A/N: Went back to fix a few errors I made, the most egregious being the instances my narrative consciousness thought so little of Joffrey that I never checked to see if his name was spelled properly. Also remembered that Davos didn't get the Rainwood until *after* the Battle of the Blackwater. That aside, I think I got everything, though do correct me if I'm mistaken on that count.

Chapter Seven: Jon III

Maester Mercer had just finished up the lessons for the day, and his gaggle of students hastily gathered themselves to leave the room.

Some of the students had come and gone, some because their education had moved beyond the confines of the schoolroom. Others had simply lost interest or otherwise had no further ambitions that required such instruction.

Today, the room had Lancel and Tyrek Lannister, Willam Rykker, Lord Arryn's squire, Hugh. Some of the steward's favored assistants, some young men-at-arms, and a cook rounded out the group. Those who saw to the supply and function of the Red Keep or were otherwise in line for key positions in the castle, or destined for other holdfasts in the future.

Having just finished another lesson in sums and logistics, Mercer dismissed the classroom. While the rest of his pupils vacated the room with haste, Jon lingered at Mercer's signaled request.

"You said your brother has a fascination with military history, correct?" Mercer inquired.

"Yes," Jon answered, "though he's far less given to book learning than I am."

"Here," said Mercer, handing Jon a large book and a small chest. Jon took both items and raised an eyebrow when he heard rattling inside.

"Mind the dice," Mercer cautioned. "He may still find and interest all the same. It's the core principles on a game I've been working on codifying. If he is as keen on tactics and strategy as you say, it may prove an adequate progression from cyvasse for his tastes."

Breeze leaned into the room, knocking on the door frame, catching both of their attention.

"Finished with lessons for today?" asked Breeze.

"Of course, Ser Qarlton," Mercer replied. "I'm just finishing up some business before you and Jon departed.

"Ser Barristan only had light training for the morning," Jon followed. "So we can leave as soon as our things are gathered."

"If the Maester has released you from the classroom, then I suppose we best be on our way."

"Do send your brother my regards with that gift," Mercer added in parting.

Jon quickly gathered himself up to leave, Breeze's long strides easily keeping up as he hurried without appearing hurried.

For night unto seven years, he had been the Lord Commander's squire. He had managed a few visits to Winterfell over the years, but those were few and far in between. He had been overdue for another trip home, and had been granted leave for travel, and Breeze had offered to accompany him.

"Did you visit the ravenry?" Jon asked.

"Indeed, I did." He held a stack of letters. "Letters from Winterfell for you. Thought it might occupy your time on the voyage north."

Jon perked up collecting the letters and rushing off. He had maintained a faithful correspondence with his siblings back in Winterfell. It had come in drips and drabs, but Jon understood it as a matter of him being a resource of knowledge for them to make use of.

"You can try writing your responses once we've set sail." Breeze stopped at the doorway, a wry hint of amusement twisting his lips. "Ah. I see your friend has returned."

Jon stepped into the squire's quarters and found the black cat sitting on some of his luggage. Namely his guitar case.

The creature had been severely mangled at some point, but a mixture of luck and tenacity had seen it through what should have been fatal wounds and any infections that might have been liable to occur. Evidently, it had been found around the Red Keep since shortly after the Rebellion, and had proven a menace and refusing all attempts to contain or tame the beast.

Which was all the more surprising when the ragged tom had taken a liking to him. After some experimentation, he had taken to calling Balerion, and the cat surprised everyone again by seemingly acknowledging a name.

Balerion chose to linger in insolent defiance before hopping down to the floor and winding around his legs, leading to Breeze shaking his head, incredulous as Jon gathered the last of his things for the journey. As Breeze's own servants had already carried much of it what he had planned to take with him, another trip or an extra set of hands would not be required.

Their descent to the docks was met by familiar and friendly faces.

"Princess Myrcella, Ser Barristan, Hammond," Jon greeted in turn. "Have you come to see us off?"

"Of course," said Myrcella.

