Jon
"Arya," Jon called out as he knocked on the wooden door. "Can I come in?" He tucked the present securely under his armpit.
"Yes."
Jon moved into the room to see Arya packing her clothing and to his delight, she was huffing and puffing as she shoved her way through the task while wearing a slight scowl. Nymeria sat near the bed with her big frame moving as she snoozed.
Arya paused and glanced at him. "After a couple of days I have to fold it again, mother said it wasn't 'properly folded' why should I bother?" She said in annoyance.
Jon smiled and closed the door, knowing that his cousin was eyeing the object in his arms. She should, it was for her after all.
"Do what your mother says, Arya," Jon said.
"Like you ever do what she says," Arya replied, still eyeing his arm.
"Lady Stark is your mother, not mine," Jon said easily. Gone was the timid boy that ducked under Lady Starks cold gaze, in his place was a more bold and confident Jon. Never again was he taking the blame for what somebody else did, never again was he shivering in her presence. It was over.
Oddly, Lady stark seemed indifferent in regards to him, Jon noticed it a while ago and was puzzled.
"Are you coming with us to the tourney?" Arya responded with her eyes glued on the present.
Jon sighed. "Yes little sister, for the thousandth time I am going." When word of that there was going to be a large gathering at Harrenhall, Jon cannot waste the opportunity to see his father's side of the family.
Jon knew he was taking a risk, and so did Ned when he told the Starks that he was going with. Robb didn't say anything to this and just acted like everything was normal. Jon knew he has to be extra cautious to hide his identity and he also knew this was going to be a pain in the asshole as everybody always stopped him to question him. And the south is going to be even worse. And don't forget that there is a huge search party for the rider and Cannibal.
This is going to be a huge risk. Jon knows this with all his heart. He just wanted to see his Targaryen family…at least once.
Jon hid his grin as Arya asked more irreverent questions. This was all a ruse for Jon to finally reveal what he was holding, Arya has too much pride to ask herself.
Arya played a game of tug in her mind before giving in. "Damn, just tell me what that is!"
Jon walked over to the bed and pushed a bundle of clothes to the side as he placed the present down. "You shouldn't be cursing like that young lady, what would your mother think?" Jon said dryly.
"Shut up, Jon," Arya snapped as she came to his side. "Mother is not here now."
Jon chuckled as he opened it with a dramatic show as he slowly unwrapped it.
Arya pushed him away and gasped as she held a dagger in her hand. She rotated the dagger, seeing the artwork on the hilt.
"What is this?" Arya whispered in awe.
Jon grinned and raised his head. "The very best there is. Its valyrian steel."
"How did you get Valyrian steel? And where?"
"A man doesn't tell his secrets," Jon said smugly.
"Fine." Arya spread her arms and walked to him.
"Careful!" Jon warned as the dagger was too close to his body for comfort. Arya nodded, putting the dagger on her bed and springing in his arms.
"Thank you," Arya said as she hugged his neck a bit tighter.
"No problem."
"I won't let those southerners bother you, Jon. I will stick them with the pointy end with this and needle!"
"Ok, you go do that," Jon said as he patted her back. "I will be there beside you."
…
"Father isn't coming," Robb said as the feast carried on. All the lords and ladies of the north assembled in Winterfell before making the journey south. Ned thought it was a good idea to have a feast then march on the morrow.
Arya, Bran, and Rickon sat at the high table with Sansa talking excitingly to a woman with braided long hair. Ned and Catelyn sat farther up with Lord Umber and Jon can hear the man's booming voice as he shared laughs with Ned.
"He is not?"
"There must always be a stark in Winterfell he says," Robb said. "I told him that I could've stayed here in his stead but he refused."
Jon idly picked his food with his fork, a dozen explanations running through his mind. "Huh."
"Do you know what this means?" Robb asked seriously. "The royal family might see this as a slight."
"What would they do? Go to war with the north just because the warden decides not to come to a tourney? That's childish."
"You should convince him otherwise, it will be suspicious if he doesn't show up," Robb replied.
Jon glanced at him with disbelief. "He didn't show up to kingslanding when the rebellion ended, how is this any different?"
"Because the war just ended at that time, Jon," Robb countered. "There hasn't been any fighting for years."
Jon was not going down. "He didn't show up because of me. And he is not going to the tourney now because of me."
