The full moon casted a pale blue light on the sky, just as a pair of sad eyes turned from the moon's beauty to lower themselves to the courtyard from afar, as a gust of wind billowed his curls of dark hair, melancholically he could only contemplate his life. He wanted to laugh, to cry and to scream out his exasperation at the world, to the entirety of the cruel world he was faced to once again live, swindled by the Stranger itself on a mission yet, he never though once what he would have to give away so much in his life for a chance to undo his mistakes. He wanted to laugh at the ironies of his life; all it took was the swing of the Stranger's sickle for him to be born motherless, a bastard born out of wedlock, feel the brunt of everyone's hatred and be judged for a crime he hadn't committed yet. For being born, he was condemned for the crime of usurping his half-brother Robb's status as trueborn heir of Winterfell.
The first time he had siblings and family, they had to be half-siblings and his stepmother, the cruelest human ever born. Tears cascaded down Issei's eyes as the beautiful moonlight casted a pale-blue light upon the castle, as he growled; the feast was still going and it wasn't meant to stop ever; each second was agony for as he wanted to celebrate also but, he was the family's dissapointment, the one no one wanted. Through the hallways of the Greak Keep of his home in Winterfell, he went to the courtyard where he found a wooden sword he started to use to train.
Issei Hyoudou or rather Jon Snow is the Bastard of Lord Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell who is the Warden of the Kingdom of the North. The Kingdom of the North is part of the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in this world he lives. Today his father arrived victorious from the rebellion of House Greyjoy, they were the worst kind of pirates. They were good at sacking places, they called it reaving; just as they stole women and call it reaping; reaping what they sow in their iron price.
Iron Price? They call it as if it were a pleasure and a treasure to sow chaos and sadness on all places they go; thus his father and all the Lords of the North had the most important choice to do, they waged war and aided King Robert Baratheon against it. He didn't understood why those pirates rebelled, they just gave the King the necessary reason to make sure the realm was once more joined under a single banner, and thus since then it all has been well.
All well except for his life, for as in his life there was only space for sadness and pain, for the penance of his mistakes and the brunt of his failure. The weights of the past adding to the melancholy he felt in the present, for as it was all related.
"Ragh!" He swung his wooden blade in anger against the dummy, for as it all exasperated him and caused him pain.
Being the bastard of an honorable man as his father Eddard Stark caused him to be even more judged and hated by everyone around him; Lady Catelyn, the Steward, the Steward's family, the Maester At Arms' Daughter, everyone around him hated him and all he could do, was ruminate in his own sadness for his condition.
Issei dedicated himself to the art of the blade, in order to bring honor to his father and also to expiate himself from the sins of his past life. When he was only four, his mother revealed to him his fate.
I'm not your mother, bastard. Your mother was a whore that stole my husband.
He cried that day so much, yet it also made him feel repulsed to women or even approaching them. For as he knew that he would rather die than love a woman and fall to his own past vices; by inhibiting himself he sought isolation and loneliness; for as he was a bastard and he would rather die than birth a child to suffer as he does. He shall never birth a bastard child.
Because, Issei Hyoudou cannot be Jon Snow. Issei Hyoudou's dreams were the dreams of a hero, of a trueborn child of the love of his parents. Jon Snow instead had no dreams because he was not the trueborn child of his parents, he was the sinful stain of an act of weakness of his father, and thus he suffered. Yet in between it all there was only one thing he wanted to know.
'Who was she?' He asked himself once more as he closed his watery eyes. Was she alive? Did she knew of him? Was she poor or was she rich? Did she cared for him? Was she a whore?
"Jon." He listened to a voice and he turned to meet his father, his victorious honorable father Lord Eddard Stark. He was, a good soul; better than most men he has ever met in his past life or the new one. He had no reason to take him, the constant stain to his virtuous honor, yet he did so. His Lord Father took him in and raised him alongside Robb when he didn't had to.
"Father." He straightened himself, somehow staring back at his father reminded him of Azazel; the fatherly figure he had in his life before he died tragically. He always directed himself to the man in respect, for as in his eyes was the man, he wanted the pride of.
"Are you hungry?"
His father's concern was unfounded, he made sure to eat before Lady Stark called for him and ordered him to leave the event altogether, for as she'd rather not have him shaming her family any longer. He shook his head, adjusting his tunic to not appear to disheveled.
"I'm famished Father." He referred to his father who seemed to linger in his stare, he bashfully turned away perhaps in shame or in embarrassment to have so much of his father's attention when Robb and Sansa were more needed of that.
"Is there anything you wish to tell to me?"
"No, nothing at all."
(Eddard I)
No, nothing at all.
He stared at those vibrant indigo purple eyes which held a ghost of melancholy to them, tinges of the suffering his son felt and the brunt of his promise being so unfulfilled due to the sacrifice of hiding his secret. For as much as Eddard wished to become honest with his wife, in truth, the secret of Jon Snow was hidden and would remain so forever as long as he lived.
"Father, who is my mother?"
Promise me Ned. The ghost of his sister whispered on his ears and his face turned stone cold, any emotions he had were forever bathed in the blizzard of the ice; as he sternly straightened himself and he turned away.
"When you're older, I will tell you of your mother."
On the boy's eyes were not tears cascading as he nodded and turned away, bowing. "Good evening Lord Father." With those words he was coldly dismissed and he closed his eyes, the cost of the promise to his sister, as he marched through the Great Keep's Hallways, he leaned on the nearest wall and he closed his eyes. The boy you hold is the King of the Seven Kingdoms. But he denied it, the boy he held is his bastard son Jon Snow, whatever was left of Maegon Targaryen was all gone with the wind on that day in Dorne and Jon Snow was the one that occupied now the place. As he took once more his steps to the office of his solar he sat down and stared at the scroll. Being one of the first Lords to take banners in favor of Robert granted him a boon, a boon he had used to start the rehabilitation of Moat Cailin and build the Cailin Canal through the widening of the Saltspear on the neck. In Lannisport Robert signed the scroll pertaining the boon of golden dragons towards the holdfast of Moat Cailin and the Cailin Canal. During his way back to Winterfell, he sent a letter to his Maester to bring forth the best builders on Essos and Westeros; for as he was going to build it big. The Letter sent by Jon Arryn brought warmth upon his chest.
Lord Stark,
The King thanks you for asking after the health of himself and his family. He is in good health, as is his son, and he hopes the same is true for you and your family. After a discussion with myself and the master of coin, he has agreed to supply funds for the construction of a stone keep and harbour on Moat Cailin. It will serve as a strong deterrent to raids and aggression by ironmen in the years to come. He is granted the title of Lord of Moat Cailin. The Lord of Moat Cailin shall pledge fealty to the Lord of Winterfell, who, in turn, pledges fealty to the Crown. He is granted dominion over the lands bounded to the Neck, to the west by the Blazewater Bay and Sunset Sea, to the north by the Barrowlands, to the east up to the Bite and on the south by The Twins. He is charged with the upholding of the King's Peace and the protection of the people within his lands.
Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Warden of the East, and Hand of the King
As he thought of his little sister Lyanna once more; there was only one way he could protect him and make sure that he could be a man of good and make up for the suffering he had for being his 'Bastard'. The same solar his father used to work with, as he sat on the throne-like chair made of Ironwood, he went to one of the drawers of his desk, and in there he found the parchments. He brought the Parchment and the notes on Moat Cailin's construction and he smiled, he wrote a single thing on it.
Jon Snow, Lord Moat Cailin and The Neck
His lips curled up lightly. Emerging from the Greyjoy Rebellion got him to be able to ask a new concession to the Crown, the first and only one he would ask to Robert; he managed to be able to bleed the vile Lannister gold Robert used to be able to fund his project with Moat Cailin, of course he only specified for a holdfast for his baseborn child with Ashara Dayne which of course got Robert to agree; in the end for at least two years the crown will finance Eddard with the funds for the Holdfast of Moat Cailin. In the end a drunken Robert celebrating the defeat of the Ironborn as he signed both the title of giving Jon Snow the Lordship of the Neck with the Land of Moat Cailin.
He took talks with the Dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield and the Giants; the Mountain Clans were more than glad to provide with the stone to rehabilitate the keep, so far things were going up well. As he tightly clutched the scroll. As he stared at his father's diary in it was the idea for the canal of the Moat.
"Lord Stark." Maester Luwin brought his attention and he was once more distracted.
"Maester Luwin. As of today, now with my return formalized. I need you to work on this particular project." He passed the annotation page of his Father and Grandfather as the Maester read it and widened his eyes as he read more of it.
"I want you to make a detailed project of this as much as you can, also inside on the following pages is a primitive layout map of how we want the castle of Moat Cailin to look." Lord Eddard Stark spoke as he gestured for the maester to approach the tiny book as he pressed his finger.
"There are only three towers left in Moat Cailin, scattered about yet nearby one another. The Children's Tower, a tall and slender which is where the Children were known to have called upon their gods to have the hammer of the waters to smash the neck. The Gatehouse tower which is the largest of the remaining and the Drunkard's tower. Now, if we base this from this layout. Then the Children's tower would be near a Gods Wood were we'll put a Heart Tree." The Lord of Winterfell glared as the Maester nodded, the swampy lands would be hard to build on but it would be a stronghold.
"You mean to widen the Fever River, my Lord?" He asked but Lord Stark shook his head.
"No, I mean to widen the Saltspear up to at least a few miles before Moat Cailin, and move the Fever River to be a tributary to the Bite. This fever River will be widened from a river to a Feverspear much like the saltspear. Moat Cailin will be the only place that connects Blazewater Bay and the Bite."
The maester nodded as he took the details of the Lord's descriptions, all while he frowned as Lord Eddard detailed also the quantity of gold loaned alongside what Benjen would contribute to them and what they could get from taxes to the Lords.
"It is manageable my Lord. But you will have to employ Essosi excavators for this excursion while the Westerosi team dedicates to build the Keep itself. I estimate Five to Six Years in the effort of doing this my Lord, at most." The Maester confessed to the Lord who maintained a thin line on his lips.
"Understood Maester. I want you to officially send a letter to Howland Reed, Benjen Stark and to the Mountain Clans about Moat Cailin. Meanwhile I want another one sent to Wyman Manderly to White Harbor about the Neck project we have here and to search the adequate team for the excavation. I also want the best Essosi men on this."
