JON

"The feast to celebrate the King's return to Winterfell was as grand an affair as Jon could ever have imagined. A hundred knights, lords, ladies, sworn swords and people from all the castle were there to celebrate the visit of King Eddard, who for once wore a smile on his face. Jon still remembered him as if it had been yesterday, when they had last taken leave some six years back. He had still been a boy, but King Eddard was ever one to see the man growing within him, already then.

They had been out at the courtyard, with Jon sitting down with a spade in hand, shoveling the dirt up from the ground, time and time again, to staple it on top. The king had looked down on him, and then sat down next to him, letting his enormous grey and white cloak be soiled by the dirt and horsemuck without a care about. Just like his father, only seeming far older and wiser, his eyes the icy cool grey of Stark, but with something different as well, a calm dignified look to his face, as if from a truly wise King, who had heard the prayers of all the land and tried his best to answer them with only an empty pair of gloved hands; tired and [ ], yet still strong as ever, and knowing beyond his years.

He had asked Jon in a joking tone how Benjen was faring as lord, and Jon had replied short and simple that he was doing fine. "Just fine?" the King had said, and laughed somewhat. "That's not very high praise." Jon had felt ashamed and stupid at first, trying to rephrase what he meant, but the king had simply nodded and said "No, no. That is good. Fine is better than most."

He had asked if he would have liked to change something about the castle if he had been Lord of Winterfell, but to that Jon had looked down in shame. He knew that he would never have become lord of anything. He was baseborn, and though his father loved him much, he doubted he would ever become a Stark in name. Neither did Lady Cersei seem particularly fond of that idea, no matter how long she had known him for.

"It's not a Lannister who decides here at Winterfell, though, is it? If so, I do belive I must stay here until autumn to deal with all manner of things", the king had said.

Something strange there in his tone of voice, some mix of laughter and sadness and longing in his voice as he watched out over the godswood and the tree tops beyond the castle walls, had told Jon that he would not speak so candidly to anyone else in the world. Not to his own son, Robb, who was every inch a proper trueborn prince of the North and South combined, not to his imposing wife Queen Catelyn, and not to any of his other children either. These were the thoughts he spared for the ears of his younger brother's bastard son, who would not tell anyone, and even if he did, noone would believe him. But the king was kind to him, almost as if to his own son, Jon had sensed.

"Do you like going horse riding with your father sometimes?" he had asked, and Jon had said that he liked it as much as his father, that he was almost considered half a horse himself, and the king had laughed again, and nodded to himself with a sad smile. "Aye", he had said, after a long pause, after a breath which was longer than any Jon had ever heard a man take, "that is certainly fine as well."

Those were the thoughts that went through his head now, and of the hard black-and-brown earth that Jon had tried digging up when his cousin Robb had told him that they were always digging sand castles down by the Sea, in the south at the Red Keep. Jon and Robb had tried digging in the hard black soil of Winterfell, in the courtyard, first with spades and then with axes, before Ser Rodrik had come up to them shouting that they were blunting the edges of his finest weapons. And at that, the king had approached, flanked by at least two royal guards at each side, kneeling down to smile at them both. That was one of Jon's fondest memories of his uncle Eddard Stark, the king.

He was glad to be a part of it all, despite all the commotion and shouting that was going on, and despite the fact that he king had not spoken to him much this time so far, only given him a short but knowing smile and acknowledgeing nod when he had first sat down. Though he was a bastard, he was given leave to sit at the place of honour at the dais. The king and his lord father would have it no other way, though he could tell that Lady Cersei and Catelyn both minded. Musicians from Barrowton played with great drums, lutes and bagpipes, jugglers all the way from King's Landing were throwing horns of ale at each other, splurting with in[ ] in their faces as one spilled at the other. Jon and Willam both laughed hard at that, and so did their father. The king however seemed more interested in the household than any of the spectacle that was going about around them. He had no doubt seen jugglers and mummers like that a thousand times before, thought Jon, but he had not seen his home in many years.