"Your father should stay. What if he was caught with this lie? That's something he doesn't want to happen and that's what you don't want to happen," Jon added.
Robb sighed. "Ok, you have a point."
"I always do."
There were two pairs of skinny arms around his torso as Arya hugged him from behind. She sat down next to Jon and looked curiously between the two men. "What are ya'll talking about?"
"Nothing," Robb quickly said as he excused himself before heading to the Karstarks table where his wife sat.
Arya stared at his back and looked at Jon with an eyebrow raised. Jon just shrugged. "You know him, Robb is weird."
"What did he say?" Arya asked with a smile.
Jon grinned as he spied the heir, wanting his dominance over Robb to be well known. "He asked me why I am so much better than him with a sword. He is really frustrated lately."
"I am not!" Robb shouted from afar and turned back around in his seat to chat with his wife and her family.
Jon frowned in confusion and with humor. How did he hear me? I should really be watching my back from now on.
…
Jon's eyes slowly opened and yawned as he stretched his arms in his bed. Ghost was at his side, not making nose except an occasion snort from his sleep.
Today is the day.
Today is the day when the north finally marches south and Jon is feeling annoyed at the promise of getting chased down by questions about his dealings on the road.
Jon just hope that nobody bothered him and he can think alone in peace about his upcoming meeting with his family, but by the glances he has been getting that seemed like a foolish dream.
Jon started as there was a loud knock on his door. Ghost jumped out of the bed and stared at the door with intentness.
I don't need a bodyguard, I got fucking Ghost.
Jon got to his feet and unbarred the door. He kept his face blank, though inside he was bloody screaming at what he was seeing.
Lady Stark was at his door.
Lady stark is at my door.
Jon blinked…and blinked again.
"May I come in?" She asked tensely.
Jon nodded and stepped to the side. Catelyn swept in and looked at the room with a critical eye. She knelt down by Ghost and rubbed the back of his ear.
"Is there something you need, lady stark?" Jon asked neutrally. He was not in the mood to be scolded about being out of sight of the royal family and some nonsense.
"Yes I do," Catelyn got to her feet and watched him for a moment. "I need your forgiveness."
"Excuse me?" Jon said. Though, his mind started clicking. "So, Lord stark told you the truth."
"Yes."
"It was about time."
Catelyn sighed, her tense face showing regret. "I was not fair to you…I was harsh and it was unjustifiable. All these years of me hating you, loathing you…probably made you loath me. When Ned brought you to Winterfell I disliked you from the very start, without knowing who you are."
Catelyn frowned as she stared at her feet. "I made a promise. I prayed to all the seven gods that ill love you, to accept you like my own. But I broke it…because I couldn't love a motherless bastard, or now a motherless prince."
"I am so sorry for all the hate that I gave you…will you forgive me?"
Jon stared at her, so torn. This was the woman that made his life miserable here. This was the woman that sought out to create a wedge between him and his siblings. This woman was the one who always looks down on him. This was the woman that demanded him to be sent to the wall more than once. And this was the woman that Jon wanted to get away from…to Essos.
Catelyn was pouring her regrets out and was admitting that she had been wrong for all the mental abuse she had been giving him.
Can Jon really forgive?
Jon was proud enough to say that none of his emotions showed on his face, though he wasn't sure it would last long.
"No," Jon said at last.
Catelyn sucked in a breath.
Jon turned his face away from the disappointment and the grief that was on her face. "I'm not ready to forgive yet. I don't think I am ready to forgive anything for a long time. You and Lord Stark done something that I should really kill myself for. What you say now doesn't change the past."
There was silence before Catelyn nodded. "I understand. What lord Stark did was unforgivable and what I have done was unforgivable as well. What you're doing for my children is something I can't ever return and all I can say is thank you."
Catelyn walked around Jon and softly closed the door. Jon quickly barred the door and sighed, his emotions were wild as of late and he didn't like it not one bit.
Ghost looked at him in concern and Jon rubbed his head. "I'm alright pal don't worry about me," Jon reassured as he walked to his bed. "You should be worried about me getting some damn sleep."
Jon fluffed his pillow and tucked himself underneath his blanket. He already packed his stuff last night and it wouldn't hurt him to get more sleep. It was needed more than ever right now.
Jon scowled in his pillow and closed his eyes.
