บท 1178: 5
Notes:
1) Sorry this took so long to get out. A wedding I'm helping plan got moved up from the summer to this FEBRUARY! Needless to say, I'm a bit stressed. So chapters might take an extra day or so to come out for a while. Sorry about that.
2) Everyone seems to like the timeline, so I'm going to keep it and update it when stuff happens.
3) My friend that helps me edit the chapters mentioned that it be great to have some pictures to go along with the story but I can't draw, so I'm deciding to do a little contest. If anyone wants to draw fan art related to this story and send it to me, I'll include the image and dedicate a chapter too you.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Timeline
283 AC/4E 187: Robb Stark is born; (two months later) "Jon Snow" is born.286 AC/4E 190: Sansa Stark is born; RS-3, "JS"-3.289 AC/4E 193: Arya Stark is born; Theon Greyjoy (10) arrives at Winterfell; RS-6, "JS"-6, SS-3.290 AC/4E 194: Bran Stark is born; TG-11, RS-7, "JS"-7, SS-4, AS-1.295 AC/4E 199: Rickon Stark is born; TG-16, RS-12, "JS"-12, SS-9, AS-6, BS-5.296 AC/4E 200: Direwolves are found; TG-17, RS-13, "JS"-13, SS-10, AS-7, BS-6, RS-1.297 AC/4E 201: Robb Stark turns 14; (two months later) "Jon Snow" turns 14; (one month later) "Jon Snow" runs away from Winterfell/appears in Skyrim; TG-18, SS-11, AS-8, BS-7, RS-2.299 AC/4E 203: Jon Whitewolf sends a letter to Winterfell; TG-19, RS-16, JW-16, SS-13, AS-10, BS-9, RS-4.300 AC/4E 204: Lord Eddard Stark asks Jon to return to Winterfell; TG-20, RS-17, JW-17, SS-14, AS-11, BS-10, RS-5.302 AC/4E 206: Jon Whitewolf receives Arya's letter; (two-and-a half months later) Jon Whitewolf arrives at Winterfell; TG-22, RS-18/19, JW-18/19, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.
Ned Stark I
'Winter is coming.'
Ned Stark knew the words of his house just as he knew the beating of his own heart, and he knew they were coming true. He knew it from the crop reports, which were getting lower every season. He knew it from the increase in demand for furs, flint, firewood, and preserved goods. He knew it from how the sun made itself scarcer and scarcer with each day that passed, less than ten hours now. He knew it from the people migrating south, cramming themselves into Winter Town. It was only a matter of time until the Citadel sent out white ravens to make it official. 'I don't envy them; no one wants to admit the longest summer on record is ending. Still, the realm needs to be ready. Winterfell needs to be ready.'
How such a thing was done, Ned struggled with. He had been Lord of Winterfell for over twenty years now and he still found new challenges around every corner. He had never had to face a winter as Warden of the North; he could remember his father preparing for and governing through winters, but it had been Brandon who their father had passed those lessons on to. Ned had to make do with the simplified version, guidance from Maester Luwin, and what he could remember. So he stockpiled grains, preservatives, and dried meats -ordering his bannermen to do the same- while taking careful appraisal of his coffers and tracking the prices of foodstuffs from both the Reach and Essos.
The grim fact was they simply didn't have enough of anything; not enough food, not enough coin, and not enough time to save more. Despite what the other six kingdoms of Westeros may think, the North was not poor. Just because they didn't have endless amounts of jewels, partake in the needless pageantry of tourneys, or build castles so large that they couldn't be properly maintained, didn't mean they were destitute. The North had fur, timber, and iron; its people were, by-in-large, a frugal and practical lot, they bought what they needed to survive with few indulgences and the trade was popular. But as they stood now, that didn't help much.
'So why,' Ned thought, 'am I spending a not inconsiderable amount of money on a grand party of all things?'
The answer was simple, his Lady Wife had insisted upon it.
"We need to be saving for winter, Cat. I'm not saying no to a party, not even to inviting your family or some Northern houses, but inviting lords from the Riverlands, the Reach, and the Vale? We just can't afford it."
" Ned, we what we lose in the short-term from this celebration we'll get back in the long-term, probably even more.
"How so?"
"Think about it, with all those lords gathered together in one place it will be the perfect time to discuss preparations for winter and it would be an excellent time to discuss betrothals."
"I've told you, I don't-"
" We can't wait any longer, Ned. Robb is going to be nine-and-ten. Sansa is six-and-ten; other ladies her age are wedded, bedded, and bearing children. It's time we make betrothals for them, at least. Perhaps we can even find one for your ward; he's two-and-twenty now and still runs wild, maybe a good wife would settle him.
Catelyn's argument wasn't without logic and, as he did with plenty of things, he agreed in the end -partly because it was easier than fighting her. That being said, he was going to have to curb some of the marriage plans she was making in her head. Cat had the idea to arrange southern marriages for all their children; Margaery Tyrell for Robb, the crowned prince for Sansa, a Riverland's lady for Bran, a Royce or even Robin Arryn for Arya, and someone from the Stormlands for Rickon.
While such plans weren't meritless, Ned knew they could never come to fruition, at least not in their entirety. The lords of the North would never accept all the Stark children marrying elsewhere; it would be seen as an insult. It wasn't that none of his children could marry southerners -it was looking like some of them would have too, they needed the alliances to ensure food supply shipments- as long as the majority married closer to home.
