like that, when he had been angry and hurt due to his family, even as something as tame as stating the truth like Robb had, he would wonder what it would be like if they had all died, and the only one left was he, and then Jon would be Lord of Winterfell, just like he dreamed as a boy.

Tyrion didn't push the issue, for which Jon was grateful. He felt something brush against his hand and looked down to see Ghost there, nudging his head against Jon's hand. He reached down and petted the direwolf who seemed to have finished his hunting for the evening. Already the pup's head was at Jon's waist, and at the rate he was growing, Ghost would likely stand at Jon's shoulder within the year.

"Do you know how much farther until we reach Castle Black?" Tyrion asked, changing the subject.

"We'll be crossing into Brandon's Gift tomorrow morning. Uncle Benjen said it should be a couple of days' ride to Mole's Town, and then maybe an hour or two from there."

Tyrion looked around them with raised eyebrows. "Are we in the New Gift already?"

"Yes. In the morning, if you look to the west, you should be able to see the top of Queenscrown."

"The history here is fascinating," Tyrion murmured. "To think Good Queen Alysanne came along this path with her dragon, visiting these villages and leaving such a remark that some of them named their keep after her."

"Well the keep and its surrounding village have both been abandoned for decades. Not even a queen's visit could keep the people here too long."

"Jon, there you are." They both turned to see Uncle Benjen approaching them. "I thought you had wandered off."

"Sorry uncle, just talking with Lord Tyrion."

"What are you doing so far away from camp?" Uncle Benjen asked, with a hard look at Tyrion.

Tyrion held up the book he held in his hand, his finger still between the pages holding his spot. "I had hoped to get some reading done without being disturbed. Though that does not appear to be in the cards for me tonight."

Jon felt the heat rise in his cheeks. "My apologies Lord Tyrion, I didn't mean to disturb you."

Tyrion waved his free hand about. "Nonsense Jon. I will have no shortage of days to finish the book. I assume dinner is ready?" The last part was directed at Uncle Benjen, who merely nodded his head. Tyrion grabbed the bearskin cloak from the ground. "Then I shall grab myself a bite."

They both watched the man waddle off.

"You should be careful around him," Uncle Benjen said in a low voice. "Especially when you ride back to Winterfell."

"What is it about Lord Tyrion that people don't trust?" Jon asked. He looked around before leaning forward. "Father asked me to keep an eye on him, and report back if he says anything about the King, or the former Hand."

Uncle Benjen frowned. "While I don't know why Ned asked such a thing of you, I can tell you that it isn't exactly Tyrion himself that leads to the mistrust. It's his family." Jon's face must have shown his confusion. "You know what happened to the Reynes and the Tarbecks, correct? Of how Ser Jaime got his nickname the Kingslayer? And of how Lord Tywin presented the mutilated bodies of Elia Martell, Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Aegon?"

Everyone knew what happened to the Reynes and Tarbecks, Tywin Lannister had a creepy song written about it to make sure everyone knew the story, and the story of the Kingslayer was also a well known tale. What happened to Elia Martell and her children Jon had heard only once, from his father after a night of heavy drinking. It had been during his fostering at Last Hearth, when his father had decided to visit him before he would ride on to see Robb at Karhold. It was all but impossible to say no to the Greatjon when the man wanted to drink, and so much wine and ale had been consumed before conversation turned to the war. Jon had heard stories and tales about his father he had never heard before. But the one thing that he would always remember from that night, was the look in his father's eyes when he told of staring at the bloody cloaks that covered Elia Martell and her children, only for the cloaks to be pulled back and brutal deaths each of the three had suffered was laid bare for all those in the throne room to see. It was the look of a man who would forever have the images haunt his dreams.

"I know the stories," Jon confirmed.

"Tywin Lannister is a brutal man who will do whatever it takes to avenge even the smallest of slights. His son killed the king he swore an oath to protect, and even all the way up here we've heard stories of how the queen treats people. I do not know the Imp, but I know the family he comes from, and it is not a family of honor."

They saw the Wall when they still had more than a day's ride ahead of them. Even after spending five years at Last Heath, which was only several days ride from the Wall, Jon had never seen it before. The closer to it they rode, the higher in the sky it stretched above them until it became the only thing they could see when looking to the north, obscuring the mountains that lay beyond it.

The first time he stood at the base of the wall and looked up, Jon had felt like the most insignificant thing in the world. His uncle said the top of the wall was wide enough for a dozen armored knights to ride abreast. The gaunt outlines of huge catapults and monstrous wooden cranes stood sentry up there, like the skeletons of great birds, and among them walked men in black as small as ants.

Castle Black was a bit disappointing to see up close, as it wasn't really a castle. It had no protections to the east, south, or west, so the Night's Watch could never rise up in rebellion against the Seven Kingdoms, his uncle explained. "Besides, the only thing the Night's Watch needs to defend against is to the north, and the Wall is more than enough protection for that."