Jon looked to Myrcella. "Does your Septa know you've run off again, Princess?" he asked.

"If you must know, I directly requested to be released from my obligations for the afternoon."

Ser Barristan cleared his throat. "It seemed appropriate that someone watch her as she was about the castle. When she said she wished to see you before you departed, we made all haste."

"I also must ask a favor of you while you are out of the capitol, Jon."

Jon bowed exaggeratedly, eliciting a giggle from Myrcella. "I am at your disposal, Princess."

"I have something for your to give your father when you see him again." She pulled out a letter, holding it out for him. "I was going to send it by raven, but since you are visiting him directly, I may as well spare the ravens the trouble."

Jon gingerly took up the letter and stored it with the others in a leather pouch. "I will see that he received it directly after my arrival."

"Thank you, Jon. I am in your debt." She paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Will you be returned to the capitol before the next tourney?"

"I had made no particular plans, Princess, though if you wish my presence, I shall endeavor to return to the capitol with all haste."

"Don't abandon your own family too soon, Jon." She smiled, meeting both of their eyes. "May you both have safe travels. I look forward to your return."

[TSS]

The mountains of the Vale were just visible on the horizon, backlit by the failing light of day. Jon sat in the captain's quarter with the letters, his guitar in hand.

A Westerner had brought it along when they were placed in Red Keep. During a night of revelries after one of the King's feasts, the instrument had been passed around the circle of squires, guards, and servants, until it had wound up thrust into Jon's hands. Compared to many of their companions, Jon had managed to play something that didn't grate against the ear.

He had a natural talent for it, it seemed, and Ser Barristan had gotten him one of his own on his next nameday. After so little interest in most musical pursuits, Jon had relented and asked around for lessons and advice, even singing on request from some of the servants.

Robb had asked about his lessons, comparing their progress in academics and in the yard, and was clearly looking forward to a rematch in the future. Sansa would ask after the latest fashions and stories, and Jon's artistic skills were put to the test. He doubted many of them would be prudent or practical in the North, but she cherished them nonetheless. Arya and Bran both asked after knights, tourneys, and what it was like looking on as a squire. Again, Jon's artistic skills came to fore, and he included water colors alongside blow by blow accounts where he could.

Idly strumming along, he looked up as Breeze finished speaking with some of the men-at-arms. He was followed by his squires. Cayde had been assigned to his older brother, as had Crispan Thorne, formerly known as Crispan Waters. Both of the boys were dutiful and self-contained, even for their respective ages.

Breeze looked over Jon's shoulder. "Arya's comprehension of Valyrian is improving. As is her penmanship."

"Maester Luwin appreciates having someone to practice with," Jon agreed. "And Arya does enjoy having her work praised."

Little as Arya could stand being confined for long hours lessons could entail, she had a sharp mind, and if she had an interest in the subject, she would devote her attention and energies to it completely until she could master it. Learning High Valyrian was hardly something she would pay mind to. On the other hand, a greater tie to her favorite, albeit absent brother was all the encouragement she had needed.

Mercer and Breeze were both fluent, the latter having been taught Valyrian before he was taught any other language, which helped Jon continue his lessons with Luwin until he had a command of it, written and spoken. From there, Arya's own skills had blossomed, more so when Mercer had suggested practicing her handwriting in the same stroke.

"Why are you still here, Breeze?" Jon asked. "You were knighted nearly a year ago."

"As was Loras," Breeze retorted, "but no one questions his continued presence in the capital."

Or his close ties to Lord Renly, which went unsaid. Jon and Breeze had spoken of it only briefly, but both had agreed that the duo's "friendship" went far deeper than societal mores would permit.

"As for my purpose, I confess that I am a spy, of course. I am trusting you will keep your silence on the matter."

Jon's lip quirked into a ghost of a smirk. "Of course." Here on one of House Bar Emmon's ships out at sea, it was easier to let one's guard down and jape without fear of what the rumormongers would do with each and every word.

