Jon IV
Though he wished the man would stay longer, Tyrion Lannister only stayed for two nights at Winterfell. During that time, Jon had pulled from the shelves the ancient book written by the maester of Lord Cregan Stark, who wrote in detail of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's visit to Winterfell on his dragon, Vermax. Now knowing Tyrion's love of dragons, Jon thought he would enjoy the read, as the maester gave a detailed description of Vermax, and so lent the book to Tyrion. The man had been engrossed in the book and read the entire thing in the two days before deciding to continue his journey south, back to the lands of his father., as soon as he finished reading the last page.
"Are you sure you can't stay another few days?" Jon asked, as Tyrion's men packed their satchels with the food the Starks were providing for them.
Robb and Lady Catelyn had already bid Tyrion goodbye, and the servants who had brought them food for their journey had done so under Robb's orders. That left Jon as the sole member of House Stark to see them out of Winterfell.
"I've been away from the brothels of the Westerlands for too long," Tyrion responded with a grin and a shake of his head. "The ones in Lannisport will go out of business if I don't return soon." Tyrion must have noticed the disappointed look on Jon's face. "You know you can always join me. I can use a man of your intelligence and skill at my side."
Jon laughed. "You mean someone to get you out of the trouble your mouth gets you into it."
"Well I thought that was self explanatory."
They shook hands, the Stark Bastard and the Lannister Imp, an unlikely friendship.
"Should you ever find yourself in the Westerlands, Jon Snow, stop by Castlery Rock. I'd love to show you our sewer systems; some of the cleanest in the world, I assure you."
"How could I say no to that?"
Tyrion grinned at him before turning his horse and leading it through the Kingsroad Gate. His small escort followed behind him.
Jon sighed as the man departed. It was nice having someone around who could relate to him, being the outsider of a noble family for reasons outside of one's control. Tyrion had given him a lot of advice on how to handle the situation, at least internally.
Ghost was in the godswood with the other direwolves. Robb was with Wynafryd and Jonos as they worked on Robb's new project, repairing the First Keep. He had no idea where Theon had gotten off to, not that he particularly cared for the Greyjoy heir's company. Ser Rodrik was working in the yard with the new recruits, like he did every afternoon, but Jon didn't feel like working on his swordplay right now. Instead he wandered his way through the castle to the room where the younger ladies like Arya had their lessons in lady-like activities with Septa Mordane. He knocked on the door before pushing it open and sticking his head in.
"Sorry for interrupting my lady, but Robb needs to see Arya."
Septa Mordane frowned at him. She disliked him almost as much as Lady Catelyn did. He guessed him being a bastard was an affront to her religion, or something of the sort.
"Arya, you may go."
Arya didn't need anymore convincing. She dropped her needlework on the ground and all but ran to the door. Jon pushed it open for her, and as soon as she zipped by him, he closed it behind her.
He turned to look at his sister who was bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"What does Robb want?"
"Nothing," Jon answered, quietly so as to not be overheard by those on the other side of the door.
"But you said -"
"I lied. Do you want to go back to your lesson?"
"No!"
"Come on, I have something to give you."
Arya was silent as she followed him. Knowing her like he did, he was sure she had tons of questions she wanted to ask but she kept them to herself for now. He led them down a walkway that lined the courtyard, into the Great Keep, though a few corridors, and to his room, where he closed the door behind them.
"Why did you lie? What do you want to show me? Does Robb know you are doing this? Does mother -"
Jon held up his hand to stop any more questions from coming. He reached underneath his bed and pulled out the sword Mikken had made for him, which was still wrapped in cloth, and held it out for her. Her face was screwed up in confusion but she took it and pulled off the cloth. She looked at the sheathed sword in wonder.
"Is this for me?" she asked, looking at him.
Jon nodded his head, a pleased smile on his face. Arya carefully took hold of the hilt and pulled the blade from its sheath. She examined the sword from every angle. it was exceptionally made, not that Jon believed Mikken would make anything less.
"It's so skinny."
"So are you. I had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won't hack a man's head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you're fast enough."
She gave it a few experimental swings. Jon adjusted her grip, showing her the proper way to hold it. She didn't fight against his adjustments, and easily adapted to what he was trying to show her. She was already taking to sword training better than Samwell Tarly ever did.
"I've written to father, and Rob is working on your mother. We're hoping they'll let you train with it."
Arya looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes. "Do you really think they will?"
Jon shrugged his shoulders. "If they do, one of the terms will be that you attend your other lessons without skipping them and without complaining about them."
Arya's hopeful look turned into a scowl. "Can't I at least skip the ones with Septa Mordane? Why do I need to know any of the things she teaches?"
"After battles there are a lot of wounded men. If anyone is cut open from a blade, to help heal the wound you need to sew the skin back together. Needlework might seem useless to you, but ask Maester Luwin and he will tell you how important it is for him to know it."
She didn't look like she entirely believed his answer. "And what about all the stupid songs?"