…
The roads were alive with the rumble of horses and creaking carriages, their wheels grinding over the frozen earth. Hollow trees and brittle branches snapped beneath the weight of the convoy, the crunching sound a harsh symphony against the low murmur of voices. Shouts and jabs filled the air, a natural cadence of a long journey. The sky, still pale with the dying light of the day, began to darken, the horizon streaked with snow and dirt kicked up by the steady advance of the massive party.
Robb halted his horse, raising a clenched fist. The convoy slowed to a stop, all eyes turning toward the young lord, whose presence had already earned the respect of the company. "We'll camp here tonight," Robb declared. "We continue at dawn."
Cheers erupted as the weary travelers dismounted. Horses were tethered to nearby trees, tents went up, and ale flowed freely, spilling over mugs in a chaotic celebration of respite. The night was finally theirs after hours of unrelenting travel.
Jon, too, shared in their relief. He gave a quick nod to the steward who took his reins before swinging off his horse with a grimace. He'd been holding it for hours, but nature was demanding its due.
"I need to piss," Jon muttered under his breath, before glancing down at Ghost. "Stay here, I'll be back." The direwolf gave a lazy flick of his tongue and sat, eyes watching Jon as he moved away.
Thankfully, no one noticed as Jon slipped away from the camp. He found a secluded spot, hidden from prying eyes, and quickly relieved himself, but with every passing second, his eyes flicked nervously over his shoulder. A man could never be too careful when it came to privacy.
It was in the quiet of his vigilance that he caught a figure emerging from the shadows.
Jon's hand shot to his sword. "I know you're out there. Show yourself!"
The figure stepped forward, slowly, revealing a man draped in a dirty brown cloak. His face was obscured, but the accent was unmistakable.
"Who are you?" Jon demanded, his grip tightening on his blade. He'd recognized the accent — a foreigner, from Essos most likely. If this lowborn was here for a bounty, he'd find more than he bargained for.
But his suspicions proved wrong when the man lowered his hood, revealing a familiar face.
Jon's heart skipped a beat. "Jaqen H'ghar?" His grip on the sword tightened further, his pulse quickening. The deadly calm of the Faceless Men was well known, and Jon had heard enough tales to know that this man was unpredictable and dangerous.
Jaqen, however, showed no sign of concern. "This man has a delivery," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
Jon remained poised, trying to piece together the situation. The memory of Jaqen surfaced, of their brief interaction in Essos and how Jon had saved his life, and Jon's mind began to turn. What delivery?
His thoughts raced. "You... actually got it?" Jon's voice was hushed, disbelief creeping into his tone. His hands began to sweat as his mind reeled.
Jaqen nodded, reaching into his cloak with deliberate care. As he pulled out the gleaming sword, Jon's heart lurched. The deadly weapon was placed in his hands with a quiet finality.
"The debt is paid," Jaqen intoned, his tone as emotionless as ever.
Jon's throat tightened. "Thanks," he croaked, his mind spinning with confusion and awe.
Jaqen's lips curved into something resembling a smile, and for the first time, Jon noticed a flicker of life in his eyes. "Don't thank this man," he said softly. "He should be thanking you. You saved this one's life."
And with that, as swiftly as he appeared, Jaqen vanished into the night.
Jon stood in stunned silence, his hands trembling as he stared at the sword in his grasp. He knew it instantly. The weight, the feel of the hilt, the design — this was Blackfyre.
Jon's pulse quickened. Blackfyre had been lost, thought to be a myth, and now here it was in his hands. His mind spun back to the Golden Company, to the bloodshed, and the betrayal that had nearly cost him his life. But now, the legendary blade was his.
He looked down at the twin dragon heads on the hilt, the ruby pommel glowing with an eerie resemblance to Ghost's eyes. The sword's smoky ripples seemed to shimmer in the dim light.
Blackfyre. Jon could hardly believe it. How had Jaqen managed to retrieve it?
Jon tested the blade, its thin form betraying its strength. His eyes locked on a nearby tree, and with a deep breath, he swung the sword in a fluid motion. The blade cut through the trunk like butter, sending a chunk of wood crashing to the ground.
A smile tugged at Jon's lips as he marveled at the sword's power. Blackfyre was undoubtedly the finest blade he had ever held, and he couldn't help but feel the weight of its history.