Breeze looked over his shoulder and winked at his little brother. "My uncle still wants me at court to keep him informed of happenings in the capitol and otherwise represent our House's interests before the Crown. Your own father will likely ask the same of you once you've reach your majority, if it's feasible in the future. That is if the Princess doesn't secure your services before then."

"Hm?"

"Since the Hound was made Prince Joffrey's sworn shield, it stands to reason that the Princess might get one of her own, as would Prince Tommen. The Princess seems rather fond of you, as is the King. And that is if Ser Barristan doesn't get his way first and sees you named to the Kingsguard."

Jon smiled, wryly. "As if anyone would respect a bastard guarding a princess. Besides, I think the would prefer a seasoned warrior."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"I am sure none of them had to contend with Queen Cersei."

"It matters little if the King selects you either as a Kingsguard or names you as a Sworn Shield." Breeze snagged a bottle of wine and sipped from it directly. "You're a devil with the blade, Jon. Given time, you might give your uncle decent competition in reputation. Who knows? Maybe the Daynes will make you the next Sword of the Morning. Wouldn't that be an impressive accolade to your name?"

"Impressive as it is unlikely."

"Unlikely as the fourth son of a fourth son becoming King?"

Jon conceded the point with a nod, then went back to his letters.

[TSS]

Jon relished the crisp, northern air. Years of absence and the general feeling of being unwelcome in Winterfell, the North still evoked fond memories. Their arrival in White Harbor saw them pick up some horses and additional cloaks and coats on account of the weather.

Breeze was bundled up, looking positively miserable, stoic as he tried to appear.

"It's mild for this time of year," Jon noted.

"Truly?" Breeze scoffed. "I dread to think of what it's like in dead of winter."

"Just be thankful we didn't pass through Moat Cailin. The midges are unbearable in this sort of weather."

"I will have to take your word for it and take every precaution to avoid traveling up the Kingsroad."

Crossing beyond the last hill,, Jon smiled as the ancestral home of House Stark came into view. Their path took them through Winter Town, still half empty until the white ravens were sent out. Still, it was abuzz with activity beyond what was normal for the summer. More built up than even Jon's last visit.

Their ride concluded in Winterfell's courtyard. Father was waiting, as were most of his brothers and sisters. Jon dismounted, striding up to his father, who pulled him into a hug. There was not nearly as much of a difference in their height as it was the last time they had seen one another.

"You're growing quickly, son," said Father. "Welcome home."

"It is good to be home, Father. This is Ser Qarlton Bar Emmon, also called Breeze. He's a friend of mine from King's Landing. Breeze, this is my father, Lord Eddard Stark, and down the line, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Brandon, and Rickon."

"My thanks for looking after Jon," said Father.

"It was a mere trifle, Lord Stark."

"Why do you look like a Targaryen?" asked Arya.

Before anyone could hush or chastise Arya for blurting out the question, Breeze smiled, and answered, "Because my grandfather was one. My mother wasn't a princess, though. Neither was my aunt, and none of my uncles were princes. I could chart out the entire family tree from memory, but I think your brother has some gifts he means to give you."

Breeze proceeded to side-step the rush of Starks mobbing Jon, who merely shot his friend a dry look before addressing his siblings.

For Robb, he passed the parcel he had gotten from Mercer. Sansa got a book on some of the latest fashions circulating the court, complete with sketches and a bundle of cloth to practice and experiment with. Arya received a dagger and a set of throwing knives he had commissioned, lessons with which would be had when they had some time to themselves. For Bran, one of his old wooden training swords had been refurbished, something he had been assured by separately Father, Robb, and Arya that he had wanted, though Jon had given him a fresh one as well. And Rickon, he had gotten a set of toy knights.

Walking into the main hall, Robb pulled him into a hug.

"So, Jon," said Robb, "how have you fared as a squire?"

"He's one of the best fighters in the training yard," said Breeze. "I wouldn't be surprised if Ser Barristan knights him within the year."

"Really?"