In the years prior he had always planned to make Northern matches for both Robb and Sansa, having North-born spouses for his oldest son and daughter would settle the mind of many a nervous lord. After careful consideration, he had decided that Rickon should remain in his homeland too; his wildness would not mix well with the niceties of any Southern court. At seven, he was too young for any marriage proposal to be seriously considered, but Ned had been giving a lot of thought to one of the younger Mormont girls. Bran and Arya, however, could do well in different parts of the South. Fostering Bran at Riverrun wouldn't be a bad idea; the lad wanted to be a knight and squiring under the Blackfish would put him through his paces while also ensuring his safety. With Arya, Ned was considering Dorne; he may not be a fan of the particular...eccentricities found in Dornishmen, but he knew that Arya had the wolf's blood and that in Dorne she could be freer than anywhere else. Such a marriage could also potentially go a long way in mending fences between the North and Dorne if it was accepted.
'It won't make Cat happy,' Ned sighed internally. 'But what else is new?'
It was true, the past five years of their marriage had been...turbulent, to say the least. Ned won't be helping himself announcing his intentions to ruin her carefully laid mental plans; especially since she was already upset that the majority of the lords she had invited had declined, even her own brother had to cancel due to a flare-up in their father's illness. It was a relief to Ned though, though his poorly hidden relief further angered his wife. Despite that, she had found some pleasure in the letter he received that from King's Landing and the changes to his plans about Sansa it may bring.
But no matter what happened, Robb must have a northern marriage. It was the one thing Ned refused to compromise on. Alys Karstark, preferably, as she would be the most palatable option for all. But as long as his bride was of the North, she would be approved of. His bannermen would never accept another southern Lady Stark; they had barely accepted it the first time. While none dared say it to his face, he knew their displeasure that he had a sept built in the heart of the North and that his children were brought up half in the Faith of the Seven. He didn't want Robb to have to go through that.
Above all though, he swore that he'd never force any of his children into a marriage they didn't want; he had seen the horrible consequences that could have. The first time he held Robb in his arms, Ned swore he'd protect his children, see to their safety and happiness. And he had succeeded, 'For the most part.'
Ned surveyed his brood as they awaited the Manderly party's arrival, later than originally planned due to an apparent setback, while heavy, wet snowflakes came down on them. They were a good, healthy brood and he was immensely proud of each one of them: Robb was tall and strong, a formidable fighter with good morals that would make him a fine lord one day, Sansa was a slightly taller version of her mother and her gentile ways ensured she'd make a fine wife, Arya was more like Lyanna than ever but Ned could never bring himself to be upset by her willful ways, Bran was intelligent, curious, and driven though not nearly as good of a fighter as he wanted to be, and baby Rickon was the terror of Septa Mordane with his rosy cheeks, sweet smile, and vicious bite. But despite his love for them all, he couldn't help but feel sad whenever they were all together sans one head of dark, curly hair.
'Oh, Lyanna, where did I go so wrong? Should have I been more attentive or sheltered him more? I wasn't able to give him all you wanted but I never meant to fail you. When I lost him the first time, your ghost haunted me whenever I closed my eyes. Then, when I learned he was safe, I was elated and promised myself I do better, keep him closer than before. But when I tried to bring him back, he lashed out at me for it. Please, Sister, your ghost stands at the foot of my bed every night, tell me how I can keep my promise?'
When Jon had disappeared Ned nearly went mad; he led days long search parties into the surrounding forests, offered rewards for information that led to the safe return of his boy, spend hours kneeling in the snow at the foot of the Heart Tree in prayer, and nights in the crypts begging Lyanna's cold stone effigy for forgiveness which never came because whenever he slept he heard his lost sister weeping.
In those first six months, he had been more of a heartbroken beast than a man; he neglected his responsibilities and, to his eternal shame, ignored the pain felt by most of his children. Drowning in his own grief, Ned had left the hurt of his other babes to be handled by Cat; Cat who resented that Jon even existed and couldn't be bothered to mask her own relief that the boy was gone. That was when their marriage difficulties had truly started.
Ned was enough of a man to acknowledge his own actions hadn't help matters, but after a visit from Benjen -whose own anger over the situation was barely restrained- Ned dedicated himself to his duty once more, talked to each of his children, and made steps to reconcile with Cat. Things improved steadily for a while, he made sure to spend time with his wife and each of his children, even Theon. Things got better, even if Ned still felt like he was walking around without one of his arms. Then Jon's first letter arrived and Ned had been ecstatic; his boy was alive and well. The correspondence they had shared in the year that followed had been wonderful, not even Catelyn's occasional comments about the expense of sending letters over such a great distance could dampen his joy. Robb and Arya both wrote long emotional letters, Bran sent amusing little page-long stories, Rickon made scribbled drawings, and even Theon contributed the odd paragraph or two. Ned, for his part, had worked on bringing Jon home. Even if Jon said he was settled and doing well of himself, he didn't belong in such a far-off-land.
'If I had known he would have reacted so poorly, I would have spent longer trying to ease him into the idea of returning.' The letter he had gotten back from Jon after proposing the idea -promising that something constructive would be found for him- had been...vicious. It seemed like Jon poured a lifetime of frustration, anger, and resentment out onto one single page, ending with the warning that unless Ned learned to respect Jon's choices he never wanted to hear from the man who raised him again. It was that last line, that cold ultimatum, that really got to Ned; Jon's outright refusal to listen to or considered his father's point of view. Why couldn't his boy see that Ned just wanted what was best for him?