What Castle Black was was six stone towers and six large wooden buildings. There were tunnels that ran beneath the ground, connecting each of the buildings. A great way of getting around when the ground outside was covered in ten feet of snow, but despite the chill in the air, it was still summer and there would be months before the first snow started to fall.

"We don't normally entertain visitors," the Lord Commander said upon their arrival, "no matter who their father is."

Although it was said to the both of them, Jon had a feeling it was directed more towards Tyrion than himself. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, on top of being a sworn vassal to House Stark for decades before joining the Watch, had been one of his father's chief advisors during Robert's Rebellion. Not to mention that House Stark had always done its best to support the Night's Watch, a tradition his father upkept. And that was all on top of Jon being the nephew to the First Ranger.

"We promise not to overstay our welcome, and will pay for both food and board during our stay," Tyrion had answered, withdrawing a pouch from somewhere on his person. The small man withdrew two gold coins from the pouch and held them out. "This should cover the seven of us for the first two nights."

Jon's eyebrows raised at Tyrion paying for him as well. House Stark was not a house that had need of money, and Jon had been given some coin for the journey both to and from Castle Black.

The Old Bear, as the Lord Commander was called by his men, took the two gold coins with a sour look on his face. Jon wondered if it was because he thought the coins were seen as some type of charity to the once mighty order, or because it was a Lannister offering it. It wasn't just his father and his uncle that disliked Lannisters, as most in the north seemed to view the lions with distaste.

Jon awoke the first morning and saw whom he assumed were new recruits practicing in the yard, including the two rapists who had arrived with him the night before. They were led by a slim man of fifty years with sharp features. He had black eyes and his black hair was streaked with gray. When he spoke his voice was sharp and cold.

The recruits were terrible and it looked as if none of them had ever held a sword before. Most of the recruits looked older than Jon, and a majority of them were taller and likely stronger as well, but he didn't doubt he could take them all on in a sword fight at the same time, and come out the winner.

There was one recruit, a fat lad who was already covered in sweat and appeared to be near tears. If Jon had to guess, based on the finery of his clothes compared to the others, the fat lad was the son of a lord, which should have meant some type of sword training growing up, but it was like he wasn't even trying to hold his sword correctly, and it didn't help that the man who did the training was more interested in cursing out the lad, rather than helping him out.

Jon winced as the recruit the fat one was training with, slammed his training sword against the fat one's arm causing him to cry out in pain.

"For fuck sake Tarly, the only thing you're going to do here is eat the Watch out of all its food," the trainer shouted.

The tears Tarly had been holding back until now leaked down his cheeks, and he raised his hands to wipe at them, only to slam the sword and shield he held in his hands together with a clang. That brought snickers from those who had been looking.

Jon shook his head and wondered if he should try to help, but he decided against it. He was a visitor here, he shouldn't get involved in Night's Watch issues.

"You need something, bastard?"

Bastard didn't always mean someone like Jon. A lot of times people, often the smallfolk, used it as a derogatory term for a person they found despicable.

Yet the trainer was staring at him as he said it, a sneer on his face. The man had a problem with him, and Jon didn't know why. He had never met the man before now, so he knew it was nothing he had done. That meant it could only be because of something a member of his family had done, as folks were keen to carry over grudges from kin to kin.

"From you?" Jon asked. "Not at all."

He turned and headed to the common hall to grab some food. In doing so he missed the murderous look the trainer gave him.

The common hall was full with members of the Night's Watch, each of them dressed in black. A few of them wore well oiled leather boots and thick cloaks lined with fur. Those men came from nobility and had either committed grievous crimes, for nobles had longer leashes when it came to breaking the law than the smallfolk, and had taken the black rather than the alternative punishment or they were so far down the pecking order of their family, with no hope of land or wealth, that joining the Night's Watch was encouraged of them.

His Uncle Benjen sat at the high table with the Lord Commander, and upon seeing Jon enter the hall, waved him over.

"Who is it that trains the recruits?" Jon asked, after exchanging greetings with the two men.

"Ser Alliser Thorne," Lord Commander Mormont answered. "A hard, bitter man, but a good fighter."

"The man hates me for whatever reason."

Uncle Benjen gave a small grin. "Not to worry, he doesn't like me either. He fought for the Targaryens during the war, and tried to defend King's Landing when the Lannisters sacked it. When the war was over, Tywin Lannister gave all the surviving knights who fought for the Mad King the option of taking the black, or losing their heads. Any relation to any of the rebel families and the man will hate you. He'll hate the Imp just as much, if not more, when he sees him."

"And what reason did you draw his attention?" Lord Commander Mormont asked.

"I was watching the recruits train. They're awful."

"Yes, unfortunately these days we mostly get thieves and beggars, and murderers and rapists. They don't have any of the training someone of noble birth has. Your uncle said you expressed interest in joining the Watch. We could use someone of your training lad."

Jon frowned. "My father has forbidden it, at least for now. He wants me to wait a few years before making the decision."