A/N - This is my first fan fic. It was inspired by some of the other fan fics of Rhaegar winning and Jon still being raised as the bastard of Winterfell, but none of them ever made sense as to why Ned would take him. Many character will be slightly different to canon, namely Ned

295 AC

Jon Snow swallowed a scream as the belt snapped on his naked back. An icy voice whispered in his ear "Bastard." Again and again it struck, stinging and biting the exposed flesh, adding to the lines of scars etched on his back. Each time the belt fell the woman dressed in a grey dress in front of him would say "Renounce you ways, child of sin and lust, renounce your sinful ways." Again and again for what seemed like hours before the inevitable darkness took him in its merciful hug.

2 hours earlier

The boy poked his head out of the door to his room, on guard and searching for signs of life before stepping out, moving silently towards the kitchens. He had learned long ago how to walk without alerting anyone. When he reached the kitchens, narrowly avoiding the patrolling guards, he took the leftover loaf of bread and small sliver of meat from the bins, leftovers from the meal that his father had earlier that night. Quickly devouring the meal he moved through the castle and out into the crisp summer night. He always found peace in the Godswood, nobody could see him, nobody could judge him, nobody could beat him.

"Ser Rodrik?" He whispered to the dark trees.

"Over here boy" Came the reply from the experienced knight. Ser Rodrik Cassel threw a wooden blade out to the eager boy. 'Catch.'

"Thanks" Jon said, catching the sword in his right hand before blocking the powerful strike aimed at his chest and aiming a riposte at the man's chest. And so began their dance of blades, for over an hour they parried, riposte, blocked and struck at each other, the size and power of the knight in equal balance with the speed and dexterity of the young bastard boy, but experience always had a way of overcoming talent and the boy's sword was sent flying to the ground before he felt a rough stick barely touching his neck. 'Yield?' Asked Rodrick.

"Aye, you always get me in the end Ser, at least this time I won't have a welt on my arm the size of a dragon." Jon japed, before sitting next to the old weirwood tree in the middle of the wood. Ser Rodrik was the only person in Winterfell that Jon felt comfortable enough around to make jokes. His half siblings ignored him, his stepmother and the septa beat, abused and starved him and his father would ignore him whilst sober, but when drunk, which would happen most evenings, he threw things at him, punched and kicked him, allways muttering "It's your fault." Over and over again under his breath, just enough that Jon could hear him. He never knew what he did, assuming it was him being a bastard and staining his father's honour. At the age of 8, Ser Rodrick had started meeting him in the Godswood late at night so he could train with a sword and learn how to read and write. He would keep himself in his room for most of the day, not wanting to incur Lady Stark's wrath, keeping himself to himself, but at night he came alive. Sneaking into the kitchens to grab a meal that wasn't old porridge, stealing books from the library to read under the moonlight or in this case, sparing with the only man of any decency in the keep.

"Hurry back to your room lad, don't want Lady Stark to find you out of bed now do we." Rodrick advised the boy.

"You go Ser, I need to pray for a while."

"Be careful then son" he said whilst moving out from the godswood. Jon put his hand on the weeping tree praying for the same things again, teh love of a father, the care of a mother and the friendship of his siblings, not that it made any difference, he'd been praying for the same thing for the last 9 years now, ever since Catelyn Stark had raised her belt to him for the first time, when each time he would let any noise escape his lips would be an extra lash. He shivered remembering that night. Standing up and walking away, back to his suffocating room where he would sleep and wait for the long list of chores from the Lady of Winterfell. A slender figure moved out from one of the small corridors, a dangerous smile gleaming on her tight lips as her chilling voice gleefully said "Out at night again Bastard, I would've thought you had learned from the last times this happened, stealing from the kitchens again? Yes I thought so, as a child of sin and lust it is in your very nature, it's who you are. You know the punishment, 20 strikes plus however many times you scream" Turning to her guard she whispered "Fetch Septa Mordane, she'll want to help with this."