"At once my Lord."
Maester Luwin was gone and Eddard was left alone, as he leaned back he turned his head towards the ceiling. There was nothing better he could do for Jon than this, he would give him the Lordship of the Gate to the North.
With tears cascading down his eyes, Jon hugged his feet as he sat on the bed of his room. Winterfell is the name of the place where he's at, even though it is supposed to be named as his home, he feels not at home. Being the cause of everyyone's hatred; the glares given his way, the apathy of those that served the food and the overall apathy that was basked upon him by his stepmother made him feel wretched. Grateful he should be, parhaps that was the opinion others think his mind should be. Being better than most bastards from the smallfolk he saw in Wintertown. His father made sure to get him ready to receive the best of education, just now Maester Luwin started to give them the same education he would to his half-brother Robb and Ser Rodrik would start their training at arms soon. It wasn't hard to learn at six name-days the harsh reality of the condition he was born with. The difference in treatment and the affection given to Robb to the modest apathy given in his direction. Jon Snow wasn't stupid, he was forced to grow under the harsh conditions at home.
Bastard…
Hearing their whispers made him shake his head and walk away from the Great Keep of Winterfell. Why? Why must he be treated in such a way?
'I have to accept the reality.' He thought with sadness and a surprising maturity. He knew the harsh weight that was placed upon him. Yet, learning the truth was harsher than ever. During one of their first swordplay lessons with Ser Martyn. Jon and Robb had started training weapons and Robb initially bested him during the first days and was always rewarded with words of praise and encouragement from not only Ser Martyn but from their Lord Father and other denizens from Winterfell also. Lady Stark would often also have special treats prepared for Robb as his prize. It was in that fourth lesson they had where he too wanted the praise and devoted himself to training and reading and eventually he bested Robb academically and in the courtyard, but instead of praise and admiration, he was greeted by stony silence and troubled looks. And it was there where he realized that as a bastard, he was now deserving of that praise regardless of his effort.
A bastard must live in the shadows, the light of praise and admiration belongs to trueborns.
'As if this day could go any worse.' He thought with mild anger. Yet, he had no choice but to accept the harsh reality of growing in the shadow of his elder half-brother Robb Stark. As Jon fell asleep that night, he experienced the strangest dream; facing the Heart Tree of the godswood was something different, on one of the Heart Tree's branches a raven's call caused him to look up where he spotted a three eyed raven. Suddenly a voice called him out and he took a step back, about to cry out in fear.
Do not be afraid, little one.
"Who is it? Show yourself."
The raven flew down to the grown before him and instantly transformed into a pale-skinned one-eyed man. Old, wearing black robes which looked old and worn out, but the most striking thing of the man was the wine-colored stain on his right cheek and side of the neck and the lone crimson red eye staring at him, his lips curled up in a genuine smile.
"Who are you?" He asked in stark curiosity.
The Gods have placed us here so that we may meet. Consider me a friend who will help you reach your true place in the world.
He snorted and looked down in the floor in sadness, what true place. "What true place?" He spat defeatedly as he shrugged his shoulders and turned to the man. "I'm a bastard Sir, perhaps you mistook me for my half-brother Robb. He is the one who has the right to the world, while I am…the right of nothing."
You're quite calm and mature for one your age. Many would've been broken. You do not know who you truly are. For now, all I ask you is to trust me.
He remained guarded solemnly towards the man, he trusted him not. Nobody normal would rouse your dreams or perhaps he was merely in a fever dream.
"A bastard like I has not many choices." He took a hold of his left bicep with his right hand and turned away.
Excellent. You can call me Uncle Brynden, and remember that you must not mention anything about me or your dreams to anyone.
He closed his eyes but nodded. Jon needed a way to grow stronger and prove his mettle in the battle, if the man offered him power he would take it. Agreeing with the man's offer, when the chime of a bell woke him up he saw that his idea resulted well; having a sun clock nearby the window and using some strings worked wonders to wake him up as early as 0600 hours, allowing him to get ready in fifteen minutes. Emerging from the Great Keep, he had had to cross through the entirety of the courtyard to arrive to the Kirchen, where the Maester's Turret was located, once locating the door he gave two knocks; on the thick wooden door.
*Knock* *Knock*
Nothing came off. Giving two more knocks.
*Knock* *Knock*
"Aye, I'm coming." Maester Luwin's voice came from the other side of the door, the man in gray robes and with his multi-colored chain links hanging from his neck, he chose to speak.
"Jon?" The maester asked squinting his eyes to see him well.
"Maester Luwin, I formally plea and ask you if you could teach me High Valyrian. It's early and most of the Castle's inhabitants are still asleep. Usually our lessons start at least two hours later with more sun outside. Please, Maester Luwin. I really want to Learn High Valyrian." He stared deep into the Maester's eyes as he stared at his face then at his eyes before closing his eyes. Maester Luwin looked deep in thought as he glanced to the wall behind him.
"Why?" He asked.
'Say a half-truth.' Jon thought remaining in the same as much as he could. "In one of the History Books I read about the Sea Snake Corlys Velaryon and his journeys to Essos. I would like to see the world beyond Winterfell, most of them speak High Valyrian in essos. It's the most…someone like me could aspire to."
And Maester Luwin's sigh was enough as he gestured him to his room.
"Alright kid, make yourself comfortable. You realize you're going to stay with me for a long while young Snow?" He asked and Jon nodded all the way. "I will pay attention to all what you say Maester, I promise."
The man nodded nonetheless and went for some of the books he had in a pile it was thick, he undusted it and blew it to remove any further dust.
"Let's start then."
For a starting Lesson, Maester Luwin was impressed of his attention span not getting distracted for a single time; and when Robb arrived he was surprised to meet him already and when inquired he told him he was just settling some history questions with the Maester. The last thing he wanted anyone to know was that he wanted to learn High Valyrian to go to Essos, when in reality he felt just curious of the different languages spoken in the world, High Vlayrian being one of them. The Other being, of course the Old Tongue. A language he will have to learn roughly from book source and play it by ear. Their lessons with Maester Luwin covered the necessities all heirs must know of their lands and also ledgers, how to count the numbers, counting pennies, distribution of wealth, geography and History of the North. Each day he offered a different subject and the assignment was to read about tomorrow's lecture.
When the sun was already clearly high up Robb and himself would always take the courtyard and start with basic exercise drills before finally going through the Bow and arrow first, something that both were severely lacking and that apparently Robb was no good at, unlike him at least. It was in the Sword where the true stalemate came and it was where they would measure to each other's performance to get better, They would arrive mildly exhausted and with hunger to the luncheon and then go back to the courtyard for more and in the last moments of training Ser Rodrik and Ser Martyn would pit them in Sparring, being only to five points before sparring with either Ser Rodrik or Ser Martyn and they would be given an honest assessment of their performance.
The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms 2nd Edition by GrandMaester Malleon and Grandmaester Ellendor
Grandmaester Ellendor's thick book described too well the Lineages of most of the Great Houses by the time of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, which was only twenty-seven years ago. Grandmaester Ellendor's book was divided by each one fo the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, each chapter would have a tapestry-like family tree of the family where lineage could be followed before it went into detail on the history of the Great Family. The Maester would start of first unsurprisingly with House Stark of The North on its First Chapter. The Second Chapter dedicated to House Tully of The Riverlands, the third to House Lannisterof The Westerlands, the fourth to House Tyrell of The Reach, the fifth to House Arrynof The Vale, it would then go to Chapter six House Baratheon of The Stormlands, seventh chapter House Greyjoy of The Iron Islands and at least and with the most page content would be Chapter eight House Targaryen of The Crownlands. The chapters was not the focus but the Subchapters; the thick book's index chose to detail each subchapter and their page number to be able to locate the house history sought out. On the very prologue Grandmaester Ellendor detailed his fifteen year journey around westeros to compliment the entirety of the 1st Edition which only went as far as the First Blackfyre Rebellion, missing the reign of at least four Targaryen Kings and four decades of history. He would always find his days reading the detailed book up to the sunset, where he would then go to the Heart Tree of the Godswood of winterfell, its beautiful weirwood and lean close to it, waiting for the raven's call, where he would meet Brynden Rivers.
Meeting the man, before he could greet him. He felt a cold snap within his head; as if someone just smashed his head with a big rock. It was jarring as it was uncomfortable and massively painful. One moment he was Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, and the next he was a bird of prey, eyeing the landscape with a piercing gaze.
The hawk spotted deer grazing in the high fields next to the great stone nest where the humans lived. The hawk was briefly remorseful for the nest him and his mate had built the previous year, destroyed by those humans not long after his mate had laid her eggs, but just as quickly turned its attention back to hunting. With its eyes scanning the landscape, knowing the rabbits and hares were threaded through the knolls. Stomach empty for days, it needed a kill, and soon, if it was to live the next season.
There
It turned sharply at a rabbit grazing on grass, oblivious to the danger it was in. And the hawk dove down.
Jon gasped, feeling pulled out so suddenly it was all blurry, before he was pushed in again; as if being dipped in freezing water.
Run. Hide. Run. Hide.
The rabbit thought in a panic. A creature of death had swooped down from the skies and closed its talons on the back of its sister as they ate a midday meal.
Death. The rabbit squakead as it bounced towards its home. The rabbit bounced down towards their mother who was watching after his sister's kit. Death. Sister. Death.
There was a sombre if not panicked armosphere in the den after the rabbit announced what happened. The survival of the younglings unknown at this time.
Another cold snap occurred, and Jonw as back in the hawk.
It plucked and pulled at the tendons of the rabbit, blood spewing onto the grass where it died. Every so often, the Hawk scanned its surroundings before gulping back another mersel of meat. The hawk ate until it was full, leaving a large amount of meat lying on the ground. The hawk took its flight, its wings emboldened by the energy its meal provided. The hawk was fulfilled, satisfied with its conquest.
And Jon felt another snap and he was back in his own body.
The wolf was in a man's place. A place where hard grey smell of stone and the cold sharp smell of steel. But he could see the trees, his place, on the horizon. He leapt to them…and was pulled back harshly.
A chain was at his throat.
The wolf growled and shook, clawed at himself till blood ran down his neck. He could not free himself.