Without hesitation, Jon discarded his old sword, letting it fall to the ground, and sheathed Blackfyre in its place. It felt right — like the sword had been made for him. With a final glance at the weapon, Jon turned to rejoin the camp.
Jon strolled casually through the camp, seeking the Stark family's tent. It didn't take long before he spotted Shaggy, who was sitting outside a fairly large pavilion. The black wolf saw him, let out a bark, and charged with surprising speed. Jon barely had time to react before he was tackled to the ground. Shaggy showered him with sloppy, enthusiastic licks, his massive body draped over Jon. Laughter echoed from nearby as the wolf showed his affection in the most chaotic way possible.
"Shaggy!" came a sharp, high-pitched voice.
Jon glanced over to see Rickon standing at the tent entrance, his small arms struggling to wrap around the wolf's massive head. "Down!" Rickon commanded, pulling at Shaggy's fur.
The wolf, obedient as ever, complied and trotted into the tent, leaving Jon on the ground with a grin on his face. Rickon gave Jon an apologetic look. "Sorry about that."
Jon chuckled and climbed to his feet, ruffling Rickon's auburn hair. "It's alright, sport."
"Come on! Everyone's inside!" Rickon said, grabbing Jon's hand and tugging him toward the tent.
Jon's mind briefly wandered to the rest of the Stark family. Even Lady Stark might be in there. The thought made him uneasy. He wasn't afraid of the women themselves, but he feared the potential tension after everything that had happened back in Winterfell.
As they entered the tent, Jon's gaze swept over the family seated around a long table. Theon was there as well. Arya immediately sprang from her seat. "Where've you been, Jon?" she asked, annoyance lacing her voice. "We didn't see you after we set up the tents."
"Stop it, Arya," Sansa interjected sharply. "What he does is his business, not yours."
"Shut up, stupid!" Arya shot back.
Jon couldn't help but notice how Lady Stark's eyes narrowed as Arya and Sansa exchanged barbs. Nymeria and Lady sized each other up from opposite corners of the tent, their gaze more intense than any words spoken. Ghost returned to join the pack of wolves as Grey Wind, Summer, and Shaggy gathered silently together.
"Please," Robb said, his voice more pleading than commanding. Alys nodded in agreement as Theon and Bran chuckled. "You two have been arguing for hours. Can't you just leave it be?"
"Arya keeps acting like she's a boy rather than a lady! She doesn't know how to behave," Sansa accused.
"I'm not a boy or a lady!" Arya shot back, her voice full of defiance. "Father says I don't have to be either!"
"Enough, both of you!" Catelyn Stark's voice rang out, cutting through the tension. "Sit down and eat. Enough with the arguing."
The two girls exchanged one last furious glare before taking their seats on opposite sides of the table. Jon sat down next to Robb, and Rickon took the seat beside him. He tried to settle into the moment, but the unease still lingered, especially when he caught Catelyn's brief, barely perceptible nod in his direction.
Would things be so tense if I were raised with them? Jon thought, his gaze briefly shifting to Robb. He had heard nothing but good things about the crown prince—stories of his wisdom, his bravery, and his popularity. Jon even heard rumors that Aegon would surpass Rhaegar as a ruler and be the wisest king since Jaehaerys the Wise. And of course, Aegon had recently married the Tyrell girl.
Jon shook off the thoughts and glanced back at Robb, who seemed distracted by the hilt of Jon's sword, which had slipped into view.
"Nice hilt," Robb remarked, whistling in appreciation. The others at the table began to take notice.
Jon smirked, a glint of pride in his eyes. "From a friend."
"If the hilt is nice, the sword must be as well," Theon said, cutting into his sausage with a clink of his knife.
Alys nodded, watching Jon's scabbard with keen interest. "I'm curious about the sword itself," she added.
Bran leaned forward, eager to see. "Can we see it?"
Jon leaned back with a grin, his confidence clear. "You'll see it when I win the melee."
The room fell silent, all eyes on him. Robb set his cup down slowly, his brow furrowing. "You really think you can win it all?"
"I have no doubt," Jon replied, his voice steady.
Robb exchanged a glance with Theon. "Listen, Jon, I know you're good with a sword—hell, I've seen it firsthand. But the tournament's different. You've got the crown prince, the Kingsguard..."