After that last letter, things had declined once again. He hadn't told anyone what Jon said to him, not really; Robb and Cat knew a little but he wouldn't tell them the full story. His wife sometimes tried to push the issue but it almost always ended with an argument followed by a day or two of tense silence. A cloud of somberness fell over the Stark family once again; his children no longer wrote letters, he hadn't shared a bed with his wife in nearly two months, and Lyanna's ghost returned to him at night.
"Papa?"
A tugging at the end of his sleeve pulled him from his internal storm. He looked down to meet his youngest's bright blue eyes, "What is it, Rickon?"
"How long are we going to wait?"
Ned smiled he brushed some wet snowflakes from his son's dark auburn locks. The little wild wolf shoved his father's hand away and, with an overly dramatic sigh, collapsed against Shaggydog. Ned let out a huff of amusement at his son's antics; "I don't know, Sweetling. But it shouldn't be much longer now, I'm sure-"
As if on cue the tower watchman announced riders in-coming and a moment later the Manderly party began filing into the courtyard. There were about thirty riders in all, among them was Wylis Manderly, identifiable by his bald head, large walrus mustache, and massive girth supported by a truly giant horse that Ned couldn't help but feel sympathy for. Following the initial wave of riders was a small wheelhouse, presumably carrying Wylis' daughters, and then Lord Wyman himself. Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse rode in an ornate, covered sleigh pulled by a squad of eight garrons. The Warden of the White Knife was dressed richly in a velvet blue-green doublet embroidered with golden thread and a golden trident pinning his mantle to his shoulder under a long cloak of shadowcat fur. He hopped from his sleigh and dipped into a bow with surprising grace for a man of his size and age.
"Lord Manderly, it is good to see you."
"My Lord Stark," Wyman shook Ned's hand firmly, excitement glittering in the older man's eyes, "it is an honor to be here. I must apologize for my tardiness, but something extremely important came up in White Harbor. Now, I have some special news for you; three days before I was intending to leave I was made aware of a very interesting visitor to White Harbor. After receiving this news I sent some of my most trusted guards out to investigate and, well, who they brought back was-"
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODS IS THAT THING?"
Ned spun at the shrieks of terror to see members of the household rushing away from a giant white creature that now stood in the center of the courtyard. The Warden of the North advanced towards the animal, drawing his sword and motioning for guards to surround the beast so it didn't try to lunge at anyone, "Get back, all of you! Robb, Theon -get everyone inside!"
Ned was about to take his first charge when his children's direwolves all rushed forward, breaking through the guards' barricade and throwing themselves at the creature. At first, he was cautiously relieved, it was larger than the direwolves but as a pack, they were strong enough to take down just about anything. They fell on it in a heartbeat; loud, continuous growling and snarling emanating from the rolling pile of fur. Then, something strange, Ned realized that they weren't fighting the creature, but rather playing with it: rolling around, bowing, and mouthing at each other's necks.
'What is happening?' He paused, took a deep breathe, and tried to slow his racing mind. After a moment, he really looked at the beast for the first time and, slowly, it began to take shape. The giant amorphous white figure shifted into a large white-furred wolf. 'This is not just some beast, but could it truly be-'
"Ghost, is that you?" Robb shoved his way past the guards and approached the albino direwolf, holding an open palm out to it. The red-eyed creature pulled himself away from the mock wrestling match he was having with his littermates, taking a moment to smack Lady on the muzzle, and leaned forward to give Robb a lick across forehead before tackling Grey Wind in order to subject him to a fierce nuzzling.
"By the gods, it is you!" Robb exclaimed as he rushed forward, burying his face into the direwolf's side and twisting his fingers into its fur. With that confirmation, Arya and Bran ran to join their older brother; Rickon tried to follow only to be stopped by Catelyn, who pulled him against her side while clutching Sansa close to her, staring at Ghost in fear. The direwolf had grown to a truly monstrous size; bigger than even Shaggydog or Nymeria who, at 4'9'' tall, had previously been thought to be the largest of the litter. Ghost was taller than either by nearly half-a-foot.
"Wait, if Ghost is here, then does that mean…" Ned trailed off, not trusting himself to voice his question aloud when a rider from the back of the party called out to the direwolf invoice that was almost achingly familiar.
"Ghost, you great, bloody beast! I thought I told you to wait for me in the forest!" The rider dismounted his handsome dapple gray palfrey, hood falling to reveal the face of Ned's missing son. After the brief feeling of being struck by lightning, Ned turned to Wyman who met his eyes with a smile and nodded his head.
The Lord of Winterfell felt all the air leave his lungs and it was as if the world around him disappeared. He couldn't believe that Lyanna's boy, his boy, was back. He didn't look exactly the same but he was safe; he was back home! Ned stumbled forward, trying to get to the child he had raised as his own, his feet heavy and unstable while his mind raced to find the appropriate thing to say. Someone else didn't seem to have that issue, though.
"JON!"
Arya flew towards her brother and threw herself into his arms, wrapping her tiny body around his torso. She hugged Jon's around the neck tightly as he shifted her to his left hip, "You got my letter, didn't you?"
"Letter? What letter?" Catelyn questioned sharply, "Arya, did you disobey-"
"Aye, Little Sister, I did. Gak! Careful with the squeezing, you don't want to be the first day you see me in a long time to also be the last."