The wolf grew hungry and cold and the man's place grew ever darker. He whimpered. The Wolf tried to escape, only for the wolf's chains around its neck to feel tighter, until he found a red trout by a river. The red trout swam and the wolf tried one las time to follow, only for the head to come off the body, rolling up to another place with ice following the head. The wolf head was resting on stumps and stones, in a place where towers touched the sky. Where the wolf's pups stared at the head. Many stared. One wolf Ran away alongside Bears, and other animals. A red female wolf bit upon the black wolf and both started tearing each other apart, the light brown wolf snarled at a crow flying above it and disappearing into the thick forest and the youngest pup could only whine sadly staring at his clan tearing itself apart.
When the Red Trout appeared; the black wolf ran away, and the battered beaten red wolf was bit on the neck by a golden lion, whining all while the red trout turned away and went to the elder wolf pup who alongside bears and other animals fought against Lions and manticores in between the mountains. Only for a pink man to stab the trout many times, for weasels to surrounded the eldest wolf pup and decapitate him.
It all turned dark.
Who are you?
A deep voice asked.
Then there was a roar overheard. A massive tri-headed beast of fire soared the sky; wolves were bloody bodies. A Black Trout kept in a cage underwater was melted from its chains, the weasels were burned inside their homes, and when the lions were in their homes the beast descended down burning their homes and leaving them impoverished, in hunger, skin clung to bones. The pink man ran, and when its knife threatened the youngest pup, the pink man was burned to ashes.
Then as it turned to him, he burned. Image after image flew quickly before his eyes.
Three great cats eating their young. A horse with braided hair that swept the ground. A spider trying to catch a bird in his web. A stag and a wolf dead on the ground. A princess white hair who stared at nothing; blood on the floor, blood on the bed, blood on the blankets. Blood everywhere. Blood on him. Blood in his boots. Blood in his hands. Blood on the Throne. Blood in the crown.
"AH!" He cried out loud once, exhaling his heart as he emerged back and he found himself resting his back on the weirwood tree to see a lone crimson red eye and his caress on his face.
You're back.
"What was that?" He asked in shock to the man.
The greensight, the power of our first men ancestors granted by the old gods. This power allows for us to connect, allows for us to see the past and to see beyond our eyes of the present.
"Tell me more."
Come back again tomorrow at the same hour and let us meet. We have so much to speak.
"Wait." Jon asked trying to coax the man to give him a sign, to perhaps hold the answers that perhaps he long waited for.
"What should I do? I am a bastard, how should I be able to live with myself and at the same time not make them thing wrong of me." Jon rubbed his bicep, the tell-tale of Issei Hyoudou's insecurities in the world showing and the man remained sternly staring at him.
Disappointingly, the stain of bastardry is always there regardless of our actions. Yet I ask; does being a bastard means that you should be defenseless when you have a blade pressed against you? Shouldn't you learn to survive? Do you think they would save you if you were vulnerable? Shouldn't you learn to try and survive? Not only the blade, but also the books. Because the mind needs a book like a sword needs a whetstone, isn't that it?
But Jon Snow was never smart, he never wanted to go against his elder brother.
You have to read Jon Snow. There is a wide world beyond the walls of Winterfell. You have to read, for what comes is worse, way worse.
"What is coming? Why should I-."Before he could ask further he was back in the heart tree alone, with no one by his side. Jon Snow stared at the window it was midnight but in less than a few hours the sun would raise. He took his time to clean himself and wear a tunic, black breeches and boots, wearing his cloak atop him to give him warmth, he walked through the courtyard, reaching the Maester's turret through its ajar door he took his time to go first to the library before assisting to Maester Luwin's High Valyrian class.
opening it he saw a library and in the center almost ominously a desk with a chair on there were a pile of books. Approaching to the table, ignoring the rest of the room, he took the first book and its title.
Westeros General History by Archmaester Parestan
In Westerosi History, before the age of Man, before even our very own footsteps were traced in the annals of written history, our planet was lived not by us; but by diminutive folks of Planetosi origin; the Children of the Forest and the Giants; they, being the most sentient of all races, they governed the world and the entirety of it; living in a peaceful symbiosis acknowledging their turfs and territory, the children of the forest and the giants rarely waged war and always made sure to respect the careful balance of nature. The children of the forest, can be described as smaller than human beings, but not childlike. With nut-brown skin, dappled like a deer's with paler spots. Their hands have only three digits and a thumb. It a source of constant debate whether they kept the pinky finger or not, some Northern-Originated Maesters detail that what for us is a pinky finger for them it is not. Regardless of this argument, it is acknowledged that they had sharp black claws instead of nails on each of their hands and their ears, so large, heard things even men could not. Their eyes most of the time of a vivid gold and green with slitted pupils as those of a cat, allowed them to see in the dark and make them excellent predators and hunters; be it either animal or man.
Quick, slight and graceful; they weaved leaves and vines of nature with flowers into their hair and wore cloaks of leaves, they at times even minded not nudity between them, regardless of their developed bodies; they lived for centuries and they often sing in their language, the true tongue. Very rarely, a child of the forest was born with mossy green or blood red eyes, a sign that such has been chosen by the old gods, or so many Northern say. Those chosen are not robust and do not live long on the earth, but they were excellent warriors and many, like Melody and Reaper are good examples of the many talented children dancers who were extremely adept combatants. The children of the forest may have lived in clans and did not use metal, weave cloth or build cities. They lived off the land; using Stone and Obsidian implements, wearing bark leg-bindings and shirts of woven leaves, swelling in caves, crannogs and hidden tree villages. Males and females both hunted side by side as wood dancers, using obsidian weapons, weirwood bows, and flying snares made with grasses. They had no books, ink, archment or written language; they live of the land and thus have a deep connection with it.
What is to remark on the Dawn Age is perhaps the most changing event of them all; the First Men.
The First men are said to have been originated by the very aspect of self evolution, some attribute it to them being originated from godly hands, others believe the evolution from primates themselves, and many more believe on magic; the truth is that they originated in Essos and since in those times Essos was a vast grassland, men were…
For the first time in his life, Jon found himself fascinated with the topic of History, compared to always talking about Targaryen Kings and houses of the south for Robb and the Nobility; learning history from scratch was better and just now he was enjoying the read; about the First Men. Archmaester Parestan sounded as a very read man, even though in his mind random ideas rose.
'Men are originated from primates, their genetic makeup gives them that attribute yet at the same time we share many different designs embiologically with reptiles.' He thought while he shook his head and continued to give a unique opinion, finding nearby a lonely scroll with ink and a featherpen, he took them both and slowly started to write in english his opinions on each of the chapters as sidenotes or footnotes on the spaces. The discrepancies being on the origin of men, he found the details on the first men quite unique.
'So the First Men speak old-tongue, believe in the Old Gods.' He thought with a light frown as he continued to read, on the side of the page.
Religion: Nature? Stream, Forest, Stone. Nameless
It was obvious that after the War between First Men and Children and following the Pact the First Men would worship the same gods of the children and be a part of their society. Godswoods being the very own symbol of the Old God religion and Weirwood Heart Trees being the strongest 'Temples' where Old Gods can thrive. The read took long, the maester was extremely biased towards humanity and his words turned flowery when Garth Greenhand was spoken about, giving the man as many laurels as it could be written, at least three poems to the man were written. At least fifteen pages were just of the Greenhanded man and his feminine conquests before it finally took the subject of the Long Night. It spoke of the participation of Garth Greenhand and his children, going specifically through the entirety of the lineage of the man, find many different and various families and emblems etched to each of the children of the Greenhand before going through the odes and details of the Long Night. A nameless unsung hero who the Archmaester details to be a bastard child or an unknown child of the Greenhand, seeking out the Children of the Forest and taking out the Others in the battle for the dawn. Leading to the creation of the Night's Watch and Bran the Builder building the Wall. He would pause his read on the History and Lineages of the Great Houses to start this one first. Emerging from the library to Maester Luwin's office, he found the man woken up and the man who seemed to accommodate his books for their lesson today.
"Your Lord Father had a conversation with me yesterday." Maester Luwin motioned for him to take a chair as he continued. "Your father has told me to teach you everything alongside Robb. All what it takes to be a Lord you shall learn; warcraft, economy, counting coppers, your numbers, your ledgers, trade, politics; everything there is to know to be a competent Lord, you shall be taught alongside him and he pressed onto me that he wants you to learn everything as Robb does, regardless of Lady Stark's wishes or orders. Exerting his authority as Lord of the Castle upon me." The maester then took out the book and opened it.
"Therefore, added to your full classes with Robb, you shall add also your classes on High Valyrian all mornings. I expect great things from you, young Jon."
And for once his lips curled up with a happy smile and nodded vigorously, a chance to change himself for the better. To blossom beyond an unwanted bastard of the north into something better, of course he was going to take the chance. Thus Jon didn't hesitated in the following days; the would wake up earlier than anyone in the castle and after washing himself dedicate himself to learn High Valyrian from Maester Luwin, dedicating himself to read the books the man said. The language, came to him like a second nature, it was so natural to pronounce the words, to memorize them and speak complex sentences as he progressed through the levels and challenges that the Maester placed upon him. By the time Robb arrived, he was heavily disinterested in the classes Mester Luwin gave, but Jon was immensely dedicated, so much that he started to participate more than Robb in class, know more than him; to the ire of Lady Stark who could do nothing but swallow her words as his father silently gave him gestures of affection such as a pat in the head or a pat on his shoulder or back. Those tiny gestures, eh absorbed like a sponge to give him confidence. He dedicated himself to outmatch Robb in any and all aspects he could; if he saw Robb training the sword two hours, he did four, if his half-brother augmented two more, he would double his time. And when Theon Greyjoy started to be prophicient in Archery, he made sure to also challenge Theon's training regime and distance, if Theon trained two horus of archery he would do four, if he did four he would do six. Certain days he would have little sleep, but it showed in his skill. He read Archmaester Parestan's book from start to finish and it showed in Maester Luwin's classes whenever the topic of History was spoken. And as a gift, once he took a moon and a sennight from reading the entirety of the book, Maester Luwin gave him another book Trial in the North by Maester Gawain. Then after ending up with that, he gave him finally the go to read The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms 2nd Edition by GrandMaester Malleon and Grandmaester Ellendor, the man gifted him the book's newest edition which covered up to before Robert's Rebellion, which was of course the greatest compendium of Westerosi History, yet due to it being a book on Hard History, it was considered an advanced book than the novice ones of Westerosi General History and Trial in the North. However that wasn't the last of the books he had to read on his free time, for as Maester Luwin who started to teach them warcraft started with the most basic of Warcraft Books written The Conquest of Dorne by King Daeron I Targaryen, and in only a few days he found himself fascinated by the Targaryen King, instantly making him one of his heroes alongside Aemon the Dragonknight. The Maester would take a General History Book and King Daeron's and he would start to teach them the Warcraft behind the Conquest of Dorne. The Maester did not hesitate to give them both a copy and give the assignment to point flaws on the strategy of the young Dragon and propose strategies on how they would do so themselves.
