Chapter Text
Part 7:Age 14
Jon Snow knew just what was said about him behind his back.
The washer women chattered about how he and Robb were getting to an age where marriage prospects would be discussed. And would Lord Eddard deign to marry his bastard to a lord's daughter or a merchant's daughter or send him off somewhere to become a knight or some such other nonsense.
Jory praised his sword work and used him to shame the older boys into practicing.
Septa Mordane despaired of him, she grumbled and fussed about how he hid Arya from lessons and would let her have the breeches that he had out grown.
The Northern lords always spoke well of him. Asking after his progress with a sword and his health. They commented about how he had grown from the stripling babe that was always wrapped in furs and sat in front of his father whenever the Lord Stark left Winterfell.
The farmers who cared for the glass garden complained that he would steal Blood Oranges from the only three oranges trees the gardens had. (John always shared the spoils of his midnight forays with his father, and thus was never scolded).
The maids praised his Stark features, good manners and wondered if any of their friends managed to lure him into bed yet. They believed (correctly) that if he got a child on one of them he would wed that woman.
Theon japed that Jon had been gelded after birth because he showed no interest in visiting the brothels when they were allowed into town.
Lady Catelyn's companions —all obstreperous southron women whispered behind their hands that it was only a matter of time before Jon slipped out of his room in the nursery wing and slit the throats of his siblings in the hopes that he would inherit Winterfell. They whispered that his mother had jumped off a tower in Dorne once she realized she would have to raise a northern bastard.
Lady Catelyn, he never heard the words she said but she made it clear that he was not one of lord Eddard's true born children and should therefore not be entitled to sit at the head table when company called, that he should not call the man who sired him Father (He'd long out grown the childish epithet Papa). That she thought Jon's clothing, toys, gifts and mount were all too extravagant for a bastard. It was clear to see that she believed he did not belong.
When they came across the dead direwolf and her pups Jon felt his stomach twist. There were five pups; three male, two female. The pups were meant for the Stark children, coincidences of that magnitude did not occur— clearly it was the Gods at work.
Even the Gods made it clear that Jon did not belong.
"You want no pup for yourself, Jon?" In that moment Jon couldn't have loved his father anymore. Even if Lady Catelyn and the Gods would cast him out, his father would keep him.
"I'm no Stark." And that was true. Despite looking like a double of Lord Stark his name was Jon Snow.
As they prepared to leave the clearing Jon heard the sound. He dismounted and walked past the direwolf's corpse to retrieve the final pup. It was small, just as white as the snow it had been found in. The pup's eyes were open, blood red and alert. The pup gave a strained whine and hunched down in his arms, tired, cold, trembling and whining pitifully.
Jon smiled slightly and held the little beast closer to himself. So maybe he wasn't a Stark, but he was still the son of one after all.