"Music has a lot of purposes. For instance, on campaign the men will sing to keep up morale. And I'm sure you've seen at all the feasts that people like to sing along and dance to songs because it lifts their spirits and puts them in a good mood. Any good commander knows to keep the morale of his troops up."
"You don't know these things!"
"I don't know how to sew," Jon conceded, "but I do know the words to a lot of songs. Besides, it does not matter. If you want to receive proper training with this sword, like Jorelle has been receiving, then you must stick with your other lessons, all of them, just like she does. Otherwise, I'll take it back."
She pulled the sword close to her in a possessive way and shook her head. "I'll go to my lessons, I promise."
"Good, then here's your first lesson in sword fighting. Stick 'em with the pointy end."
Arya rolled her eyes. "I know that!"
She continued to swing it around, and Jon took a careful step backwards to put a bit more distance between them. Last thing he needed was to get accidentally skewered by an overeager ten year old. There would be no explaining that away.
"You know, all the great swords have names, like Ice."
"What should I name it?" she asked, stopping her swings to think of a name.
"I thought after your most favorite thing in the world."
Her eyes scrunched in confusion before she saw the look on his face.
"Needle," they both said together.
She sheathed the sword and wrapped it back in the cloth. Once done, she jumped onto Jon to hug him, squeezing him tight.
"Thank you so much!"
"Don't thank me just yet," Jon said as he was released from the hug. "Let's hope father is agreeable to training. If he isn't, then you'll have to train in secret and make sure no one besides Robb and I see you."
She nodded her head, showing that she would take it seriously, or at least as seriously as she had ever taken anything. Jon opened his door to see that Ghost and Nymeria both sat there in the corridor, as if acting as guards. The more time he spent around the direwolves, the more he was agreeable to Robb's theory that they were sent by the old gods.
As he ate dinner the next day, Jon found himself lost in thought. They were approaching Robb's nameday, which meant they were approaching Jon's as well; not that Jon's was celebrated with the fanfare Robb's was. In another year or two, a decision would need to be made in regards to Jon's future.
Would he go through with his wish to join the Night's Watch? That was a difficult question to answer. His father had wanted him to see what the Night's Watch was like before committing to it, and what he had seen had put a huge damper on his original dream of joining. Castle Black was falling apart, the organization was undersized, and most of those who were in it were criminals, many of them rapists and murderers. Few men of honor joined the Watch anymore.
Or maybe he could take Lord Tyrion up on his offer and travel the south of Westeros at the Lannister's side? If he acted as a companion and bodyguard to the man he would likely never want of money, given how rich the Lannisters were. He'd also see places of Westeros he had only ever heard of by name, like Casterly Rock and King's Landing. Plus he doubted protecting Tyrion from those who took offense to the man's biting sarcasm came with the same danger of being a Ranger of the Night's Watch, so it would be a safer route.
There was also a third option he had never really considered. He remembered hearing his father talk about wanting to resettle some of the abandoned keeps throughout the north. Perhaps, if he wanted, Jon would be married to the second daughter of some minor house and given a keep of his own to call home. Out of the keeps he knew that sat empty, if he had his choice, he'd probably choose the White Tower, that sat along the western bank of the White Knife, several days north of White Harbor. The land around it was fertile, there was already a small population of common folk who lived in the area, and Lord Manderly was a more appealing liege lord than some of the others out there. Yet having a place to call his own, no matter where it was, would be a great honor.
There was of course Moat Cailin which, he had heard his father mention on several occasions, had been rebuilt and would likely have many more buildings and towers going up over the next few decades. Jon knew that with Robb being the future Lord of Winterfell, one of Robb's brothers was to be given lordship over Moat Cailin, to guard entry into the north and start a new cadet branch of House Stark. Jon also knew that brother was not going to be him.
Lady Catelyn feared Jon would try to usurp his brother's claim and start a Dance of the Dragons in the North; a War of the Wolves. That was ridiculous. Jon loved all of his siblings, even Sansa who kept him at arm's length because of her mother. He would never do anything to betray Robb or any of the others. Yet that fear of Lady Catelyn's, the one that had tormented Jon all his life, would ensure Moat Cailin would never be his because of the power the Lord of Moat Cailin had.
That fear also meant that no matter what path he ended up walking down, the common theme was the same; regardless of what he chose to do with the rest of his life, it would not take place at Winterfell. Especially if his father was to be away in the south at King's Landing. His future was something he had often thought about, but now he found it quickly approaching. Soon it wouldn't be daydreaming of some distant day, it would very much be the present.
He was brought from his thoughts by the arrival of Lady Catelyn, who had been noticeably absent for the start of the meal. She approached Robb at the table with a letter clutched in her hand.
"I have received word from Riverrun. My father, your grandfather, is sick and isn't doing well."
"That is grave news," Robb said with a frown.