Arya pulled back with a bright smile on her face, which then twisted into anger. She punched Jon hard on his shoulder, "You ass! You should have told me you were coming!"
"He probably wanted to surprise us," Bran cut in as he wrapped his arms around Jon's waist, tucking himself under his brother's right arm. "I knew you'd come back one day; I dreamed about it. Why'd it take so long?"
Jon ruffled Bran's hair with a soft smile, "I had many responsibilities where I was living, Bran. It took me a long time complete all of them."
"Oh. I still missed you though; I'm happy you're here."
"I missed you too."
Jon looked up to meet the eyes of Theon Greyjoy, who Ned noticed was standing off to the side and staring at Jon as if he was speaking a different language. Ned held his breath; the two boys had never gotten along when they were younger, only coming to an unspoken treaty for Robb's sake. But they were older now and hadn't seen each other for nearly five years; perhaps they had matured or perhaps they were about to come to blows in his courtyard.
After a moment Jon spoke up, "Theon, you look well." Then slid Arya off his hip and he offered a handshake.
Theon looked down the hand suspiciously but then took it with an amused snort, "And you still look like a maiden, even with a beard."
The pair shared a brief, stilted chuckle before Robb shouldered his way in front of Theon and, with a look that was a cross between anger, amazement, and love on his face, snarled, "You stupid son-of-a-bitch, how dare you show back up here after all this time?"
Then, with relief shining in the tears that dotted the corners of Robb's eyes, he pulled his brother into a forceful embrace; a hand gripping the back of Jon's neck and pushing his face into Robb's shoulder. Face buried in his brother's dark curls, the Heir of Winterfell croaked, "It's so good to see you again."
Ned let the two have their moment; Robb had, along with Arya and himself, been hit the hardest by Jon's disappearance. He remembered the many long talks they had and the lose Robb described.
"It just feels like half of me is missing."
"This has been hard on everyone, Robb. You've been handling everything so well, I'm proud of you."
"Thank you, Father. But I don't think you understand. I know that you and Arya and Bran and Rickon are all missing Jon, but it's different for me. Jon was always there, by my side. Every important memory I have, Jon is there. Remember how Uncle Benjen always said that we were two sides of the same coin, like night and day? Well, now that he's gone, it feels like part of me is gone too."
Still, a selfish part of Ned needed to have his own reunion with his son. He swallowed hard, trying wet his dry throat; when he finally got close enough he reached out to grip Jon's shoulder to turn him around and pulled him close, "Son, you're home at last."
It broke the Warden of the North's heart when his son stiffened under his hands, and it broke even further when his hug wasn't returned. Jon stayed in his arms for a moment, his body warm and present even if the rejection of his affection made Ned feel cold, before pulling away and allowing him to get a good look at the man his boy had grown into.
The young man in front of him looked like his son, but, at the same time, they looked nothing alike. The young man in front of him stood tall and confident, with his shoulders back and head held high. His eyes were so dark they were nearly black and he had long features that were sharp enough to cut ice while simultaneously so delicate they approached femininity.
'He looks like- No, he doesn't! He can't.' Ned told himself as he resumed his observation. Jon had grown his thick, curly hair long in the past five years, nearly down to the tops of his shoulders. No longer did he let it hang freely though, rather it was done in an elaborate style with several small braids each decorated with bright yarn or colored glass beads. 'The boy I raised would have found such a thing garish; who has changed you, Jon?'
His son was taller now, but not so tall that he couldn't be tucked under his father's chin; the dark-haired youth was still as slender as he had always been, but his shoulders had widened with age and Ned had definitely felt lean muscles under Jon's clothes. Speaking of clothing, he was wearing a royal blue doublet with a frost pattern embroidered in silver thread and matching buttons; he had also donned dark gray trousers with black leather boots and gloves. He wore a dagger on his belt and a bronze amulet with the image of a sword and dragon hung from his neck and on top of it all was a hooded cloak latched at the shoulder by a yellow clasp with a red motif of a horse's head and made from a thick, tawny fur that Ned couldn't identify. The clothes were obviously of high quality, 'Jon said he was doing well for himself in that strange land; I suppose he was being truthful.'
Jon cleared his throat and let his eyes flicker around the courtyard, "Lord Stark, it is...nice to see Winterfell again. Everything seems to be in good order and everyone in good health. I'm sorry to arrive so abruptly; I was planning on cleaning up first and letting Lord Manderly break the news to you gently."
Ned flinched internally; the use of his title, the lack of eye contact, and the accent that laced Jon's words stunned him, 'He doesn't even sound the same.' But he nodded and forced a smile even in the face of this dismissal, "Aye, I have been blessed with the good health of my family. You, you seem to be well too."
"Oh, yes, I am hale, hearty, and delighted to see everyone."
"And we you, my son." Ned looked over Jon's shoulder to his wife and last two children, 'Well, most of us anyway.' Catelyn was looking at Jon as if he were the Stranger come to take her children, a mixture of terror and rage plastered on her face. She gripped Sansa, who looked back and forth from her mother to her siblings in confusion, and Rickon to her firmly. Rickon was clearly unhappy about it, though; he struggled against his mother's hold, trying to yank his arm away from her.
"Rickon," he called, catching his youngest's attention and gesturing him forward, "come here." The littlest pup smiled and tried to come to him, only to be stopped by Cat who tightened her grip on him. Ned shot her a sharp look and she begrudgingly released Rickon to scampered over to his father. Jon knelt down to eye-level with his youngest brother as he approached, "Hello, Rickon. I'm sure you don't remember me, but my name is Jon. I used to make toys for you when you were very small."