The next day

Jon shivered as he shoveled the horse shit in the stables, the additional part of his punishment freezing him as he wasn't allowed a cloak for the rest of the week, leaving only his thin leather shirt and breeches as protection from the Northern summer air. Working in the stables was the only chore he could enjoy, as it meant he would spend time with the horses, they understood him, and even though he was forbidden to ride them, he loved brushing and caring for them, and they in turn showed their affection towards him. One in particular always caught his eye, a large destrier called Winterstorm. Branded untamable by all the stableboys and horse handlers in Winterfell, she would only be passive around Jon, he was told that Winterstorm's father was another large destrier that could only be ridden by his aunt, Lyanna Stark. It had been bought back to Winterfell when Ned Stark had found her dead at the Tower Of Joy, carrying the bones of its rider. These types of chores also gave Jon time to plot and plan his escape from this prison he had been raised in. He already had a few days worth of dried meat and a small knife for his escape. He had been reading books on hunting, fishing and sailing, he still needed a few more days to gather some supplies and coin before heading off, and that meant more days of torture and slavery in service of his fathers house, the father that wouldn't even give him is name.

"Come on Snow, don't fancy your chance against us trueborn warriors, too much of your whore mother in you" Theon Greyjoy shouted at Jon who had been made to squire for his older half brother Robb for their training in the afternoon. He whirled around and glared at Theon who had already started to swing his steel tourney sword at Jon who tried to twist away from the blade. He managed to evade Theon for a few swing of his sword before he felt another sword strike him from behind. Falling to the floor, he curled up in a fetal position to minimise the hard boots that Theon and Robb were drilling into his sides, stomach and back, he could feel the blood start pooling from the belt wounds on his back, soaking his thin shirt through, the blood starting to pool on the ground. mercifully the two bigger boys had gotten bored of him and moved onto sparing amongst themselves. Ser Rodrik, the master-at-arms, moved over to Jon and called a servant to take him to the Maester, Jon didn't make it far before stumbling, getting more pale with each step towards the Maester's tower, another servant came to help the young boy to Maester Luwin's quarters. As they opened the door, Jon finally felt the cold embrace of sleep.

"Hello child." An old, thin voice croaked out from the darkness Jon found himself in.

"Who are you?" Jon asked timidly.

"My name is Brynden, boy, what is your name?"

'Jon, Jon Snow"

"Is it really? Well then Jon Snow, we have a lot of work to do"

"Work? What work?" Jon replied aggressively, thinking of what Lady Stark and his father had forced him to be for the last 10 years, a slave in all but name.

"Relax child, I know what those evil people have done to you, I have seen the scars they have left on you, inside and out. don't worry Jon Snow, we will be working on you. Are you familiar with wargs or skinchangers?"

"No Lord Brynden"

"Hmph, haven't been called that in years boy, just Brynden is fine lad, anyway, a warg, or skinchanger, can enter the mind of animals and control them. Only one in a thousand are born wargs and none alive in the last 5000 years have had the potential to be as powerful as you. one side of your blood allows you to warg, the other amplifies your power."

"Wait, do you know who my mother is? Is she alive? Does she know about me?"

"Quiet Jon, I know who your mother is, and I will reveal who she is to you in time, but you must embark on your own journey and find yourself before then. As I was saying, every creature that a warg possesses passes a piece of itself to the warg, if a warg enters too many animals, they themselves become like a feral animal. You however have no such limits, when you wake up, start wtart imagining yourself as one of the rats you see scurrying along the floor of your room, look into them and feel them, become one with them. Our time is at an end child, I will only be able to speak to you when you have found yourself, until then, good luck." Brynden's voice faded.

"Wait! Don't go! Don't go." Jon pleaded, waking up in his bare, empty room.

"Hmm, about time young man." Maester Luwin said to Jon softly. "Gave me quite a scare then Jon, for a while it looked like we had lost you"

"How long have I been out?" Jon croaked. Luwin reached over and offered a cup of water to Jon before replying to his question.