Jon wondered if Robb remembered meeting Lord Hoster Tully. Jon never had, but he remembered being forced to eat with the servants in the kitchen for a few weeks as a small child because Lord Tully was visiting Winterfell. Instead of lessons with Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik, he had spent his time with Hullen out in the stables or being taken on a ride through the hills and woods that surrounded the castle without any of his other siblings or father joining. They had been maybe six or seven at the time, as it was shortly after Arya had been born but before Lady Catelyn had found out she was pregnant with Bran.
"Your Uncle Edmure isn't sure how much time he has left. I must go to him in his final moments."
"Of course."
"I will leave for Riverrun tomorrow, and I will be taking Arya and Rickon with me."
Jon looked at Arya, who must have been hearing this for the first time as well, and had an outraged look on her face. No doubt she was thinking how hard it would be to train with her new sword when she would spend a few weeks traveling with her mother, then being at Riverrun, a castle totally unknown to her, and then traveling back to Winterfell. It would likely be a couple of months before she would be able to train with it without getting caught. Jon knew she didn't have that kind of self control or patience.
While Jon had spent so much time thinking of his future, it looked like Robb was going to get a brief taste of his own future, the one where he was the Lord of Winterfell, his wife was the Lady of Winterfell, and neither his parents nor his natural born siblings would be there for comfort or support.
Outside of the day to day running of the North, Jon only knew of one thing of importance coming up that Robb would have to handle without his mother being around offering advice; the completion of the Wolfsroad. Though if she was gone long enough, three to four months, another important thing to handle would be the upcoming Harvest Feast.
It might not seem like so as children, but the Harvest Feast was one of the most politically significant events in the North. The expectation was that at least a dozen lords would be making the trip to Winterfell for the feast and a lord does not cross a hundred leagues for a lavish feast and a cup of wine. Only those who had matters they considered important would make the trip to stand before the Stark in Winterfell to discuss such matters.
The next morning Jon leaned against the frame of Arya's door and watched as she packed, or rather repacked as Septa Mordane found her folding skills abysmal. Laying on the floor also watching Arya re-pack was Nymeria.
"It would be smart to leave Needle here," he said. "It's going to be hard to slip away to train and you're just going to increase the chance of being caught with it."
Arya continued her packing and refused to look at him. Nymeria let out a soft whine. Jon sighed.
"You already packed it, didn't you?"
"It's at the bottom of my trunk."
Jon pinched the bridge of his moment for a moment in frustration. "If you get caught, at least send me a warning so I can be gone from Winterfell before your mother gets back here to kill me."
"I won't get caught," she said, sticking her chin out in defiance.
"We'll see."
He said his goodbyes to Arya and Rickon in their rooms, away from Lady Catelyn, and then watched from one of the walkways as Robb did the same in the courtyard in front of the Kingsroad gate. With the goodbyes all said the retinue left; six men rode in front, one of whom carried the Stark banner, followed by Lady Catelyn and Arya on horse. Behind them was a wagon pulled by a pair of horses that was full of supplies, Rickon, and a pair of servants. Marching behind them all were sixteen men, split into two columns of eight. Walking along the side of the group, until they got out into the open space and had more freedom to run around, were Shaggydog and Nymeria.
"Jon!"
He looked down at Robb, who stared up at him.
"Come to father's solar."
Jon nodded. There were faster ways to get to the solar from where he was but he stuck to the walkways that surrounded the courtyards. Entering the solar he found Robb, Theon, Maester Luwin, and Ser Rodrik all inside.
"Theon and Jon are going to join me from now on in these meetings," Robb said.
Maester Luwin gave both Jon and Theon a small smile, while Ser Rodrick gave a curt nod of understanding. Theon attending the meetings made some sense. He was the heir to the Iron Islands, so running a realm, even one that was so much smaller than the North, was something he would eventually be doing. Jon would be lucky to get twenty acres of land to be in charge of.
"Ser Rodrik, how goes the training of the new guard recruits? My mother has taken twenty-four men with her, so we now find ourselves with only 76 trained guards."
"Months away," Ser Rodrik murmured. "Some show promise and I might consider them worthy quicker but it will take a while before I can get them to where they need to be."
"I can help," Jon said, leaning forward. Everyone turned to look at him. "We barely have enough house guards for normal duties, so you can't pull many to help with training. I have some experience in training recruits and I've reached my end with lessons."
Here Jon looked at Maester Luwin who gave a slow nod. "You have learned much of what I can teach."
"Give me the best of them, or the worst of them, and I'll work with them from morning until supper," Jon promised.
"It's your call Ser Rodrik," Robb said after a moment of silence.
Ser Rodrick pulled on the great white whiskers that lined his face, his mouth a grim line. "Very well, Jon. Just remember that being a good swordsmen doesn't mean you are a good teacher. I will give you the seven worst recruits, all of whom are older than you."
The last part was said more as a warning, as it might be difficult getting someone who was older to listen to a fifteen year old, but Jon was confident he could do it. He might not know what he would be doing a year from now, but he knew what he would be doing over the next couple of months.