Rickon peered at Jon, his brow furrowed, "Like my knight?"
"The one with the blue shield and helmet? Aye, that was one I made."
The little boy's face split in a happy, gapped-toothed grin as he jumped forward, snuggling into the young man's chest, "Jawny!"
Jon laughed, "I can't believe how much you've grown, Little Wolf. You're almost as tall as me!"
Rickon nodded in agreement before asking what he deemed to be the most important question, "Did you bring me a present?"
Ned started to chide his son but Jon cut him off, "Aye, I did. In fact, I have gifts for everyone."
"Give me!"
"Rickon," Ned scowled, "don't be rude."
"You'll get yours soon enough, Little Wolf. But first, my friend and I need to get settled and cleaned up at the Golden Hearth before I-."
The Golden Hearth was one of two inns in Winter Town; the other one, the Smoking Log, tended to serve the average man while the Golden Hearth catered to wealthy travelers and merchants. Ned cut his son off abruptly, "Why are you going to the Golden Hearth?"
Jon seemed confused by the question, "That's where my companion and I are planning on staying. Winterfell is surely too filled with guests for us to inconvenience you."
Cat decided then was the best time to make her opinion known, "That sounds like-"
"A thoughtful but unnecessary idea; there is always room for family members."
"Aye, well, my friend and I-"
"Who is this companion of yours? Is it someone I know?"
"I highly doubt it," an unknown deep voice answered Ned's inquiry. The Lord of Winterfell turned to meet the gaze of a true giant of a dark-skilled man; bald with a graying goatee clad completely in black and carrying a large chest, a dark sword strapped to his hip. A couple of inches shorter than Hodor, he wasn't the largest man Ned had ever seen, but there was undeniably something intimidating about him aside from his height. Without offering any bows or courtesies the man addressed Ned, "So you are the lord of this castle? It is...interesting to meet the man who raised my friend."
"Lord Stark, this is Enzo Vlast; he is my-"
"Protector and escort," the man finished, his dark eyes bearing down on Ned with an unreadable expression. "It is my job to ensure Thane Whitewolf arrives at his destination uninjured, completes his visit unharassed, and returns to Skyrim unimpeded. I trust my presence will not be an issue?"
Ned didn't quite know how to respond to the information he had just been given but Jon spoke up first, "Why do you have the chest with all the gifts?"
Vlast set the chest down, "If we are staying here for the duration of our visit, I thought you might hand them out while I move our belonging to our assigned. That is, of course, if the Lord of Winterfell has not changed his mind."
The man's black eyes slid to meet Ned's, obviously challenging him to see what he'd say. Ned had no intention of backing down in front of this stranger so he squared his jaw and held his gaze, "Of course not. In fact, that is an excellent idea. There is no need for you to move your own luggage; I'll have servants bring it up and arrange a room for you. I'm sure that after such a long trip you'd like a bath and rest."
"Thank you for such a kind offer, but I would rather handle our personal effects personally. I would say that I completely trust your people and that this is just a habit of mine, but it would be a lie. Having someone to show me where we will be staying would be greatly appreciated, though."
The man then left without another word, after which Jon gave him an apologetic smile, "Enzo is a...force of personality, but he means well."
Ned pushed his unpleasant thoughts away and settled his a palm on the back of Jon's neck, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Well, I'm glad you have someone looking after you. Come on, it's time to get out of this biting cold. Let's all go up to my solar and we can see what you brought."
"Ned, Lord Manderly and his family just arrived. Surely you want to welcome him into the Stark home properly," Cat looked as if she had just swallowed a lemon whole and was pointedly not looking at Jon, who Ned noticed turned his head to the side and rolled his eyes.
"Not to worry, Lady Stark. A family reunion is far more important; besides, the road there was a bit rough. My family and I could use a hot meal and a rest before we are presentable. Could you see to that?"
"Oh, well of course," the Lady of Winterfell sputtered. "I'll see that food and drink is brought to you right away."
"Excellent," Ned said, giving Jon another soft squeeze. "Let's go, Jon."
Jon V
"What you'd get me? What you'd get me?"
"Calm down, Rickon. I've got to the chest open first."
"Ugh, you're talking so long!"
Jon chuckled as he undid the lock and pulled the first two had packages out. The entire Stark family plus Theon had assembled in the lord's solar, the youngest members gathered around Jon and his chest full of goodies. The direwolves had all run off together to hunt as a pack for the first time in nearly half a decade. Lady Catelyn and Sansa were both seated on a cushioned bench as far away from him as the confines of the room allowed. Jon could feel the woman's hateful, suspicious glare against the back of his head; when he was young the glare would have made him curl into himself but now he only regarded it with something close to amusement, "Okay, Arya this one is for you and Bran, that one belongs to you."
Bran quickly opened his box to reveal an elven war axe resting on red velvet, it's blade covered by a leather sleeve. Jon had gotten from a nice Bosmer fellow he was friends with; the wood elf had assured of the weapon's quality and that the axe's light weight would make it ideal for someone younger. Even still, Jon had taken the time to reinforce and improve the weapon.