"A jape, Robb," Jon interjected. "Though if you have doubts, we can test it tomorrow, weather permitting."

"Looking forward to it."

The party broke up to freshen up for dinner, but Jon remained by his father's side. "Father, when you have a moment, can we meet in your solar?"

"Of course. Best to deal with it while it's fresh on your mind."

The steps were familiar, and fairly soothing. He only hoped they remained so, as the door closed behind them. Jon extracted the princess' letter and handed to his father. Lord Stark quickly opened it and read through it.

"This is the Princess' hand."

"She handed it directly to me before I left. Said it would spare the ravens."

Having spent many years in King's Landing, Jon had learned that few words were uttered without half the castle hearing of it before sundown. Secrets were readily traded – for gold, for favors, or for more secrets – and thus the need to keep them all the higher. That Princess Myrcella had cut as few steps between her and Jon's father was a discreet implication that the contents of the letter might prove damaging if any others laid eyes on it.

"Did the Princess say anything else to you?" Father asked.

"No, Father."

"I see. Are you aware of what she has said?"

"No, though I can suspect some of the topics she might deem this important." It was a bitter realization how much he had been made to change to keep afloat in the Red Keep. It meant keeping his eyes and ears open for anything and everything. It meant keeping careful watch of his words, even in supposed privacy. King's Landing was a cesspool that would suck you into the murk without a moment's hesitation if you let it, and far too many had let themselves fall to its clutches.

That Myrcella had taken it upon herself to directly, or as near as, tell the Lord Paramount of the North implied some greater concerns that went beyond the frivolous spending and general corruption that soaked into stonework of the Red Keep.

Jon's father rubbed a hand against his chin. "This is…troubling. Thank you for bringing this to me."

"Of course, Father."

The letter was folded up and set aside. "Do you have any plans?"

Jon considered his answer. "I had no particular plans, save for spending time with family. Though we will have to be back before the next turn of the moon."

His father nodded, "just make sure Arya gets some proper supervision when practicing with those knives."

[TSS]

Rain, unfortunately, would postpone any hopes of time in the yard. That did not mean Jon and his siblings sat idly. They had found a mostly empty storeroom in the castle, spacious enough for them to maybe walk through some drills without crowding or running the risk of bumping into each other, and open enough not to risk overheating with so many gathered inside.

Jon, Robb, and Theon finished pulling in some of the targets they would use, bringing the last of it all in the middle of dancing lessons that Breeze had coaxed Arya into alongside his squires. Bran, eager to acquaint himself with another knight, had thrown himself into the thick of things, and Sansa and Jeyne had even deigned to attend, even assisting with the lesson.

"Dancing is much like fighting," Breeze explained, walking Arya through some simple steps. "Or dueling, at the very least. It requires reading you partner's posture to anticipate their movements, an awareness of your surroundings, and above all, balance and footwork."

Once they were set up, they turned their attention to the assorted weapons laid out, and Arya's hands went to the bow, first. As Theon's experience with a bow was superior, he took over for the next lesson, and the conversation turned to other matters.

"Can I be your squire?" Arya asked between shots.

"Do you really wish to be cleaning armor for hours on end?" Jon asked back.

"Don't encourage her, Jon," Sansa retorted.

"I have yet to see a woman ride in the joust, though I've seen some foreign women take part in the melee. It might be preferable to try your hand in a Dornish tourney before King's Landing. Your talents would find a more receptive audience. For now, focus on the bow."

"But it isn't proper for a lady," Sansa protested.

"It's perfectly valid ladylike pursuit," Breeze reasoned. Theon made a funny face at the comment, which was ignored. "My sister took up archery. And Lady Margaery Tyrell and some of her ladies-in-waiting practice archery, and none of them less than an exemplar of Ladies. Even Princess Myrcella has taken it up recently."

Jon's mouth twisted slightly at the memory of Myrcella's first lessons with a bow, and the Queen's disapproving frown when she learned of the arrangement the King had made without consulting her.