His nights would be found with Brynden who would teach him how to warg on a rat, which he befriended easily. By the end of the Year, he could successfully warg into the rat flawlessly and his archery, which Brynden monitored him at, improved immensely.
"Go."
Both Jon and Robb were armored, for Jon it's been already six moons since he started his improvement since November of last year, as his half-brother came towards with an upwards downwards swipe, he parried and Robb sought out to swing only for him to parry and answer with an equal strike on his side which caused him to lightly lean to that side, he swung again only for it to be parried and seeing an opening he tried to kick, but his brother reacted fast and jumped away, which was only him stomping ice.
"You almost had me there." Robb lightly smirked all while he nodded.
"Aye." He gruffly called as he exhaled vapor and just as he approached and didn't attacked, Robb attacked him he sidestepped and swung his blade which hit Robb in the wrist, causing him to grunt and with a knee strike to Robb's abdomen.
"*Cough*" Caught Robb by surprise and the tip of the blade was on Robb's neck.
"Yield?"
"Aye, I yield." Robb rose his arms as he took a breath.
"Good attack Jon, Robb, you need to rein in your temper." Ser Rodrik insisted and Theon Greyjoy snorted.
"He was just lucky."
Jon growled and spoke out. "Let's see if that's true!" He cried out which granted Theon to snort as he took one of the wooden swords.
"I will only need one move." Theon called out confidently with a smirk as he wore his gambeson atop his tunic, all while Jon only got into combat stance. He remembered his lessons with Luwin and when Theon rushed towards him, he tried to swipe at his head horizontally, he parried the harsh strike and with a flick of his wrist harshly stabbed theon with the blade, which was more of a hard poke. He smirked and tried to swing his blade once more on him, but Jon was faster and swifted, sidestepping he hit his nose with the pommel of his wooden training sword.
"Argh!" Theon cried out and took a step back, holding his nose.
"You bastard!"
"That's Enough!" Ser Martyn called out harshly and glared at both, as Jon growled and turned away. Leaving the Courtyard after Luwin's class, he knew it got the better of him.
Ser Martyn Cassell
Ser Martyn Cassell has been the Captain of Lord Stark's House Guards and Maester at Arms since Lord Eddard Stark took the mantle of Lord Stark and he has been a Guard of House Stark during the times of Lord Rickard Stark. But also, he was once in a long time ago a Squire foR Lord Rickard Stark since he was ten name-days. His family had served House Stark faithfully for so long that it was just natural for all members of House Casell to be in service of a member of house stark. Martyn out of amny others has fought many wars; Two Wars in fact yet in battles it surmounted to a long list. Robert's Rebellion where he served as an armed man and Lord Eddard's sworn shadow and in the Greyjoy rebellion. He could still remember the first southern man he killed, a knight holding the banner of House Martell, Ser Lewyn Martell led his Dornish soldiers into the fray before Martyn captured the banner. Just as Lord Stark outfought several great knights. He witnessed how Lord Howland Reed defeated the legendary great Ser Barristan Selmy the Bold through mastery of the Spear that would make the dornish jealous.
Yet, nothing would erase the memory of The Tower of Joy, for it was his first true challenge.
He could remember the white glistening coats in betwethe desert, three Kingsguard Knights, all of them as fierce as the last, one man worth ten guardsmen It was still hard to conceive the fact that someone as the Mad King had the greatest seven of all Westerosi History. Unwaveringly loyal, seven kingsguard of aerys were worth at least an army of two thousand men. He still remembered Lord Eddard Stark with tear stained eyes with a dark-haired child with violet eyes and the face of the Prince of Dragonstone. The face of the very same child Lord Stark named bastard, the very same child of the Winter Rose of Winterfell, Lady Lyanna Stark.
The fairest maiden of the realm; no woman could hold a candle to her beauty and no northern woman or spearwife could ever equal her in her mastery of the Sword, no one ever caused him to sit down on his arse on the courtyard with a sword in hand except herself. He still could remember her holding one longsword in each hand on the Harvest Feast; her potential suitors down on their arses with shocked filled faces, even the damned Greatjon Umber found himself enchanted by her. And after such spars she would talk kindly, wear her heart on her sleeve like a true northern woman; by the Old Gods, Lord Rickard Stark made a grievous mistake by arranging her to the fat oaf whoremonger of Robert Baratheon. Before the Tourney of Harrenhall, Robert Baratheon visited Winterfell with Eddard, and in there the man saw her; wearing her dress, stunning, before the weirwood, mily white eyes of the rumored wargs of the North with a crow on her shoulder and on her waist a belt, which matched not her dainty dress, with her castle forged blades. And a winter rose on her hair, it was there where Martyn Cassell knew he loved her; The Lyanna Stark that loved riding, the Lyanna Stark that enjoyed reading stories of Winter Kings and Kings Beyond the Wall, the Lyanna Stark who loved training the blade all the mornings with the guards, the Lyanna Stark who danced with the blade just as she danced in the feasts.
But it was too late, for as she was taken by the Dragon Prince without anyone realizing and she gave her life for Prince Isaeryon Targaryen. It was then when Howland Reed spoke it all from his perspective, Lady Lyanna defended his honor from Jared and Luceon Frey, Lyanna being the half centaur she was unhorsed the knights as the Knight of the Laughing Tree and when the Mad King sought out her head, the Dragon Prince found her instead. No doubt the Dragon Prince was charmed by her Northern Sicnerity.
Must've seen her as Queen Visenya reborn. The nerve of him.
It was foolish to compare Lyanna to Queen Visenya, for as while Queen Visenya was fierce to a fault and rough, never allowed herself to feel sweetness and enjoyed only her duty. Lyanna was more than the frigid unloved dutiful sister of the conqueror; she was a true northern princess and one of the few that could back up her power in the yard. Yet he swore it, alongside; William Skagstark, Alaric Goldstark, Beron Ironstark, Leaf, Wun Wun, William Dustin, Ethan Glover, Theo Wull, Maege Mormont and Mark Ryswell. They all swore upon Earth and Water, Upon Bronze and Iron and On Ice and Fire that they would hold extreme silence, that no one would speak about the affair. It was just obvious the fact
"Jon." Robb tried to run towards his half-brother but he settled his hand on the young lord's shoulder. "Leave him be."
With those words he concluded and turned towards Lady Stark, Catelyn Stark was a southern woman that tried to cling to her home where there was none of it, that would be her mistake and the one that will hunt her forever, the seven are cursed and unloved from the neck upwards. The septons corrupt actively the females of House Stark, more so when they attempt to indoctrinate Lady Arya, and could only snort and shake his head, Lord Rickard would seriously disapprove of Lord Eddard and Lyanna would equally disapprove of him. When was the last time Eddard Stark openly received the offerings of Wun Wun, Jarl of Giants south of Cerwyn or the last time he showed friendship to the children of the Forest or sought their counsel as Rickard did so. Those slights caused only half the total of Giants and no children to aid Eddard in the Greyjoy rebellion, of course they would be offended.
Thankfully Benjen Stark was born with half a brain to marry with Thorin Oakenshield's sister Dis, at least they didn't felt the blow to the forces after the Children didn't even appeared when the banners were summoned. It went unsaid with the Lords the fact that the Children of the Forest felt slighted for the first time since the pact was reaffirmed with Lord Alaric Stark the Wise. Dismissing his duties and leaving them for his elder brother, he walked through the hallways of winterfell, they were gray and dreary just as the north should be; the true home of House Stark and the den of the wolves. The sound of furious colliding echoed and he turned to meet young Jon snow, in the depths of the godswood straining by striking the bark of a tree.
"The tree isn't going to fall no matter how long you attempt to strike it."
The boy turned, he could see his watery eyes yet he cried not, and he couldn't help but see the Winter Rose's ghost superimposed to his. His heart clenched, and he approached.
King Robert Baratheon
Through this missive I ask for your aid and that of your brother Stannis into helping me populate my son's holdfast on Moat Cailin. For that I, do humbly ask for you to provide me citizens from either Flea Bottom and the Street of steel to be transported via ship to the land of Moat Cailin. The only question I ask of the smallfolk that get to be on the ships is that they have to fully renounce the faith of the seven and change it for the faith of the Old Gods. The transported ones will be guaranteed housing and employment once upon arrival. I hope we can arrange the details via Letter.
Sincerely yours,
Eddard Stark.
….
"We're almost there now, my Lord. Just half a day of riding from the spot Lord Stark told us he'll meet us." Said Theodore Darrion, the aged Captain of his Household Guards, the man wore his plate armor and yet atop the armor they all wore slim coats to combat the cold of the land. "Very good Theodore. Let us waste any more time." Said Randyll Tarly.
Lord Randyll Tarly was eager to get to Moat Cailin, then to Winterfell and then return to his home in Horn Hill. For many years, ever since the end of his greatest achievement in Robert's Rebellion, he has attempted to try and teach his eldest son Samwell Tarly to become a warrior like him so that he may be worthy to become Lord of Horn Hill. He has tried everything, bathing him in auroch's blood, he bought many different master at arms, he tried it everything and yet his son still disappointed him so. From the moment he was first given a sword when he began to walk. No matter who his money bought, no matter which witch he hired, nothing seemed to work at all. Nothing seemed to improve young Samwell, he continued to be the same timid and easily-frightened little boy. And for once in the history of House Tarly, the heir was being so unprepared and so unable to inherit Hornhill and Heartsbane, the ancestral House Tarly Valyrian Steel Sword.