"Oh, wow," Bran gasped under his breath as he turned the axe over in his hands, admiring the slender, curved edges and elegant eagle design; the sharp angles and gentle curves invoking the shape of a predatory bird. It was still a bit too large for the boy, but after another growth spurt, he'd be able to carry it comfortably on his belt.
"I'm sure I don't need to tell you to be careful with that, Bran." Lord Stark said as he took the weapon to examine it.
Arya looked at the axe wide-eyed and ripped the top of her box off, clearly hoping for one of her own. Only for her face to fall when she pulled out a necklace. After a moment she mumbled, "It's...pretty," and hugged him around the middle. The necklace was a lovely little thing; it was simple, a black leather strap that hooked in the back with a disk of smooth moonstone embedded by a single ruby in the center. He returned her hug, leaning down to whisper, "Check under cushion next time you're alone, that's where your real gift is."
Arya pulled away and he gave her a conspiratorial wink before pulling out two more gifts, "Alright, Robb, that's yours. Here you go, Rickon, sorry it took so long."
Rickon hooted in joy as he took the box and began pulling out the small figurines; there was twelve in all, some of native Skyrim animals and some of the warriors of Tamriel but each was made of a different material. He held out one that was made of Dwarven metal, "What animal is this?"
"That's a plains sabre cat."
"What's that?"
"It's a giant feline predator, about the size of a bear with two canines that can be almost a foot long. They're extremely aggressive and will often ambush travelers who stray too far from the roads. There is also snowy sabre cats, who are even bigger and stronger. That's actually what Robb's cloak is made from."
"Speaking of the cloak," Robb butted in as he admired the cream-colored grey spotted hooded fur cloak, "is this all you got me?"
"Robb!" Lord Stark snapped.
"I mean it's nice and all, but it is my nameday…"
Jon laughed as he slapped Robb's hand away from where it was wandering towards the unopened boxes that were still in the chest, "I do have something else for you but you're getting it your nameday morning and not a moment sooner."
"Ouch! Why my nameday morning and not the feast?"
"Oh, I'm not going to that. It wouldn't be proper."
"Jon-"
"Oi, Theon! Where are you going?"
Theon froze from where he was attempting to slink out of the solar with a scowl on his face, "Huh?"
"I suppose I can always give your present to Arya if you don't want it…" Jon trailed off with a dramatic shrug.
"No! I mean-"
"Excellent. Here," Jon passed him a long, thin box. Theon took it with and, after giving the young Dragonborn a sideways glance, opened it; his eyes widening and jaw dropping slightly when he saw what was inside. He pulled out an elegant bow and gave it a practice draw, "I've never seen a bow like this before."
Lord Stark took an arrow from that matching quiver that was still in the box, "It this...glass?"
"You're not too far off. That type of bow is called a glass bow, but it's actually made from a material called malachite. Once refined, malachite is translucent but when crafted right, it has flexible property so it can be used to make bows. It's also used in instead of regular glass when building in regions of high winds."
"This is a fine weapon," Theon noted. Jon held back a snort; it was so like Theon, the proud squid would never say that he liked the gift or offer his thanks. That little comment was probably the closest he'd ever get to either.
"Be careful with it and the arrows; there are fifty in that quiver, make them count. I'm almost completely certain that malachite isn't found in Westeros and even if I had it shipped here, there'd be no one who could work with it."
Theon nodded without a smartass comment -truly a rare event- and, out of the corner of his eye, Jon noticed Sansa shifting in her seat as she took in all the shiny new toys her siblings and the family ward had received. Sansa had always enjoyed being showered with presents -not that Jon could criticize, he certainly never turned the exotic gifts given to him by travelers and nobles- but she stopped accepting the nameday gifts he had gotten her when she turned seven. 'Let's see if that still holds.'
"Sansa, I'm afraid I know nothing about pick gifts for a lady but I'm sure you and your lady mother will find this acceptable." Jon set a large, ornate box on his father's desk right in front of him and waited to see what would happen.
It ended up going exactly how Jon thought it would; Sansa squirmed for a moment, Tully blue eyes fixed of the lavishly decorated box, before prying her mother's hand from her arm and bolting straight for it. She let out a squeal in delight as she began to paw her way through the bolts of exotic fabrics that would completely useless in the harsh weather of the North but perhaps Sansa could use them for her trousseau.
"I don't know anything about ladies' fashion but I figure the raw materials are just as good. Check that little pouch there."
Sansa did so, shrieking in delight when a dozen glittering gemstones poured out. She looked at him with amazement in her eyes and gasped, "Thank you."
"My pleasure," Jon said, dismissively as he pulled out the last two gifts. "Lord Stark, these are for you."
"Oh, thank you." The Lord of Winterfell opened one of the gifts -a medium-sized box filled with several small pouches. "Are these seeds?"
"Aye, seeds for wheat, cabbage, gourds, potatoes, leeks, tomatoes, grape vines, and apple trees. The climate in Skyrim is not too dissimilar to the one here in the North so there is a decent chance they will grow here. Now, that is the practical gift; the other one is a more frivolous one."
An amused look crossed Lord Stark's face but he went ahead and began unwrapping the deer pelt covering the second gift. This shifted to an expression of astonishment, "This is a…"
"Mammoth tusk, aye. They're fairly common creatures in Skyrim."
The man who raised him examined the gift, running his thumb over the engraved runes and embedded jewels, "This is incredible, what are they like?"
"Big, of course, though there is smaller breed, and passive for the most part, except if you get to close or attack their...keepers. Some are wild, but plenty are kept as herd animals. A lot like giant cows really."