"Never let it be said to be easy," said Jon, intervening before Theon could protest the commentary on archers. "It requires significant arm and back strength, so it may be years yet before we see you at the butts."

"Have you gotten to participate in any tourneys, Jon?" asked Bran.

"Only when attending Ser Barristan," he replied. "I've yet to participate in any event beyond that."

"There's a tourney to be held in King's Landing shortly after our return," said Breeze. "Extravagant purses for the joust, the melee, and the archery tournament. I'll bet that half the knights of the realm will be there, and any number of sellswords seeking the prizes."

"Will you be participating?"

"In the melee, perhaps. Though that largely depends on Ser Barristan, and I will certainly be helping him during the joust. No flower crowns of roses to place upon the head of a fair maiden," he added, and winked towards Jeyne, eliciting a blush from her and a giggle from Sansa. "Now focus. Theon is your teacher here, so do him the courtesy of paying attention to the lesson."

"Perhaps we should convince father to let her foster on Bear Island," said Robb.

Arya's next shot went slightly wide.

"Mayhaps," Jon considered, inclining his head. "We may have to bring it up together."

[TSS]

The weather soon cleared, and the family had taken time to visit the traps they had set some days earlier. Father and Robb had been teaching Arya and Bran, and the younger Starks were eager to see what they could show off to Jon.

Accompanied by a small contingent of guards, the Starks rode out into the Wolfswoods. Breeze took it all in with an air of bewilderment while riding alongside Jon.

"Never trapped before, Breeze?" Jon asked.

The young knight shook his head. "Fishing is more common a pastime at Sharp Point, seeing how little of the land permits much to roam."

The group somewhat splintered, staying within eyesight or simply shouting distance when the trees became thick. Arya had managed to snag a fox, though most of her other traps had failed to catch anything else. Bran, on the other hand, had managed to collect two fat hares.

"Do you think I could buy a sword if I traded it in Wintertown?" asked Arya.

"Not by itself. You might need a few more, and that wouldn't be that much of a sword, either."

Arya's face fell, and Jon tussled her hair with a small smile. "We'll see about the sword later. First you need to know how to use one."

"I know how to use a sword," she protested.

"Is that so? What's the first lesson, then?"

"Stick them with the pointy end."

"True. But that is only the first-"

The rest of the words stopped cold with a sudden thump. Jon turned and saw an arrow had struck a guard's chest, forcing the breath from his chest as he pulled back, struggling to get a word out. Luckily, Theon figured out the message.

"Wildlings!" the Greyjoy called out, drawing his bow and letting the arrow loose as the first warriors broke through the underbrush.

Pandemonium broke out as a dozen or so Wildlings charged at them. Robb had Bran by his side, tucking him in the circle of men-at-arms before venturing back out, guarding Theon's back as he picked off the archers lurking at range, concealed in the tree branches.

"Go!" Jon shouted, pushing Arya towards the center of the guards and drawing his sword as the first Wildling charged him. A crooked bronze sword, curved either by design or just overuse, Jon parried the man and slipped his blade in the gap in the man's furs and meager leather armor, then searched the battlefield for more threats.

Breeze was a whirlwind of steel with the two shortswords he had brought, clipping through each of the Wildlings' clubs and slitting them through their armor while fending each in turn, forcing them to come at him separately.

Eager to regroup, Jon hacked through another of the warriors coming at the encirclement of guards, preparing to join the defense when one stepped between him and his goal.

A towering bulk of muscle, this one carried a broadsword of solid, quality steel, seeing how it held up against Jon's initial slash. He was surprisingly skilled, though that wasn't enough to hold Jon off alone. That's then two more Wildlings joined the fray.

An arrow flew past Jon's shoulder, striking one, which Jon then rushed, slashing his throat and wheeling around when the other two caught up with him..

Jon went to circling around to keep them from flanking him, though that also meant he was out of Theon's line of sight, and thus out of the archer's help.