'His mother and sisters had softened him to the point of weakening, unhealthiness and cowardness.' Samwell Tarly snarled as he tried not to discharge his anger at Samwell's mother and younger sisters; even on the hunt he was afraid of blood and had no competence with any weapon. His body was so fat it has started to be extremely unhealthy, just as his fat liege Lord Mace Tyrell, who vocally in the court stole his martial victories for the sake of saving his face. It was only after Dickon was born that Lord Tarly began to pour his hopes into his youngest and gave up on Samwell. But his wife, persistence as she was, Melessa Florent, begged him to give their eldest son Samwell one more chance to prove himself; she did it so insistingly that he had to convince himself about it. He discarded so many ideas; his ruminations were many yet he had a case. The Reach didn't turned boys into men.
He served in two wars; Robert's Rebellion and in the Greyjoy Rebellion; and in both times; fighting and leading men and charging into the frey, he felt alive and proud of wielding Heartsbane. Yet Lord Tarly perceived that the condition of the Reach was deteriorating, long gone were the days of the strong Reach that could be an effective wall to Dorne and nowadays there was no wall at all. House Tyrell, a simple family of castellans, turned the reach from the great power that House Gardener had it into a pitiful thing nowadays. Their staged fights were only pathetic attempts; believing that in such fights a man could find "honour"; those staged battled didn't formed men, they formed actors. Battle and War is what turns boys into men, not knocking a few men off a horse with a pathetic lance.
'The northerners understand that.' He grunted in approval a this thoughts, when the Tourney of Lannisport happened he had to take a seat while the Reach made itself the embarrassment of the realm. Yet many were surprised to see the Northern absence, when he heard rumors about it, all northmen said the same.
The North cares not for tourneys, only for battle. We don't do them, because we don't want the enemy to know our strength when we battle.
And by the damned Seven the answer was one his fiery warrior heart agreed wholeheartedly. And the few northmen that just stayed for fun literally decimated many in the melee and Gods it was glorious, as glorious as war itself.
'They'll make a man out of Samwell.' He concluded all while he told to his wife the end words.
"But he needs to go elsewhere to do it. The Reach doesn't turns boys into men."
He never truly had the chance to fight against Northerners in the rebellion; dissapointingly he was one of the many that stayed alongside his Fat Oaf of a Lord sitting and feasting outside Storm's End while the real battle happened Northward; by the time Rhaegar Targaryen died and House Targaryen was deposed, Mace Tyrell broke the siege of Storm's End with no fighting at all and they were sent back to the Reach. The chance however rose by fighting alongside Lord Eddard Stark and the Northern Army in the Greyjoy Rebellion. And he was proud to have fought alongside them, heck even considered them to have the right of how war is fought and how to be hard in times of peace and they understood true honor. Specially a man like Eddard Stark.
Eddard Stark is one of the few men he respects, he was the second in command behind the counterattack to the Greyjoy Rebellion, apart from the fact that it was common knowledge that he had a bastard son raised in his household. Lord Stark is one of the most honorable men there are in the realm, there are even rumors that said that he faced three of the Mad King's Kingsguard and defeated them himself, one of them Ser Arthur Dayne, the greatest swordsman of the seven kingdoms.
As protocol dictates, he sent a letter to Lord Stark to accept Samwell as a ward, he made sure to let Lord Stark know of the immense respect he had for him. And Lord Stark answered equally firm with respect towards him, acknowledging him for his martial prowess at Ashford and being honored in accepting his son, yet he had terms like all Lords do. He wanted 2,000 Gold Dragons and his word that he would talk with his liege lord in hopes of managing a trade contract between the North and the Reach. Reach grain, fruit and wine in exchange for northern wool, iron and ironwood. And, as much as Randyll would like to never ever meet his Liege Lord, he had to honor his part of the deal and he knew Lord Stark would appreciate that. Thus, in a trip to Highgarden, he visited his liege lord in a fast trip, his Liege Lord of course was excited and joyous to meet him, as for the reasons as to why. Lord Mace Tyrell of course was surprised that he would send Samwell to the North, Lord Tyrell though maintained silent as Olenna described her days meeting Rickard Stark, and he found the stories she told fascinating. It seemed the apple fell not far from the tree in case of the Stark Family.
Recently the North has had a surge in wealth like never before; in the Lands of the Gift in charge of Benjen Stark and his wife Dis, the dwarves of the Gifted Mountains have found ores of so many minerals; Iron, Carbon, Gold, Silver, Copper, Lead and many more; they found jewels and even ores of dragonglass. Alongside that, with the project of the Moat Canal, it would go a step in having good relations with not only the north but with their influences in Essos they are making due to the canal.
The Calin Canal was a very ambitious project started by Eddard Stark after the Greyjoy Rebellion, a Canal had been build from the Bite to Saltspear, allowing ships to sail from the Sunset Sea to the Narrow Sea in less than two days as opposed to less than a moon by having to sail right down to the dornish coastlines, the Canal has only been recently completed and apparently a village has been established sided with the ruins of the legendary Northern Stronghold that held the Andals away. Lord Eddard Stark literally offered to piggyback away from King's Landing all the smallfolk of Flea Bottom and the Street of Steel into Moat Cailin, in exchange of renouncing to their gods and accepting the northern faith of the Old Gods; in exchange they would be given home and work; to say that the people accepted was an understatement; flocks of Smallfolk of Flea Bottom; Men, Women and Children, all who sought out an opportunity for a new chance for free accepted. At least 15,000 citizens migrated from King's Landing to Moat Cailin. He was honest in stating that he was sending his eldest to Winterfell and he made sure Samwell understood it; Samwell was going to represent his household in the North, he had to be disciplined and try at least not to shame his name that much.
You will have to get used to the cold if you ever want to come home to Horn Hill, Samwell. This will be your home wilst you are a ward to Lord Stark. He is a good and honorable man, a true warrior and leader. And you will not dishonor me or House Tarly with your cowardice, nor will you insult him or his noble house. Am I understood?
Yes, Father.
Good.
Was all what he said as he took his distance from the boy again; they've just crossed the Twins and since then they were in the North. By the time they saw the swamp lands that extended far beyond, the Kingsroad as if it were work of magic was the only place they could traverse with horses, for as everything else they could see was mossy surface they could clearly see in the water.
'No tourney lists. No prancing idior boys pretending to be knights and dreaming dozens of glories. No dancing little girls imagining themselves wedding the most handsome knights in the realm.' Randyll Tarly thought as he wondered what it would've been to be born a northerner.
'I should've been born this side of the land. Instead, I'm stuck with an idiotic liege lord whose mother babysits him even at his age. Who childishly claims credit to my victory against Robert Baratheon at Ashford.' He growled with more anger.
"My Lord, Riders." Said Captain Doreon, pointing at the road they were travelling on, a team four riders approaching them. They stopped and waited for them to approach, as they continued they finally saw that the road turned even narrower and dangerous, they even saw a greenish crocodile-like creature snapping its jaws shut and swimming away. Leading the riders was Lord Stark in his grim glory, alongside him was a man with an equal long face, his young brother Benjen Stark, alongside him, almost as if out of tales told by wetnurses was a tiny man that looked to be strong, he rode not a horse nor a pony but a horned goat, on the Dwarve's back was a big double-headed axe, bearded and a hard face. Alongside them but riding no horse but a big wild-cat was a man with a three-pronged spear, wearing a hooded shirt of bronze-scales and black breeches with brown boots.
"Is that?" One of his Household Guards asked with shock at seeing the man in the wild-cat with protruding fangs, the creature seemed alert yet almost passive.
"That's Howland Reed." Said Theodore. "The man who single-handedly defeated Ser Barristan Selmy."
Many of the Household Knights widened their eyes at the side of the mysterious man, Robert's Rebellion was the precedent that revealed the strength of the North to the South. Giants that smashed Gates to smithereens, the Children of the Forest that single-handedly killed many without using armor or even minerals on their weapons but obsidian and stone and dwarves that rode war-goats and with the strength of a hundred men. The Stormlanders were quite flowery with their words on the Battle of Stoney Sept; they spoke of Children jumping buildings like they were trees, Giants swinging clubs, Dwarves defeating men; by the time Robert Baratheon came out of a Whorehouse, outside already was Eddard Stark with a blade near Jon Connington's neck; they used Connington as messenger to the Crownlands of their defeat just as Robert embraced Eddard and clamored his victory in Stoney Sept. By them was a dark-haired boy who looked like he had ten name-days riding a horse.
'That dark-haired one must be his bastard.' Thought the Lord as Eddard spoke.
"Lord Tarly. Welcome to the North." Said Lord Stark as he climbed off his Horse, and so did Randyll while smiling, shaking hands with Lord Stark. He looked every inch the warrior and man he thought that a leader should look like.
'Would it be too much to ask for my Liege Lord, or even my King, to be a man of honor and duty like Eddard Stark? Mace Tyrell's eldest, WIllas, is a good young man and has a brain, but his leg injuring from jousting prevents him from being a warrior.' Randyll thought as he addressed the matter.
"Lord Stark. Thank you for accepting my son into your Household." He said.
"It is an honor to welcome a family such as yours to the North. My apologie sin advance for receiving you in the Neck, however; I was just doing the maiden trip of my son Jon to his future lands and letting him get to know the locals." Eddard replied causing a surprised filled gaze from him, he turned back to the boy who nodded sternly at him.
'He is going to give his bastard son a Holdfast?' He thought in shock, not our of spite but amazed. Most southern lords would dismiss their bastards to the wall or to the Citadel, being that their way of discarding themselves of their responsibility. The fact that Eddard Stark took responsibility for his bastard in such a way, went beyond the honor a thousand knights of the south could ever claim. He watched his son climb off his horse and bow his head to Lord Stark.
"Thank you for accepting me as your ward, my Lord." His son said shyly.
"And I'm glad to welcome you, Samwell. Let me introduce you to my family and friends." He said.