Ned Stark smiled warmly at him and took him by the shoulders, "Jon, these are all wonderful, generous gifts." He looked over at Lady Stark, "Aren't they?"
The Lady of Winterfell swallowed hard and forced out, "Yes, generous."
Ned turned back to him and Jon tried his damnedest to not meet the man's eyes, instead just shrugging, "Think nothing of it. My position with the East Empire Company affords me more than enough pay for a few trinkets."
"It's more than just trinkets though, as nice as they are the greatest gift is having you home."
Jon held back a wince and turned his head to look out the window, watching the heavy snowflakes come down, "Aye, it is fortunate that I was able to arrange a visit."
His childhood bedroom was exactly the same as it had been when Jon had left.
The room wasn't big, about half the size of Robb's, but that had never bothered Jon. Few rooms in Winterfell were truly large in size; after all, bigger rooms are harder to heat. It wasn't as if the room was empty or in a poor state; in fact, it seemed positively cozy with the cold stone floor covered by a thick woven rug and a warm fire crackling merrily in the fireplace, having probably been started by the same maid who brought up fresh bedding and lite the lanterns. His furniture was old, yes, but finely made and were Stark family heirlooms, previously belonging to Uncle Benjen. His bed was large -so big that Jon had felt swallowed up by it when he was younger- and it had a flock mattress complete with feather topper all covered by a layer of soft furs.
Jon laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and remembering when he would spend sleepless nights counting the tiny cracks in the granite. He slid a hand over the wall to his left, stopping when he felt a familiar small indentation; the one caused by Jon rubbing his thumb back and forth as a form of self-soothing, sometimes for so long that he wore the skin raw and bloody. He pulled his hand back sharply and stood back up, heading for the window in the room. It had always been his favorite part of the room, a dark-stained pane of glass featuring a pale-colored wolf against a red field. Jon rested his forehead against to cold glass, closed his eyes, and tried to calm his racing heart.
This was his childhood bedroom; he stayed in for nearly a decade, from the age of five when he and Robb had been moved from their shared nursery into different rooms -Robb hadn't taken the separation well, cried and snuck into Jon's room every night for nearly six months until Lord Stark put his foot down- until he had run away a month after he turned four-and-ten. He had so many memories here, plenty of them good ones, and yet Jon couldn't stand being in it.
'I should have insisted on staying at the inn. Damn you, Enzo! Why'd you have to challenge my uncle?' Jon sighed and went to one of his chests, first checking to see that they were all still securely locked and the pulling out a roll of paper, bottle of ink, quill, and Serana's enchanted bowl. His letter to Serana needed to be of an incredibly precise nature; he couldn't make it seem as if he was unhappy, because that wasn't entirely true, and he couldn't make it seem like he missed her too greatly, even though that was entirely true, because she would almost certainly come to Westeros to drag him back to Skyrim. However, he also didn't want to lie any more than absolutely necessary. With a haggard sigh, Jon began to write.
My dearest Serana,
I write to inform you that I have arrived at Winterfell safely. As I have made you aware in my previous letters, rather than travel with just Enzo to the castle, we instead traveled with Lord Manderly and his family. Upon arriving, our plans again changed once more; instead of stay at a nearby inn, Lord Stark insisted that we it was decided that we would stay in the castle. I have even been placed in my childhood bedroom. It feels disconcerting to be back, like putting on a coat you've outgrown odd to be back, like putting on a pair of boots you haven't worn in a long time.
I was well-received upon my arrival, most seemed happy to see me. Even Sansa was pleased, though that was likely more about the gift I brought her than anything to do with me personally. Everyone seemed to enjoy their presents, Theon and Lord Stark in particular. Lady Catelyn is far from pleased that I am back but hasn't said anything to me yet hasn't said anything to me yet; perhaps we can simply ignore each other for the duration of my visit.
How are you fairing, my dear friend? By my calculations you should be right in the middle of Whiterun's Grand Court, is all going well? Has Lord Hammer-Heart driven everyone to the brink of insanity by complaining about his wife every chance he gets? I truly don't know why he is so unhappy, Matyi is a perfectly pleasant woman. Thank you for taken care of all my creatures; I know Abri is a naughty little feline, but you can't beat Abecean Ratter cats when it comes to keeping pests away. I still can't believe Ysolda was able to find one for me. Alright, well, I will end my letter here; please give my love to Lydia and Jarl Balgruff.
Please don't be miss me too greatly, dear friend, I will be home soon.
-Jon
The Great Thane of Skyrim smiled as he read the letter over, not that would make Serana overly suspicious and yet nothing that was truly a lie; that was good because the vampire princess hated few things more than being lied to.
"Listen well, Jon Whitewolf! If you ever lie to me I'll rip off all that pretty hair of yours!"
Jon chuckled fondly at the memory, rolling the letter up before pressing it briefly against his lips and setting it ablaze in the enchanted bowl with a minor flame spell. As Jon watched the paper be devoured by fire, he wondered how long it would take Serana to write back. Truly he may have gone mad without her gift; over two months had passed since he had seen her but it seemed so much longer. He missed her smile, her burning eyes, the way she laughed, how she had his back in battle, the way her cool fingers felt when they touched his hair and face…
'There is no use dwelling on it now; she's busy doing your duties for you and will answer when she has time.'