"Your wounds on your back had festered, it took me many weeks to stop it festering further Jon, and many more after for it to completely heal and you to wake."

"How long?" Jon practically growling at this point.

"Four moons."

"Four!"

"Yes Jon, it was touch and go for a while whether you would make it through the night, but you pulled through, I don't know how, but you did."

"Thank you Maester, not many in the castle would have shown me the same devotion you did, I'm afraid I must ask you for another favour though Maester."

"Oh, and what might that be young Jon?"

'"Knowledge."

"What kind of knowledge?"

"How to survive on my own, I wish to leave this...this... hell hole within the next moon, and I'll need your help, please Maester. I can't take more of Lady Stark and that Septa for much longer, you've seen what they have been doing to be, please." Tears started cascading down the young man's cheeks as he pleaded to the wise old man.

"All you wish for is books?"

"Yes"

"Then I will help you Jon. But leave me out of any blame, you will not mention me if you get caught, am I clear"

"Yes Maester, thank you Maester."

"Rest now Jon, I doubt Lady Stark will give you much longer before she has you working again." Jon could feel his eyelids getting heavier and heavier as the old man left.

2 days later

The next time Jon awoke he was alone and a lot more awake and aware than the last time. He heard the quiet squeaking of a rat moving through the room and imagined himself as the rat, looking in its eyes. He could feel a door in the back of his head and opened it, flashes of himself started appearing, flashes of him with milky white eyes and falling back to his bed before the connection broke. After laying in his bed for a few minutes, shell shocked by what just happened, Jon bolted from his room, taking care to avoid the gaze of guards or any Stark. Reaching the west gate he paused before setting out into the Wolfswood, enjoying the first time he had ever left the castle. He heard the birds singing in the trees as if calling for him to reach out to them and take control. He started off with a blue tit, moving up in size and strength until he found himself in the mind of an eagle souring hundreds of feet in the air. He felt the wind rushing through his head and beak, more parting his hair, his human hair. Bringing the eagle down to his level he realised he wasn't alone, a collection of massive creatures were sat staring at the boy.

A white Direwolf with ruby red eyes peered into Jon's soul before standing up, exposing his true size, taller than Winterstorm and longer than most wagons he moved over to Jon and waited for the boy to hold out his hand. Pressing his wet nose into his palm and electric feeling jolted both wolf and man.

"Hello Human." A gentle, cool voice sounded in Jon's head. He just sat there, dumbfounded and lost for words. "We've been waiting for you."

"What? How? What?" Was all Jon could say. He heard a chuckle form in his head and the voice spoke again.

"They said you would react like this."

"They?"

"The Old Gods, Human. They sent us here to help guide you. They heard your prayers and we are a part of their reply." Jon turned and looked at the three other animals sitting in the small clearing. A black cat larger than a lion, a bear that was several feet taller than Jon even on all fours and a Condor taller than Jon sat preening its feathers.

"We are the Champions of the Old Gods, Man-Child" A gruff deep voice that could only belong to the giant brown bear told him. Jon thought for a moment that the voice sounded similar to the Greatjon Umber when he came to visit.

"My name is Jon." Jon said quickly, raising his voice in irritation.

"Easy Jon, we're here to help you." Another silky smooth voice whispered in his ear, the Shadowcat's voice had an icy chill that made Jon shiver.

"Help me with what?" Believing himself mad for talking to a Brown Bear, a giant Condor, a Direwolf and a Shadowcat.

"I think you know the answer to that." came the reply from the first voice, leaving no doubts in his mind it was the giant Direwolf speaking to his mind.

"Tell me!" Jon demanded, but the intent was not there, it was said more in desperation than anger. 'I've been kept in the dark all my life, for once in my life will someone give me a straight fucking answer!"

The wolf gave no indication of noticing the outburst, even when Jon had started practically roaring. "It's time for you to leave, time to grow, time to find out who you really are, Jon Snow."