The other Wildling proved overeager, and Jon exploited the man's enthusiasm by shunting his strike into the bigger one's path, then jabbing him between the shoulder blades before backing away. Checking the blow, catching the followup, Jon dragged it into his guard and flung the weapon wide. He kept his grip, though only until Jon drove his elbow into the man's throat, taking his head off in he backswing while he was stunned.

The rest began to flee, barely racing ahead of Lord Stark's portion of the party. The few survivors still standing their ground went down in a hurry.

A tense quiet fell on the woods, and when no more assailants emerged, Jon regrouped with the others.

"Where had they come from?" asked Breeze.

"Beyond the Wall, likely," said Theon. "I counted around fifty of them. Maybe fifteen of them fled."

"That steel is too good to have come from their forges," Robb noted, pointed to his fallen foe's blade. "They must have hit a smaller keep along the way."

Father stood over the corpse indicated. "This looks to have come from Karhold. I'll send a raven to see if any of his men have gone missing recently."

The guard's encirclement loosened, and Jon immediately went to Arya and Bran. Both of them were staring pensively at one of the bodies staring lifelessly into the cloudy skies. Bran broke first, vomiting into a tree trunk.

"Arya?" Jon ventured, reaching out. She jerked slightly when he rested a hand on her shoulder, and he asked, "are you hurt?"

She jerkily shook her head, then allowed herself to be pulled into his side, and away from the bodies. Gently sitting her down on an old stump, Jon squatted down to look her in the eye, following her gaze as it drifted back to the aftermath of the battle.

"This is the natural result of sticking someone with the pointy end, Arya," he explained, gently as he could. "Until you find a good reason for doing that to someone else, you shouldn't hold a sword. Do you understand that now?"

Arya nodded slowly.

"It will get better." Better, but never easier. "You will get better. Now let's see you to Father. He will want to look you over himself."

Once Arya was passed to their father, Jon went a short distance away and let himself finally collapse a little, dry-heaving. When he finally stopped, he leaned against the tree, and bowed his head.

A pair of boots stopped just in front of him, and he looked up to see Breeze cleaning off his swords before stowing them away.

"That was your first real battle," he observed. "I should stress to you not let yourself be separated from the main party like that in a fight." Breeze finally sighed, resting a hand on his hip. "But I saw how you fared in the fight in spite of that. You did well for yourself, Jon. I'll have to tell Ser Barristan of your performance. Perhaps he'll knight you upon our return."

"I'd rather you didn't. I'm not ready for spurs just yet."

"Fate is seldom patient enough to wait until we're ready."

Breeze held out a hand, and Jon let himself be hauled back up, joining everyone in returning to Witnerfell.

A/N: I hate feeling like I'm putting too much attention on Breeze and his family, but Arya would definitely ask that question out of the blue, and I had to come up with an answer for that. Luckily, I have an outline of the family's history for quick reference, kept that flow of information at a drip. If it still seems too much, take solace in the irony of Jon hearing about his extended family without realizing it.

Jon has been learning a number of things during his stay in King's Landing. His martial talents aside, he's having to put a bit more thought into the political situation developing in the capital, which should come in handy in the future. I also wanted to give Jon some additional connection to his birth father, but while also shooting for something a little fitting for Lyanna's aesthetic sensibilities. Hence the entry of the guitar. You can thank Bequeathed from Pale Estates for introducing that idea to me, including its Westerlands origins.

Aside from that, I wanted some downtime for Jon, and getting him to let his guard down around his siblings (even the honorary ones like Theon and Breeze), but when I couldn't find a good chapter resolution, I threw in the combat encounter, and that finally untangled the mess I had been working with. Mostly. For all that it stalled the production of this chapter, I'm still not happy with the final product, but that's nothing new. Still, I'm satisfied enough to post it and get it off of my hard drive.

I could probably say more, but I think that's a bit much for this round of authorial notes. As per usual, I leave the results to judgment.Questions? Comments? Concerns? Theories? Let me know in a PM or review. Constructive criticism is always appreciated (especially for this chapter).

Until next time!

Winterman, out.