Lord Stark introduced them to his young brother Benjen Stark, Lord Queenscrown and the Gift, by now one of the richest lords in the North and a friend of the Night's Watch. Then he introduced to Lord Thorin Oakenshield, Lord of House Oakenshield and goodbrother to Benjen Stark, Lord of the Gifted Mountains. Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch and his son Jon Snow Lord of Moat Cailin. They passed through the last portion of the Kingsroad before they had to navigate in boats the other part of the way, as they passed by the ruins of Moat Cailin, he stared at the legend turned true. It was in this place, where his Andal Ancestors were destroyed, it was here where the North made its stand against the Faith of the Seven and still today the North remains unconquered by the faith. He then started to see many houses, Women, Men and Children all going with their jobs; either working in the Canal, fishing, hunting or agriculture; there were builders already working on a sewerage system of the village, and the pipelines.
Eddard Stark
Six moons have passed ever since Lord Tarly and his men had left Winterfell. Ever since then, Eddard Stark could tell from the way the boy stared at his father, that he was afraid of the hardened Lord of Horn Hill. But now that he had left, Ned was glad to see that Young Samwell sought out the friendship of his children; and of course Robb and Jon replied in kind, with Theon following in tow; most of all Jon was the one that approached to boy better. Robb, Jon, Theon and Samwell would daily go to rides together in the Wolfswood to practice their archery, they fought together in the yard, they ate together in the kitchen, they talked together and even Jon recommended books for Samwell to read; heck even Samwell meditated in front of the Heart Tree just as Robb and Jon did. Although House Tarly were fervient followers of the seven, young Samwell truly found the peace he sought out after.
Because the North lacked of the food that one would found in the Reach and the portions being served less in comparison to feasts, Samwell's weight took a drastical change, from the days he would be left panting when he tried to chase after Jon and Robb, he no longer panted.
He learned to naturally ride the horse as any seasoned knight on jousts would. And it was the added bulk the boy had that caused Samwell to take up the two-handed War Axe when training, he sought the weapon as a good thing and Ser Rodrik and Ser Martyn trained the four fiercely, they took the best our of the four boys; naturally Arya would attempt to join them, and it was Jon the one that got Arya a wooden sword for her two-nameday old hands and she would play-scrimmage spars with Jon, Robb and Samwell who enjoyed little Arya's company. He smiled as he saw his little Arya sitting on Jon's shoulders, giggling and laughing as her brother went lightning fast against Robb, Samwell and Theon; causing the laughs of Samwell and Robb. The boy ahs grown out of the shell he was in and blossomed into a northerner boy, to his shock the boy took the native language of the north to a heart, took the modicum of the Northerners as his; he embraced their culture fully. The shy boy who was scorned and belittled by his Lord Father, improved. And he had to hold back his feelings when seeing the young boys, because just staring at them he remembered his days in the Eyrie; with Jon remembering him of his young self and young Samwell of a young Robert Baratheon, a much different Robert, A Robert before the War; before the crown, before the Rebellion happened. Like Robert in his younger years, Samwell was muscular, strong and has endured from the training regime of Ser Rodrik and Ser Martyn. Today however on the Courtyard; many children of the banners of the North were here, for as today was a special day to celebrate in the North.
The Harvest Feast.
Once every year, on the last month of the year; Men, Dwarves, Giants and Children come to the heart of the North in Winterfell and Castle Black, bringing with them cats full of food, mead, wine; they bring with them a good portion of the produce of their year, everyone first prays before the Heart Tree as a gesture of thanks for the Blessing the Old Gods bask on the land of the North, all Lords and Children in the eyes of the Old Gods state their reasons to be thankful for the year; thankful for anything. For a good thing on their week, for a good hunt, a good memory, anything they could feel thankful for. Then, after the spread of the good will came the feast. In Castle Black, the Night Brothers do their own celebrations in private, yet all Northern Lords send their regards with Carts of Food, Mead and the produce of the year for them to also be thankful. In the North, the Harvest feast lasts two weeks; the last week of November and the first week of the last moon of the year.
What is it done in two moons; well, the Northern Lords chatter, the heirs and spares bond in the courtyard or in the Great Hall over tankful of mead. Once both weeks pass, the banners go back to their holdfasts, energized and prepared for winter, for as winter always comes.
So far; Houses Cerwyn, Dustin, Flint of Widow's, Hornwood, Karstark, Locke, Manderly, Mormont, Reed, Ryswell, Slate, Sout, Umber, Glover and Tallhart have already arrived. Flint of Flint's Finger are yet to come, so does the Ashwood, The Condon's, Lightfoot, Long Marsh, Mollen, Moss, Overton, Waterman, Whitehill, the Burley, Flint of Mountains, Harclay, Knott, Liddle, Norrey and Wull are yet to come. The Skagosi Clans of Magnar and Stane will come also. The Wolfsfwood clans of Bole, Branch, Forrester and Woods are already in Winterfell and House Bolton, he hoped it would come. It didn't confirmed or denied, after all Harvest Fest is a celebration that dates back to the days of the Age of Heroes, it was done by the First Men before winter.
'Lord Tarly will be pleased at his son's progress.' He thought with a light frown. 'I hope that when he returns to Horn Hill, he turns not like his father. For the sakes of his lady wife and any children he could have.' Eddard released a sigh and went back to his solar. Not without staring at the crowded Courtyard; on the courtyard were his sons Robb Stark and Jon Snow; they were having conversation with Beron and Lyarra Dustin William's children, Robin Flint son of Lady Lyessa, Daryn Hornwood son of Lord Halys Hornwood, Harrion and Torrhen Karstark sons of Rickard Karstark, Lyra and Jorelle Mormont who were the daughters of Maege that were at Robb's and Jon's age, the youngest of Lord Rodrik Ryswell, Henly Slate son of Lord Slate, Jon Umber 'Smalljon', Arra Umber and Gawen Glover Robett Glover's Son.
Most of the children present were the heirs and first-daughters of their houses except for Lyra and Jorelle Mormont who were third and fourth daughters respectively. Dacey Mormont as heiress was more of Benjen's generation and therefore she would usually spend her time speaking with the adult Lords and let the children be Children anyway. He laughed as his daughter Arya came forward and said she wanted to speak with all of them too, which earned some chuckles from everyone around as Arya outstretched her hands at Robb who lightly chuckled and carried his little sister and sat her on his shoulders as everyone chattered in the Courtyard. Turning back to his desk, he stared the papers before him. Jon had given him thus far the ideas he wanted to implement in Moat Cailin, and thus far they were in budget; even with the Shipyard they have planned for Moat Cailin, it would turn Moat Cailin into the first major port of westeros with a Shipyard were the ancient Shipyards of Driftmark, The Arbor and Lannisport. The Shipyard of Driftmark hasn't seen repair since the death of Alyn Oakenfist, The Arbor Shipyard has seen to repairs since the days of Lyonel Tyrell and the Shipyard of Lannisport has seen no repair or improvement since the days of Lann the Clever. Eddard Stark didn't held back when he told the stonemasons and the builders that he wanted the biggest shipyard they could think of, even bigger than the ones of Essos; with the ability to create any type of ship they want or even departments to repair and improve ships. The Shipyard would be on the west wing of Moat Cailin near the Village and the Market.
The amount of money already spent was insane, but it was the cost of having a Northern Fleet once more and he was willing to sacrifice such a thing for it and hand such a big responsibility to Jon since it will be his duty to kickstart such a project, it will be the work of his life. He knew already by the Blacksmith that Jon was having many interesting ideas, that he would love to see fulfilled. As he pulled out a map, he stared at the region the map was located in, near the bay of ice, it is Sea Dragon Point, the land was high yet also had a beautiful sight of the Sunset Sea, this would be Bran's holdfast and he would be in charge of the Northwestern Fleet just as the Manderlys will be in charge of the Northeastern fleet, and Jon will build and supply their ships; everyone won. Because Jon will be paid for the ships by Sea Dragon Point and White Harbor, who in turn would use their ships for trade and also for defense, and when they need repairs or when improvements are announced then Jon would once more obtain gold dragons for the usage of his Shipyard.
Yet Moat Cailin was also a responsibility, for as it was the gate to the North, he who controls Moat Cailin controls the North, hence why he trusts Jon with it because he knows he would only look for the best of the family and the land. So far he had papers sprawled all over his desk, opened was the ledger of the Lord of Winterfell and by its side a tiny piece of paper he was using to make his sums, predicting the amount of Gold Dragons spent on Moat Cailin would be the same amount spent on Sea Dragon Point minus the Shipyard since it will only be a port, though he had a book written in old tongue which had the designs of many ancient castles, one of them was Hightower.
'A lighthouse.' He thought it logical, what better way to detect ships coming from the north, the west or the south than by installing a lighthouse.
'Jon would take benefit in installing a lighthouse in Moat Cailin, designed after The Hightower.' He thought with a frown as he continued to read about the construction of the Hightower. Taking his head away, he also followed another of his projects and probably his last for the while, he had sent a letter to Lord Wylis Manderly for the blueprints and all reports he had on Wolf's Den, and he was given it with precise attention, the keep was in a massive state of disrepair since the days of Cregan Stark and they were abandoned ruins near the lands of the Manderly.
'My son would have a holdfast for me to build him, yet it can become an agreement if one of Wylis granddaughter's marries with one of my children.' Were Eddard's thoughts as he took out a piece of parchment and started to count numbers, verifying it with the official ledger of the Lord of Winterfell, sitting down and scratching his head. Using the expenditure he has had so far on Moat Cailin to base it off for Wolf's Den. Yet he knew that the numbers he was using were a very rough and unreal estimate, thus far he counted not the revenue that Moat Cailin would bring to the North by the time the Moat Canal is finally ended, he counted not for the three more golden mines that Benjen discovered, he counted not for the diamond, emerald and ruby mines that Thorin Oakenshield has discovered. So far, the North was on the way to turn into the richest kingdom of the seven, heck even with the Taxes they give to the crown, there's still a humongous amount of revenue for them.
"That goes without mentioning of the Giant's harvests finally entering the market, their goods such as Mammoth Cheese, the giant vegetables and many more very unique production they have would give them revenue; Giants will receive gold for it; yet the Giants have no use for Gold, they have use for materials therefore one of House Stark's functions as 'Lord Keeper of the Giants' is to act as mediator between the Giants and any merchant they want goods from. Giants spoke in old tongue, and when they wanted something they would usually be in the front of the establishment, city or place that had it; Lord Stark would be notified and he would go and settle a good price for the giants. The merchants get their gold, the giants get what they want.
A knock on his solar brought him out of his thoughts, it was Maester Luwin.