Jon shook himself out of his longing and tried to distract himself by looking over his quarters once more. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere and the closer he looked, the more he realized that nothing had changed in the room: the pile of furs that Ghost had once slept on was still in the corner -it assuredly wouldn't fit the direwolf now though, he had more than doubled in size in the past five years- and the trinkets he had always kept on his dresser were still in place. There was a book on King Daeron I that Jory had given him, the sun-bleached antler of a deer that he had found while on a walk once, and the small box of beach stones given to him by Lord Wyman. Jon opened it and took a handful of stones, admiring the smooth texture and their pale pink and green coloration. He let the stones slip through his fingers, 'I left so many things I valued behind when I left. I told myself it was for practicalities sake, but in truth, I was angry and wanted to forget.'
An investigation of the drawers relieved that they were still full of his old clothes, folded neatly and ready to be worn. Like his furniture, much of his clothing had once belonged to his uncle.
"Benjen was just like you when he was young, thin as a reed. I bet you'll be as tall as he is now once you hit a growth spurt."
Jon never did grow that tall, so some of the clothes were altered for him. Most of them needed to be altered in some way; needed to be dyed darker or had the Stark sigil removed. Jon traced a finger over a patch that had been added to a doublet in order to cover a direwolf's head and a shiver went up his spine, it felt like he was in the room of a dead man.
"They're not all there."
Jon jumped and jerked his head towards the doorway, hand going for his dagger. He stopped though, when he saw Arya standing there. This little sister had changed, not much taller but her body had begun to refine itself with age; she wasn't particularly lovely yet, but in a few years time she'd be a picture of Northern beauty.
"They're not all there," Arya repeated as she stepped inside the room, latching the door behind her. "I stole some of them after you left. Robb and Theon wouldn't buy me any boy's clothes so I took some of yours. After all, it wasn't like you needed them and…"
She trailed off and sat down on his bed, Jon smiled sadly and settled next to her. Arya rested her head on his shoulder and continued, "After you left and Father couldn't find you, he tore this room apart looking for some clue as to where you had gone. Then he ordered it to be fixed and banned anyone from entering aside for a maid who dusted it once a week. He'd come in here every once-in-a-while, I think just to sit, but he refused to let any of us in. I still snuck in though. Robb and Bran did too; Robb took your little carving of Ghost, he keeps it next to the one you made of Grey Wind, and your old toy trebuchet for Rickon while Bran took your pillow."
Jon's heart ached at the pain he had caused the ones he loved but didn't speak up, instead just letting Arya finish letting out her emotions, "I cried for days after you left, cried until I had no more tears left. Then I got angry; I must have called you every name there is and even threw that wooden sword you got me into the fire, hated myself afterward. Finally, when I was done being angry, I crawled into bed and wouldn't leave for a week. Everyone tried to get me up but nothing worked until Septa Mordane told it 'wasn't proper for a lady to sulk over a bastard'. I swore at her and threw things; Mother wanted to punish me for it but Father didn't let her, he did make me apologize though."
"As you should have."
Arya glared at him and growled, "You're supposed to be on my side."
Then they laughed and Arya put her head on her shoulder again, "I'm so glad you're back."
"I'm not staying," Jon reminded her gently. "This is just a short visit. I have responsibilities in Skyrim and people that I care for deeply."
"I know that, but I could go back with you."
The young Dovahkiin kissed the crown of her head, "I would love that, Little Sister. But you have family here in Westeros."
"You are my family too."
"Aye, always, but it's different for me. In Westeros, no matter what I do I'll always be known as Ned Stark's bastard. I'm my own man in Skyrim; I'm happy there."
"I get that, I guess. Maybe I could visit you one day…"
"Maybe…" Jon hummed. He hated seeing Arya sad, so he changed the subject. "How do you like your gift?"
The change was instantaneous; Arya leapt to her feet, a bright smile gracing her face, and she pulled out her brand new ebony dagger. It wasn't enchanted, but used correctly it would be plenty deadly. "I love it! Where did you get it?"
"I made it," Jon said as he pulled out his own. "Along with it's older brother. I call mine Frostbite, yours will need a name too."
Arya thought for a moment, tilt the blade so the glossy black surface caught the light. "Candle," she said final, "I'm going to call it Candle."
"I like it, but a good name is only part of owning a weapon. This isn't a toy, Arya. You need to respect it, care for it, and learn to use properly. Now, I'll teach you, but if I think for one moment that you aren't ready for such a responsibility I won't hesitate to take it from you. Do you understand?"
Arya rolled her eyes, "Of course, I know that it's a big responsibility. I'm not a child, Jon!"
He chuckled, "Just so we're on the same page; we'll have our first lesson tonight in the crypts."
"By the gods, I can't believe Sansa is happier about that letter than you visiting. She is so weird sometimes."
"What letter?"
"The one Father got this a few weeks ago; the king is coming for the celebration."
*
*
*
'Fuck!'
Next Chapter: Jon has a dream, hears a voice from the past, plays around with Theon and Robb, takes a bath, and meets a king, Ned has a chat with Wyman Manderly, and Enzo is thoroughly unimpressed.
Notes:
1) I struggled a lot with Ned's pov chunk and I'm still not entirely satisfied with it. I was trying to create within Ned a combination of self-blame and refusal to take real responsibility but I'm not sure how it turned out.
2) People seemed to be disappointed there was letters between Jon and Serana in the last chapter, so I rectified that here.
3) I'm running out threats involving Jon's hair, any suggestions?
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