Jon supposed it was much the same, though some new people had come and gone. Hallis Mollen was still the captain of the household guard, as he had been since Vayon Poole had left for the capital last time with Jeyne. He sneagled his eyes towards her and tried a smile, but she fell down her eyes and looked the other way, towards Sansa. Is that still it? Thought Jon, more angry this time than ever before. Aye, that's it. She had become a nice southern lady now, almost a princess herself it seemed, though her father was one who had grown up mucking the stables and the pigsty at Winterfell, and now she was giggling and whispering with Princess Sansa, both of them looking like some strange birds out of the south with their hair made up in patterns like strange colourful spiderwebs wrapped in fladdering bowties and their dresses a terrifying scarlet red along with and fancy light blue and the grey of Stark, even though the ginger-haired Princess Sansa clearly looked far more a Tully than Stark. Queen Catelyn's pride knew no bounds, it seemed.

He heard what the queen was saying to Lady Cersei. She talked of the impropriety of having a bastard present at the dais. Cersei defended him, though, he was surprised to hear. His heart was lifted, in a strange moment, but just after that, the Queen said that perhaps a septon should have decided whether it was proper or not to seat a bastard among the rest.

Willam pretended not to hear the comment, or perhaps he did not in truth. Jon was not sure. He and Theon were all still speaking to Prince Robb, at any rate, all of them ignoring him. He felt a still tear slowly rising in the lining of his eye, but no. He would not cry. Not in front of everyone here. Not in front of his father and Lady Cersei, not in front of Willam and Robb and Theon, and most of all not before the King. He was fourteen, almost a man grown, and all that it meant. He could not show himself to be weak, or he would have taken away the only thing that bastards were supposed to have as a strenght over trueborn children. Well, that and that they were said to grow up faster. But Willam had begun growing past him in length too, of late, he reflected... He hoped that it was only temporary, but Lady Cersei was tall, as was her entire family except for Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf. Even the young Joffrey Hill, apparently now Lannister, seemed to threaten to rise to Jon's height in perhaps a year or two.

And Willam and Theon kept talking to Robb, as the Queen and Lady Cersei kept talking behind his back. They talked and talked, talked of girls, they did... And they laughed. He felt the tears rising.

If you have any love for me, Will, you'll stop speaking with the Prince and turn to me, Jon thought. Show me that you still see me, he thought.

He waited one moment more, one sentence more, one rough, harsh, screeching roar of laughter from stupid Theon Greyjoy's stupid ugly row of ironborn teeth gleaming in malice in the light of the dais. They had said something of the girls in King's Landing, and that Willam could come down to see them some time. No such invitation was extended to Jon. Not even a look, though he sat right next by. That was enough. It was all too much.

Jon ran out of the hall with tears streaming through his eyes, not wanting anyone to see. He didn't stop until he'd reached the courtyard, were he knew noone would be at the moment, and stood staring at the strawman/hay[ ] until his sorrow turned to hatred and rage.

He grabbed his sword from his scabbard, flashing its steel in the black of the night, and drove it right through the belly of the hayman, pretending that it was Willam, or even better Robb or Theon. Yes. He felt betrayed by Willam, he felt betrayed and disapppointed in Robb, he wanted to hate him, he almost did, but he could not quite... He was his cousin after all, still... And also his liege, to whom he held allegiance. And he was the son of Good King Eddard. Surely he must have some of his Father's kindness in him. But Theon... Aye... He could hate Theon Greyjoy with every fiber in his boiling blood and stark bones.

Suddenly, a [ ] sound came from the [ ].

"Is he dead yet?" his father's voice called out from behind him.

He turned around to see him standing there. He'd also left the feast to go after him, it seemed.

Jon had to laugh a little, though he did not want to. A heinous sound, like a sick cat drawing its last breath in a ditch somewhere. He was shocked to hear it coming out of his own throat. Is this what my suffering sounds like? He turned around.

"Father."

"Son."

"What do you want?" Jon said, sullenly. He barely looked up enough to see his father in the eyes.

"What I want?" his father said, a dangerous tone approaching in his throat and soon darkening face. "Perhaps you could tell me what you want instead, running away like that in front of the king and queen."

"He is your brother.", Jon said, numbly, throwing it out in the air simply as a statement, not knowing what else to say, but thinking it washed him clean of any immediate blame of disloyalty or other matter. He is your brother; not mine. He is your brother, he will not be wroth with you. His Father would not have it, though.

"Aye, he's my brother. A brother who hasn't been home here for nigh on six years, and when he returns to check in on how I'm holding up, you dart away from the feast at the slightest sour look from the queen?"