"My Lord, Bolton Banners approaching."
Lord Stark nodded and turned back from his annotations on Wolf's Den to Maester Luwin.
"Maester Luwin, I want you to make a good prediction on the finances of the next years, I want the report by tomorrow morning. I also want the first blueprints for the Keep of Sea Dragon Point for Bran." He took a hold of the ledger and stored it on a special drawer, going towards his neck he took out a necklace with a key, pushing the drawer to close with the ledger inside, he placed the key in the lid and twisted. The Ledger of the Lord of Winterfell was the most important Document in the North, far beyond any book or any other thing; in the Ledger was practically the history of the finances of the North; Taxes, Gold, Revenues, payments, investments. Everything was in the Ledger, and it was kept safe in the desk of the Lord of Winterfell. Yet, if there is only one key for the lord, how does Eddard stark has a key when his brother Brandon and his father Rickard died and they had on their necks the key to the ledger.
Easy; there is always a backup key stored on a place where only the Stark-In-Winterfell knows, if the Lord and the heir dies, the third key turns into a new original key in which copies can be made of. There are always two keys in circulation and a third one stored. Going through the Hallways of Winterfell and passing through the courtyard, as he faced the gate as it opened; Lord Roose Bolton and his heir Domeric were present, both got off their horses and greeted him.
"Lord Stark."
"Lord Bolton."
He greeted Roose with a firm handshake.
"I hope I'm not late." Roose reaffirmed and Eddard shook his head, turning to the very lonely castle now. "You arrived well on time for the ceremony of the offering. While usually my men would take your crates before the Heart Tree for the blessing. I would have your men do so." Eddard turned to Lord Roose's servants that took the carts deep inside.
"Welcome to Winterfell my Lord."
The music and dancing started, the Harvest Feast had just started; on the great hall of Winterfell, was filled to the brin with Giants, Dwarves and First Men descendants all in the same hall, sharing a meal, sharing their mead, sharing chatter. On the high table, Eddard Stark and all his family stared at everyone with a smile. Eddard however saw his wife wearing a scowl directed at Jon and he could only turn away from her and frown, of all the things he wanted this day to have is to be a cause of merriment, not of sadness and pain; that, was not the purpose of the Harvest Feast. And he was sure Jon's day today has always been the worst ever since he was conscious enough of his life. All the Northern heirs would come, he would socialize with them as an equal, but then Catelyn Stark would come and scowl at him as if he should be dead.
'I'm sorry Cat, I really want to tell you. But with your attitude, it makes me less inclined to ever tell anyone the truth.' Eddard thought with sadness and turned back to the hall, he saw hs youngest daughter Arya playing with the giants, as she swung from the bicep of Wun Wun who giggled and moved his arm as the girl held onto the Giants bicep while giggling, Catelyn of course was mortified and was ready to just spring up from her seat.
"It's alright Cat." He turned to her as she turned at him with her widened eyes and she wanted to scream at him.
"No giant has ever let a Stark fall since the times of my ancestor Alaric." He brought out from his musings and he smiled. "And they won't do so now."
Jon was also playing with Wun Wun all while Samwell mildly afraid was in Jon's company as they ate and feasted alongside Wun Wun, the friendly giant that he is. His giant friends were either with the Umbers, with the Mormonts or with the Karstarks. Though he felt the hall empty, there was one presence that was empty and that he sorely missed and everyone does.
'One more year without the children.' Eddard thought with sadness, ever since Robert's Rebellion there have been no children north of the Neck, apparently and according to Howland Reed and the Flints, they were all in the forests and haven't come out yet. For whatever reason, he knows not.
Howland has given him the advice to go to the forests to seek them out, and he was having half a mind to do so, but he stayed his hand, Winterfell and the North needed him now, he was not the same adventurous boy he used to be during Robert's Rebellion or the days before. Due to that, the relationship between House Stark and the Children of the Forest has strained.
'It will be Jon's duty to get them back to the fold.' He thought with a light smile, Jon was responsible, and he knew that Jon would make it the task of his life to convince the children to come back to the north once more. He got up from his chair, which earned the glances of a few of his Lords and his Lady wife.
"I'll come back soon." He turned away, Maester Luwin was sitting in the high table and he was keeping eyes on the event, no doubt the man was writing a work on the People's of the North or about his tenure as Lord Stark. As he patted the Maester's shoulder, the man turned.
"My Lord?" The Maester asked and he approached.
"Maester Luwin, as Lord of Winterfell. I hereby order you that starting tomorrow, you shall teach my children; Jon Snow, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark and Arya Stark the Old Tongue." He reminded all while the Maester widened his eyes and got up.
"B-but Lord Stark. There are no book accounts on the Old Tongue. Even Books dating King Torrhen Stark have nothing on the Old Tongue and Lord Alaric Stark used a Wildling Translator for his conciliation with the Giants and the Children." Maester Luwin replied and Lord Stark shrugged.
"I will give you the rough Materials Maester, I know they exist. I might learn it or not; but I want you to prepare my children for their duties. My ancestors have seen the easy way; using translators or body language to speak to the Children and the Giants. My children will be better, I want my children to be the Ambassadors, the ambassadors of the Sentient Peoples of the North; The Dwarves, The Giants and the Children of the Forest. Two of them speak only in Old Tongue, in fact, I even order you to start working on a book on the Old Tongue. This book of yours shall be then kept by House Stark as its treasure."
Eddard Stark turned away and went back to the high table as he sat down and sighed once again and massaged his forehead. He still had time, his children were young, young enough to learn the Old Tongue; they would all be the future of House Stark. And he smiled at that prospect.
"Lord, Ladies and Magnars." He announced as he rose his tankard of mead, the music silenced and everyone turned toward shim.
"I thank you all for attending this Harvest Feast; one of our most ancestral traditions as first men. I have some announcements to make." Eddard turned to his wife who also was up and staring towards everyone before turning at him. "As of today, my son Jon Snow is officially the Lord of Moat Cailin and the Lands of the Neck. One toast for my Son, blessings for him in his new duty to protect the gate to the north; he shall undo what Brandon the Burner burnt." He raised his tankard.
"AYE! AYE!" The Northmen roared in approval, it was high time for the North to have a fleet, his wife wore a faux smile since inside she was seething
"My son, in your hands shall be the most hardest of duties, for as even I wasn't perfect." Eddard confessed as he closed his eyes.
"For eight years our friends, the Children of the Forest have been in isolation in the depths of the forests of the neck. At first we believed they were recuperating after their losses in the Rebellion, but now I see that it's been too long." He replied and set his tankard on the table.
"My son, in your hands lies the duty to try and search for the Children, to do whatever it takes to bring them once more to our lands once again. To give them a presence in our hearths, to give them a voice when it is suddenly so silent. I count on you." Eddard nodded and smiled widely.
"And a toast for my son Bran; for his shall be Sea Dragon Point. He shall be Bran the Breaker, for as he shall break any threats on our western shores. To him I promise the first Lighthouse of the North, for as no longer no ship shall get lost on our seas, for as there shall always be a HighTower to guide its way back home."
And the cheers and roars of approval were greater, the North was celebrating and was in a cherry mood. The rebellion birthed good times of summer for everyone, even the Children. Ever since the rebellion the Winter Stores have been ever so increased and expanded; he also started a new policy for winterfell at first, if it worked then he will make it a law. The Winter Gold Storage, it meant storing a small percentage of a max of 3% of gold dragons o the storage. So as if any harsh winter comes, then they would be able to acquire any necessities from land or off land.
Eddard knew now that Jon had an identity in the North, there will be no need for him to ever go to the south ever again. There will be no need for Robert to threaten Jon or even attempt to kill him; Jon will be a dutiful Lord of the North, respected by his peers and with a duty that will immortalize him in the history books forever. 'You're worth all of this Jon, you're my blood. Regardless of what anyone else might think.' Eddard thought with a smile as more food came and people got belly full. His children will grow and the North will change, the north will be stronger.
Ever since he started to speak with Brynden, Jon's days would start earlier than everyone else. With insight from his past life and a few knowledge he had, Jon built his own solar clock, with the most primitive alarm mechanism connected through thin strings and a bell near his head on his bed; all his days started in the earliest hour with Mikken on his Shop where the man would teach him the art of blacksmithing. It has happened so since he was four name-days, Mikken was attentive in teaching him every technique he had, all the special alloys and how to work the hammer. How to have the necessary strength and technique to work the hammer and forge the tips of arrows, daggers and primitive jewelry. While Mikken still wasn't that good in carving things, his hands weren't that patient and were too rough, Jon's hands had a dexterity to them, something Mikken would always say about him, that the man would take his time to give advice whenever he carved finely elegant patterns on his temporary creations before they were once again turned to raw material for other necessary materials.
You have to hammer harder…
Use your shoulder more…
Mikken's words would hover above him as he would assess his work on the hammer in the forge and would afterwards give him a review and do so again. For an entire hour he would oversee his progress and review him before he would use the hour and half left to teach him about metal alloys, forging temperatures, the different methods of forging steel; sometimes Mikken would have Maester Luwin by his side to provide a lengthy session on the composition of minerals and their properties. All which he made sure to memorize and internalize for his own. His days then would go to the Maester's office in the Ravenry of Winterfell and he would teach him on Northern History, Northern Houses, Northern Politics, his numbers, reading ledgers; all skills a leader and lord of a family should have. By the time most of the castle was active and Robb made appearance outside with Rodrik and Theon, Maester Luwin dismissed him with little reading for tomorrow and he would go to the Courtyard to learn with everyone else.
His martial training was never neglected, the art of the sword was his focus but he also enjoyed archery and did the diligence to always have it available to him. Though the sword was his primary skill; for that very reason he made sure to always train more than his half-brother Robb. If Robb trained Two more hours, he would do three, if he did three he would do five; he didn't care if he had to cut his time. He would always double his martial training from the base amount that Robb did, it was something he used as his own measuring stick and also to not feel incompetent of the chance Lord Stark has been giving a bastard like himself. After the initiation of the Harvest Feast yesterday, many were hungover, many more were bloated full in food and mead; Jon however woke dutifully earlier and went to his classes with Mikken. Today however he was working on a pet project he has been working for a long while ever since he started to work with Mikken and since his lessons with Brynden have made him smarter and more knowledgeable on the aspects he read on his past life of Hyoudou Issei.