"And the Cleganes," Theon chimed in, his voice rushed. "Those bloody giants. The Mountain's supposed to be even bigger than Lord Umber."
Jon leaned forward slightly, his expression unfazed. "Big, powerful, skilled... It won't matter. I will win."
Rickon shifted uncomfortably beside Jon, sensing the weight of Jon's words. No one met Jon's gaze, not even Lady Stark. The air grew thick with tension.
"Even me?" Robb asked, his voice tinged with amusement. "Well, I'm happy to say I'll stick to the joust."
The tension broke with laughter, and Jon gave Robb a playful grin. "Don't be too sure. I might just join the joust as well."
Robb's grin widened. "I don't care if you do. I'll still smack you senseless. I've always been the better rider between the two of us."
Jon chuckled, acknowledging Robb's superior skills. "I'll give you that."
"While you two talk about swords and maces, I'm bound to win the archery competition," Theon boasted, interrupting the moment.
Robb rolled his eyes. "We all know that, buddy. You know, I've always thought that people who use bows instead of swords are too much of a coward to face combat up close."
Theon sputtered indignantly, launching into a verbal sparring match with Robb. Jon inwardly nodded in agreement with Robb. He'd always preferred a fight up close, where a man could look his opponent in the eye before ending his life.
"You have to look them in the eye before you take their life. If you can't do that, maybe they don't deserve to die after all," Lord Stark had told him.
"Do you think the Rider will be at the tourney?" Arya asked, interrupting Jon's thoughts.
"That's not happening," Theon replied dismissively. "He only showed up once. Why bother coming now?"
Robb's gaze lingered on Jon, as if waiting for a response. Jon kept his expression neutral, revealing nothing.
Far too soon, the announcement was made to retire for the night. Jon began to walk away from the pavilion, seeking one of his own tents. Before he could go too far, a hand clamped firmly around his arm, pulling him to a halt. He turned to find Robb standing there, his broad arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face.
"What's wrong?" Jon asked mildly. "Shouldn't you be getting comfy with your wife?"
Robb fixed him with a piercing gaze. "Do you have something to tell me?"
Jon glanced up at the night sky, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. He knew the look Robb had given him at supper—a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Robb was no fool. Jon weighed the consequences of admitting the truth, but in the end, he felt no need to hide it. No one had forced him to keep this secret.
"Exactly," Jon conceded, his voice steady. Robb's eyes widened in surprise. "I am the rider."
For a long moment, Robb simply stared at him. His expression shifted from shock, to disbelief, then to amazement—and back to shock again.
Robb let out a soft laugh and looked up at the stars. "Why should I be surprised?"
"You have every right to be," Jon replied quickly, his tone laced with humor. "If I were in your place, I'd be just as stunned."
Robb glanced at him, half-smiling. "A northern bastard goes to Essos, comes back with a dragon, and turns out to be secretly Targaryen? That's a hell of a story."
"And a damn good song, too," Jon joked. The laughter faded quickly, both men falling into a more sober silence at the weight of the lies surrounding Jon's identity.
"I didn't get the dragon in Essos," Jon added unexpectedly, breaking the silence.
Robb looked at him, confusion flickering across his face before he responded. "You went with Tyrion Lannister to Valyria, didn't you?" Jon nodded. "And that's where you found the dragon."
"Aye," Jon answered dryly. "But it was a living hell when I met it."
Robb was silent for a moment, processing the revelation. "If you don't mind me asking," he began cautiously, "what else did you discover in Valyria?"
Jon's expression darkened, and he shook his head. "Actually, I do mind. I don't want to talk about it."
Robb nodded without protest, a quiet understanding passing between them. Jon appreciated that—his cousin had always known when to push and when to let things go.
"Do you have a tent set up already?" Robb asked after a brief pause.
Jon shrugged. "I don't."
"Then I'll have someone arrange one for you," Robb said, turning to leave. "I'll see you in the morning." His steps were slow, no doubt processing the flood of information Jon had just dropped on him.
Jon watched him go, admiring Robb's ability to take the impossible in stride. His cousin always had a knack for facing the hardest truths with humor, and Jon had no doubt he would make an excellent warden.
Jon, on the other hand, wasn't sure what he was meant to be. That uncertainty gnawed at him, and for the first time in a long while, it scared him.