"I'm sorry", Jon said. He did not know what else to say.

"Look, Jon, you may not like it, but we have to bow down to her as well. Even if she is not courteous to us. I know she's not the best choice for a lady, but neither does any man think of a wife he has not chosen for himself. It is up to a man to make the best with what he has. I trust my brother, just as I trust in you. Their marriage was what saved the Seven Kingdoms from the Mad King. Without that, the Targaryens would still have sway over the land, taking whose head they wanted and burning the rest. The Tullys are our friends", he said, "just like your cousin Robb is".

"Robb does not even like me anymore", Jon said, frowning. "Noone likes me."

"Noone? Am I suddenly noone now? I wish someone would have told me, then I could have buggered off to the Wall and left the castle to Willam!"

"I meant noone from the king's party. The king is up in his own thoughts, and Queen Catelyn hates me for no reason other than that I'm a bastard. Princess Sansa won't even look my way, and neither does Jeyne. They're all waiting for me to take my leave any time. I might as well do it straight away. I want to go up north and join the Night's Watch."

His father got a very hard and stern look into his face at that.

Jon went silent, and lowered his face a bit. He knew that it was a sensitive topic, but he had had to say his intention.

"Jon... I know you do. But I told you about this. I thought about joining the Watch when I was young. I was about your age. Even older perhaps. But then I didn't. I couldn't, because once Ned decided to become king, I was to be married and become the Lord of Winterfell. And now that I look back... I'm glad that I did not join", he said, though Jon was not entirely sure if he was saying that to convince Jon or trying to convice himself. "Those vows are forever, Jon. You would swear to take no wife, and to father no children..."

"I don't care about any of that", said Jon.

"You might. If you knew what it meant.", his Father said.

"There's honour in serving in the Night's Watch. You've said so yourself."

"Aye, I have. But there is also honour in serving as the eyes and ears to your brother, here at the castle. Or taking yourself a small keep and a wife in the Gift. There you could find honour without having to forswear your own line."

"Who cares about my line? I'm just a bastard."

His father became even more serious then. He grabbed Jon hard by the scruff of his [shirt/collar/tunic/[ ]], pulling him in towards him.

"I do. You are my blood", he said. "More so than anyone. You will always have a place here, so long as I live, and so long as Willam lives, and Tommen, and even after that. You are a Stark of Winterfell, regardless of whether your mother and I were married or no."

"Then why... Why didn't you marry her?"

His Father thought about what to say for a while, looking off into the distance somewhere with the look of a ghost in his eyes..., and then he answered, his tone deep and innerly with devotion and sorrows long gone but still just there at the mention of her ghost.

"I loved your mother more than anything in this world, and yet I could not marry her. It was not... It would not have been right. It was not allowed. We had a different type of bond. Our love was something else. It had to be."

Jon said nothing, looking down with contemplating eyes at the dark soil beneath his father's and his own boots on the ground. His father began again.

"Listen to me, Jon. You are a Stark, a true Stark, and I would leave the castle to you and Willam both if I could. You are the elder, after all."

"I might be the elder..." Jon said carefully, "...but... I'm still a bastard."

"Who... has told you that? And you will answer me now, son." His father's look was serious.

"What do you mean who's told me?" Jon was confused. He already knew that he was a bastard.

"Has Cersei said anything of the sort to you of late? Has she been bad to you?"

Jon looked up to him, chin almost trembling, not daring to answer.

"Has she?"

"I don't know", Jon said. He did not know what to tell him. It wasn't really something that she had done, he supposed. It was more of a feeling that he always had. His father knew about it, everyone knew about it, but what he was really asking now was whether there was something new about that which had come up. Jon searched through the back of his mind, and felt in his heart whether it would be something worth to bring up, like the way Lady Cersei always looked at him, but that was on the other hand the way she looked at many people, most of those who weren't her own children. He supposed that it was not.

"No", he answered at last. "There's nothing that's happened now of late. It's not about her."

"What is it about then?" His father became impatient.

"Noone from the king's party would speak to me, nor even look at me, besides the king himself. Not Robb, even. He'd much rather talk to Willam and Theon than me. I tried speaking to him, but he only cares what Willam has to say. Even though Willam is younger than me. It's like he does not even remember me."

