Chapter Text
Ned Stark stood up from where he had knelt in the godswood and made his plea. There was a strange whisper on the wind. Just the rustling of the leaves, he told himself as he watched the leaves flutter on the limbs of the Weirwood tree. He made his way back to the keep. Let them grow as brothers with only love between them, he said to himself again. His wife and son would be arriving any day now. The wife I’ve not seen in over a year…who should’ve been Brandon’s. And the son I’ve not met. Will she find it in her heart to forgive me?
As the young lord of Winterfell entered the keep, servants and guards bowed their heads. He climbed the stairs to the small room where he’d put the boy and his nurse and knocked. He was bid to enter a moment later and walked in to find the nurse covering herself from feeding the babe.
“Milord,” she rose and curtsied, holding the child to her chest.
“I’d like a moment with him please,” he said. She walked over and carefully placed the sleeping infant in his arms. He was growing though still small in Ned’s arms. His hair was coming in more now, dark hair…like a Stark.
“I’ll be right outside, milord,” the nurse said leaving them alone.
Ned stroked the child’s soft cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry but I promised and I must do this to keep you safe.” He sat down in the chair and looked at his nephew. “It will be a hard life and none of it is your fault. But we are Starks and we are used to hard things. And you are a Stark, no matter your name, and winter is coming.”
He heard the footsteps approaching the Heart Tree and glanced up wondering who was disturbing him at his prayers. The boy did not see him at first. There were tears in his eyes and he was out of breath from running.
“Jon?”
“Father,” the boy answered, batting hastily at his eyes. I am nearly eight, almost a man grown. I will not cry in front of him.
“What’s the matter, son?” his father asked.
“Nothing,” he answered, sullenly. I will not cry.
Ned stood and walked over to the boy whose eyes were still shining from tears that had not fallen yet. Jon would never tell him unless forced and Ned wasn’t certain he wanted to know. He took his taunts and slights in silence now and brooded to himself…oh, he brooded a great deal. Theon perhaps. The Greyjoy ward had come to Winterfell from Pyke not so many moons ago and he seemed to enjoy lording over Jon and rubbing the boy’s status as bastard in his face.
His heart sank though and he knew who brought out Jon’s tears most often. Catelyn. His lady wife had forgiven her husband. She’d forgiven him in time and love had grown between them. She’d given him two daughters since then and now another son. ‘A brother for Robb at last,’ she’d said. He has a brother already, Ned had wanted to say but didn’t. All the venom heaped on the boy instead of me. Why?
He put his hand on Jon’s shoulder and knelt before him. “Will you not tell me, son?”
“It…it doesn’t matter, Father.” He pulled the boy close then and held him. He felt his small shoulders start to shake as the tears returned. He held him for a long time until the boy finally broke the embrace and wiped his eyes. “Better?”
“Yes, Father,” he answered. But I didn't want to cry.
“Jon…if Lady Stark…”
“It wasn’t her,” the boy blurted out.
“Oh? Who then?”
Jon clenched his fists and looked down at the ground. He didn’t want to tell on her, even after what she’d said to him. But it was hard to keep things from Father.
“Sansa,” he whispered.
Ned scratched his head. Sansa was a sweet girl, only four and already a lady. She was courteous and…so like her mother. “What did she say?”
“Only that…she didn’t know what she was saying. She heard the word from Theon and…” Jon sniffed and didn’t want to start crying again. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. “She said ladies shouldn’t play with bastards.”
“I will talk to her, Jon.”
Jon shook his head and said, “It’s true anyway. There’s no point in saying anything to her…it doesn’t matter!” he shouted now. He looked up in horror at his father. He’d never spoken in front of him that way. He turned and ran away. He’d have to find another place to hide and brood today.
Ned watched the boy run off and guilt overwhelmed him once more. I’m sorry. None of this is your fault. You’re not to blame for any of it, Jon.
Jon knelt by the great Weirwood and heard her boots crunching through snow towards him. He rose and turned towards her. There were tears in her eyes just as there had been in his earlier when he’d finally listened to the truth. It was not fair. It was not right. He was Ned Stark’s son. He’d been proud to be his son even if he was just a bastard son. He’d finally gained the acceptance from her he had craved when they were younger. He’d gained much more in truth. And how long will that last now that the truth is known?
“Jon,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
He went to her then and embraced her. “It’ll change everything,” he sighed into her neck.
She pulled back and touched his face. “It will change some things but…I prefer not to think of this as bad news.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “I could not kiss my brother Jon like that.”
He shook his head at her, still reeling at the news that had been revealed so recently. “Sansa…I can’t…not yet. You’ve been my sister for so long.”
“Give it time then,” she said finally before letting go of his face and walking away.
Jon knelt in the snow again and tried to still the thundering in his heart from Sansa’s kiss. He would have to deal with that. I’m angry with you, Father, he thought at last, looking up at the face carved in the tree. But it’s not all your fault.