"I still do not understand it." From his back, Mikken reviewed from the doorway of the smith's shop. An area neater than the rest of the smith's shop, rested a contraption which would be the very start of his very own dreams pictured On his right hand he held a fan, as he vigorously fanned from left to right stoking the flames that were sealed in a firebox; basing it on a primitive locomotive model; the long cylinder had on the extreme right a window to pour coal, underneath it a vent which allowed for air to be blown by his fan into it. The firebox had tubes which allowed for the smoke to emerge from a chimney. As the dome atop the cylinder was a tight sealing steam collector, the high pressure pipes which maintained their heat on the smoke box, went below to a primitive steam engine composed of a steam box which travelled all the way through a piston and through the steam's pressure, the piston in turn pulled a rod which in turn connects to a wheel, the driving rod would rotate only 180 degrees, just as the excess steam left. Right now though, the smithy served its purpose, far beyond that which anyone would ever know.
"Your expert opinion." He rolled his shoulders, at eight namedays, he can be considered a very studious individual; with just the same level of skill in the Blade and the Arrow. After he ended reading The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms 2nd Edition. He went on to read Winter's Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell by Maester Childer, The Reign of King Viserys, First of His Name, and the Dance of the Dragons That Came After by Septon Eustace and Justice and Injustice in the North: Judgments of Three Stark Lords by Maester Egbert. While for his Warcraft Classes with Maester Luwin, Ser Martyn Cassell and Ser Jory Cassell, they've reviewed The Conquest of Dorne by Daeron I Targaryen and History of the Rhoynish Wars by Beldecar. Ser Martyn Cassell had a new method to teach Robb and Jon their warcraft; the House Guards of Winterfell would be divided in two and divided in teams and they would all engage with wooden swords and nonlethal weapons. It was in these classes were Jon felt himself stressed and tested like never before, for as at times Robb would decimate him and in other times he would win against Robb by a tiny margin. Maester Luwin would be the one to review the overall performance and give a cold hard review on their work.
As the tiny wheel moved effectively, each time the rods would move faster, which in turn would give it a progressive speed. "Is that wheel moving?" Mikken asked with fascinated eyes as he moved nearby. He nodded his head, in between a world that doesn't appreciates progress, the tireless work of a five-namedays child being so progressively worked until finally revealing the core of it all. The Steam Engine.
"As I was saying. The principle is easy. You boil water, using coal and heat which we use for most of our chimneys in winter. Yet when you heat water it generates a cleaner mix of air; steam. This steam." As he moved his hands and cupped them both to make an example of something being pushed against itself. "If you seal it on a closed off space it generates force, this force can lead to many things; in this case if I lead that steam to rudimentary pistons, cilinders and rods…" His wide smile turned wider as he gestured to the moving wheel.
"Horses will be a thing of the past." As he went to a sketchbook as he flipped its pages to show his uncle the pictures of the train; progress, technology, steam technology. The ultimate act of rebellion and also of liberation against the sands of time. Who cared for swords, shields and the oaths of knighthood when you have industry, progress.
"I will have to notify Lord Stark of this soon, he cannot be on the veil for that much time." Mikken turned towards Jon who smiled and nodded, the Train, he will make it real and with the Train will come true progress for the north like never before. Breaking the chains of stagnation forever. Yet his thoughts were now on the assignment deposited by his father.
In your hands lies the duty to try and search for the Children, to do whatever it takes to bring them once more to our lands once again.
It seemed long ago when the Children of the Forest fought in Robert's Rebellion and won against all the odds. The Royalist army had no chance, never had it the moment the North was involved, and it all happened because of the Sentient People's of the North; now the Children have been isolated and have not been seen, in fact his generation, the generation after the Rebellion haven't seen a single Child of the Forest. None of his friends, heir of families have ever seen them, and those Lords that saw them, would refer about them in respect and sincerity, with fond smiles and with peace. And it only brought more myth to the story, he wanted to meet with the children.
'I will do whatever it takes to find them.' He tightly closed his fist and smiled, closing his eyes as he felt a new sense of reinvigorated belonging.
Once he ended, Maester Luwn gave him his High Valyrian class, and once the class ended his room was extremely crowded. Sixteen children, all still apt to learn were by his front; all of them were literally ordered by their Lordly parents to attend their dutiful classes with Maester Luwin. So the Maester who had prepared Jon's and Robb's class, he equally started to impart upon sixteen exciteable children the daily lengthy class on the subjects they had to cover for the day. Until Master Luwin finally dismissed the class and now the Courtyard was taken by all the Fifteen plus Theon Greyjoy attending; to which first Martyn Cassell prepared extra dummies for everyone.
"Use your dummies at your heart's contempt. My Brother Rodrik and my son Jory shall review your forms and battle styles."
Thus all Heirs of the Lords of the North trained using the wooden dummies, under the presence and scrutiny of Martyn, Rodrik and Jory. And Jon was enjoying it, the crowded courtyard made him feel less alone and knowing he would one day maybe share field with anyone of the people here present, could only cause him to smile. This now almost, ALMOST felt at home.
Why almost?
Because his home lied in the Neck, in the northern swamp lands; there was where he truly felt like home. And there is no place like the warmth of home, in his case, Moat Cailin.
'Yet I'm not ready.' Jon swung his blade more focused with a smile on his lips. 'But when I get ready, I promise I shall make you proud father.'
…
His days would end with martial training before the godswood with a black raven with crimson red eyes glancing at him intently, and finally; while everyone was preparing for dinner. He would sigh and rest his body around the roots of the Wirwood tree.
You took your time today.
The gruff voice answered him and he turned back to meet him; a slim man with a crooked smile, wearing a black hooded robe with a single crimson eye looking at him, a wine-colored stain on his face from birth and silvery hair sleek and always so billowing with the unknown wind.
Follow me.
Following his 'Uncle' Bynden, he walked up to the lonely rookery and he saw the crows all of them were used to send messages to the kingdoms.
Magnificent creatures, aren't they. Intelligent, loyal to a fault. My first raven was given to me by my dear grandfather when I was ten name-days, I had not so many friends those days; I felt lonely in the red keep while my lecherous father used the red keep as his own Lyseni Pleasure-House and spitted right into Queen Naerys's face all only to slight Aemon and make him question his vows.
Jon listened to the man's drawling and he realized what he was saying, he couldn't exactly picture just how exactly Queen Naerys must've felt about such mistreatment.
Do you know why I was called a thousand eyes and one? The bloodraven?
He shook his head.
Our Blackwood blood of the first men gives us the power to warg into crows, you've experienced so far what it feels to be forcefully into the mind of others. Yet the point is to be able to use this to your advantage.
"Is there a way I can warg without the pain?" Jon's grunt caused the Bloodraven's lips to curl up lightly.
Of course there is. You must bond with the animal at first, treat it well, feed it, pet it, tug hits mind but not get inside. Allow to have its trust and friendship and they will let you wear their skin. Summon your rat here, you must also practice with it.
Jon frowned but nodded nonetheless, a useful skill that would be useful in the near future. As he stared at one of the crows, he went for some seeds and a few bits of bacon the maester had, he approached and the crows. Going for some seeds and bacon the Maester had, eh approached and the crow turned at him as he fed the bird.
Caress his head, just at the edge of the beak. Good, now feed it and repeat.
Doing as he was ordered, he continued.
Now stare at the creature's eyes, you feel a tug, right? An urge? Repress it as much as you can and just stare to its eyes.
The task was harder than he would've thought, for Jon as he glanced into the creature's eyes he turned away and a light chuckle caused him to turn to Brynden who gestured to the bird. As he caressed it the bird attempted to eat his right hand's index finger with its beak.
"You're a gorger, eh?" He lightly chuckled out of the entire experience almost as if it were a fever dream.
You did well, you've named the crow now it allowed a bridge to form. Visit it daily and practice bonding and tugging with your mind with it.
With a nod, before the figure could disappear, he had one last question in regards to a topic that he had evaded for so long, yet. If the man hailed from House Targaryen, he wanted to know. He took his time to return to the Heart Tree one last time, and in there just as he was about to go.
-..-
King's Landing
The Red Keep was rushing, there was an influx of heavy activity. Today was a blessed day for the realm, for as Queen Cersei Lannister was just about to give birth and everyone was blissful, all except one. While Cersei Lannister cried out and screamed in the birthing bed, Robert Baratheon was in the Kitchens with many of the members of his court all while he laugh, drank and fondled a whore from Littlefinger's Brothel. All while a minstrel played a song and the dinner went on. Never had he desired to disappear from the world as he did now, Ser Barristan Selmy could only stare at the King, the King he has knelt to dishonor and sully himself in such a way. Eating like a pig, with a woman draped to his fat form all while his wife was on the birthing bed on another wing of the castle and nobody cared just as the King. Just another day where he feasted, drank himself to death and took the realm to hell with himself.
'If only I hadn't failed him.' Barristan thought with regret as he could still remember vividly that day, when he saw Robert Baratheon's hammer slam the chest'plate of Rhaegar killing him in a single blow and scattering the rubies of his armor on the river. Nothing was left of him, except the body. Now, the Capital was ruled by the Lannisters since their presence was heavy, Robert's men were minimal and his small council was corrupt and incompetent. Even after Eddard Stark literally took away their problem by taking most of the poorest smallfolk away from Flea Bottom, there was still marks of poverty, the city still had the same smell, the realm was still millions in debt and the King, obliviously drank.
'All I wanted was to serve a King worthy of my service and my blade's protection.' The Kingsguard Knight lamented in silent sadness, as a Maester Arrived.
"Your grace." The feast was stopped and Robbert growled.
"Out with it." He growled out loud in his gruff tone.
"The Queen has birthed another child, a boy."
This time Robert got up and ordered the Maester to lead the way. Robert Baratheon once more in the delivery bed, Cersei cuddled with her recently bared child.
"It's a boy your Grace." The Maester replied.
"The drinks are on me Maester. One for everyone! There is a new price today!" Robert cried out loud in a cheery mood, now with even more motives to stay even more drunk.
"What will be his name, your grace?" The nursemaid asked to the Queen who smiled she coddled her baby's name
"Tommen, Tommen Baratheon."