His father stood considering that for a moment. Then he smiled up.

"Ah, who cares what Robb thinks?" his father said. "He's only the prince of... How many southron castles? And how much gold?"

A reluctant smile forced itself across Jon's face. It was the best he could do not to cry instead. His father laughed out loud at that, clapping him hard on the back.

"See? You're as happy as a murt. The very life of the feast. Now get inside and have some bread and meat before the great King Ned and his fish queen thinks the more of it."

Jon pushed himself off the trestle fencing of the courtyard, reluctantly, slowly, as his father gave him a rough pat on the back and led him back inside the entrance to the castle.

…

Gendel and Gorne were digging a hole, Diggy Diggy Hole, Diggy Diggy Hole,

This way, said Gendel, Here goes the hole, diggy diggy hole, diggy diggy hole,

That way, said Gorne, there, there goes the hole, diggy diggy hole, diggy diggy hole,

Born underground, suckled from the teeth of stone, raised in the tunnel, the safety of our mountain home, skin made of iron, of steal and of bone, we do not fear what lies beneath, we can never dig too deep...

Gendel and Gorne were digging a hole, Diggy Diggy Hole, Diggy Diggy Hole,

This way, said Gendel, Here goes the hole, diggy diggy hole, diggy diggy hole,

That way, said Gorne, naye, there goes the hole, diggy diggy hole, diggy diggy hole,

Under the Wall, there goes the sound of Gendel's call, under the Wall, there grows their children stick and small, still hear their call, from under the wall, they do not rest, they do not sleep, they dig so deep in dark and creep...

Jon drank his fill, doing his best to get lost in the song. It was an old Northern favourite, the song about the Brother Kings-Beyond-the-Wall, Gendel and Gorne, and how they had dug a tunnel to try and dig down under the Wall with their entire army and families. They had never quite made it through, however, and according to legend, their families and wives, and all of their children, had stayed down in the tunnel, growing used to the dark, feasting on the flesh of each other and any who seemed to pass on by. Some said that they could still be heard, howling by the night if one stood listening by the [Shadowtower/Nightfort?]. The song was a merry one, though, and the melody intoxicating enough for him to forget about Robb and the others, and stupid Theon.

After a while, Jon felt more or less content. He looked to see his Father and the King both enjoying the song. The King looked happy, although most said he seldom did. Good King Eddard he was called, but not for his smiles, but for his good leadership, and for being better than the mad king, for being a just and fair king and lowering some of the taxes on the common folk, and for saving his people from rogues and outlaws by his many decrees and expeditions that he sent out all across the South, and for much more. But now he sat singing with Lord Benjen, the two Stark brothers embracing each other, rocking now this way, and now that, as first Gendel and then Gorne held the sway of the song.

Thereaways, said Gendel, there goes the hole... Diggy diggy hole... Dig me the hole...

Naaay, thereabouts, said Gorne then, there goes the hole... Diggy diggy hole... Dig the bloody hole...

Born underground, suckled from the teeth of stone, raised in the dark, the safety of our tunnel home, skin made of iron, stealing abode, we do not fear what lies beneath, we can never dig too deep...

He looked to the sides also, at their Lannister guests, who had ridden with the king. Even they seemed to enjoy the music. Lady Cersei's younger brother, the little strange dwarf lord Tyrion sang with in the music, as drunk as can be, but seemingly already knowing the lyrics, having spent a night or two in wintertown with some whores and commonpeople a night or two before. Jon wondered if Joffrey had joined him. The servants had not yet squallered whether he had, only about the imp.

Whatever the case, all seemed at last to be well. The King and Lord Stark were happy, the Lannisters seemed content as well, and Willam at last shot him a look of acknowledgement again, while Theon instead laughed and turned away. Willam pointed at his mother and the queen, to Robb and Jon both. Jon laughed discreetly at the stern face of the Queen, just as he saw Robb doing so, and he saw that Lord Tyrion snuck a smile as well, at his sister. It was as if he knew exactly how Jon had always felt, but he could just laugh it off. Cersei would always be ashamed of her dwarf brother, but he could always decide not to care. Jon did not need to hear it explained to know it to be so. Lord Tyrion spoke a thousand words with his singing and mock bowing to Lady Cersei. Jon had to laugh even more, even though he would certainly face Lady Cersei's cold temper for a moon afterward. He was drunk, after all. It was the best of excuses.

Lord Tyrion suddenly waved for him to come down on the dais, as the song continued. Jon was confounded by the sudden invitation. They had not spoken before, only nodded briefly at each other while everyone was introduced to each other before. In fact, Tyrion had only embraced his sister, and given her a kiss on the cheek on each side, and after that not spoken much to anyone except to Joffrey and his own men. Not even to Lady Cersei, though they were siblings. Jon looked around to see how he should react to the offer. His Father barely seemed to object, drunk and happy as he was, and so Jon went with the lordly dwarf, all the way into the long entrance hall. Lord Tyrion spoke immediately.

"I could tell that you were displeased earlier. But it's quite the state of things to be. You need not fret over the other boys talking only with are all three lords of a great keep. The Red Keep, Winterfell, Pyke... Well, not particularly a great one, that, perhaps, though it does have the most fascinating bridgework from what I have heard..." The dwarf said japingly. "In a couple of years they will all be married off with children at their own castles at any rate. The Prince Robb in King's Landing, Lord Greyjoy at some northern castle, or perhaps back on his father's isles again, if he is unlucky enough to be sent back, and Willam right here, with you by his side, I suppose."

"I'm not going to stay here", Jon said. "I'm going to Castle Black, to join the Night's Watch."

"Like my brother?" Tyrion seemed intrigued. "Yes, I had heard so. That is one of the reasons why I wished to talk to you."

"You wished to talk to me, my lord?"

"I certainly did. To stop you from making a terrible mistake. My brother went to the Wall because of the King's judgement, and a good one it was, or else I would not have him left to me. It was either that or his head. You, however, have a hundred other choices, it seems to me. Why go to the cold of the Wall to spend out your whole life there? Surely Winterfell is ill and dreary enough?" He japed.

"There is honour in serving at the Wall. More honour than I could possibly gain here. And besides, I'm only a bastard. I don't have many other options."

Tyrion Lannister seemed to think about that for a moment.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps not... My brother has surely made the best of the situation. A Lannister as First Ranger... That was not many who would have thought before his time there. But still, for a young man to spend his years there, and not in some more pleasant stay... Well... That choice is up to you of course... I only want you to remember this, if I may give you some advice. Never forget that you are a bastard, but never believe it to be a weakness either. You are far less bound than your brother, for one. You do not have to stay here at Winterfell, keeping eternal watch over the North. You do not even have to stay in the North itself if you don't want to. There are as many as six other kingdoms to choose from, and most of them quite flowery, warm and pleasant, I might add. You could become a kingsguard for your uncle the King, or move to a southron kingdom and take yourself a wife there in some small keep... Become a hedge knight in the Riverlands, or taking service with my father at Casterly Rock perhaps... House Lannister has sore need of good swordsmen now that Jaime is up here. It was a fair trade, if you were to come down and take his place... A Stark for a Lannister, shall we say?" He blinked.

"My point is: You can do whatever you choose. That is one of the perks of being a bastard. And so... Simply... Wear it like your own armour, and it can never be used to hurt you, or make you less than you are."

"What do you know about being a bastard?" Jon said then, suddenly sceptical of the advice. "You are not even from these lands. You do not know how my life here is, or what my choices are. You only talk. You talk of nice things from the south, where you live. Aye. But it is not the same up here. Winterfell is not Casterly Rock, where you have a thousand gleaming halls of gold. So how do you know any of it? How do you possibly know what my life is like?" He almost shouted, angrily.

Tyrion Lannister seemed to relay on his answer a bit, wiggling with his drunken feet, but then steadied to it and spoke.

"All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes", he said bluntly. "Remember that, Jon Snow, but remember also this...: Not all bastards need to be dwarves."

He raised a goblet of red wine at Jon, smiling confidently, drunkenly but assuredly, with one green eye and one black, angling out his cup towards the bastard of Winterfell in tribute as they walked slowly back into the roaring of the music again, as his shadow streamed up along the grey walls of the hall, and for just a moment, Lord Tyrion Lannister seemed to stand as tall, regal and golden in his figure as one of the old Kings of the Rock. "