Chapter Text
The North was cold. It had always been cold and dull-looking. The terrain was bleak and gray, the rolling hills either covered with grass, rocks, or snow. The sky was similar, with a never-ending canopy of somber clouds blocking any sky or sun from the North's inhabitants. Elynor's companions shivered underneath their fur cloaks, looking bored with the landscape. The cold and gray didn't bother her in the slightest; she had prepared for the weather with multiple layers of clothes and furs, and she could see the color behind the bleakness.
The king, Robert Baratheon, had decided to pay a visit to his old friend, Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. Naturally, his entire family and their servants came along. The king and the other men rode their horses as the women and royal children rode in the wheelhouse. Elynor rode her mare alongside her father.
"Elynor," he called to her. He asked her if she was excited to stay in Winterfell.
"I am much honored to accompany the royal family to Winterfell."
Father smirked at her response and looked on past the hills. "You can stay with the party if you'd like. Once we are at the castle, I will retire to my quarters. I won't be missed."
Elynor frowned at this. "Will you not let Lord Stark greet you at the gate?"
"I shall make my presence known as is appropriate."
Once the parapets of Winterfell could be seen, a new surge of energy seemed to have possessed the party. No one but noticed Father disappear from the party and blend in with the crowd of people to make his escape. They were instead focused on Lord Stark and the King; the first of the two offering and polite and respectful bow to his king, the second pulling his childhood friend into a bear-hug. There was laughter from House Stark and Baratheons alike in response to the informal greeting of the king. He examined the Lord Stark's children and had quick words with each of them.
There was Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell. He was handsome, an ideal match for any highborn lady. Sansa was the first daughter of Lord and Lady Stark, young and pretty with her hair in elegant braids. Her eyes darted at Prince Joffrey ever so often, a pink flush on her cheeks when he smiled back. Arya seemed to be the only of the children to inherit the Stark's brown hair. Her sharp eyes took in everything around her. And there was Bran, who also looked just as curious but kept his eyes on the roofs above. To the left of Lady Stark was the third son, Rickon. He was tiny, too young to be a warrior just yet.
However, who caught Elynor's attention the most was a young boy about her age, standing just behind the Stark family. His eyes resembled that of Lord Stark's. His eyes were often downcast, rarely looking at anyone. They held sadness in them. Oh. He was Jon Snow, Lord Stark's bastard. He must have felt her staring because he suddenly looked up at her. She gave him a smile in an attempt of good grace, which he benignly returned. The gentleman next to him chuckled and Jon Snow's bashfulness, causing Elynor to send an apologetic wave before looking away.
The Queen, Cersei Lannister, had left the wheelhouse with her children and handmaidens, approaching the Starks with poise and assertiveness. She went through to the same routine of greeting as her husband before the King suggested visiting the crypt. The queen opposed, but all knew why he insisted on going. He wished to pay respects to Lord Stark's late sister, the King's first betrothed. The two kings went off, leaving everyone else in uncomfortable silence.
The silence was cut short when Arya asked, "Where's the imp?" a little bit louder than she meant to.
Cersei's polite smile turned into a scowl as she realized that Tyrion was missing. She turned to her twin brother, Jaime, asking where their brother was. Her eyes went straight at Elynor, ordering her to find Lord Tyrion and bring him to her.
"Now, Cersei," Uncle Jaime protested, "It's no trouble for me to find our brother. Let the girl rest."
Cersei shook her head. "The search will give a tour of Winterfell, which will be beneficial to her later."
Elynor had left the yard when a hand was gently placed on my shoulder. Ser Jaime held her still, advising her to rest in her room. She refused at first, knowing the queen would be displeased with such a slight. Jaime insisted that Tyrion would be displeased if she found him. The reason did not need to be said; he was at the brothel. Seeing that she was still unsure, he promised that Cersei would not know. She gave him thanks before excusing herself.
Back at the gate, she searched for the cart carrying her trunk. A helpful servant told her where to look. It was the only one left untouched, which was unsurprising. Why should anyone care to deliver her trunk to her room? Such a question did not matter, honestly. She had learned some independence from not being doted on as highborn ladies were. One bag meant nothing.
Elynor nearly stumbled back when she found a young girl just inches from her. It was Arya Stark. She stared for a good long while, eyebrows furrowed, examining her like some sort of animal from the woods. Elynor stared back, waiting for her to speak.
"Have you seen the Imp?"
Without reason, Elynor began to laugh. The girl seemed muddled by my giggles.
"Where is he?"
"I'm sorry. You just surprised me. Yes, I've seen him. My father is sleeping in his room right now. We'd best not disturb him right now." She smiled at the girl, hoping she would believe the lie.
Arya's eyes were knit her brow in confusion. "When did he have a daughter?"
"About sixteen years ago," I answered. "I'm Elynor. It is an honor to meet you, my lady." She gave a respectful curtsy and rose to see her displeased face. She apparently didn't like her title; so, a handshake was offered and accepted more willingly.
Arya led Elynor to her room to place her belongings. Afterward, she offered to give a tour of Winterfell, which was accepted. As they walked, she told of how she preferred learning how to fight than how to sew, which mortified her sister and septa and amused her brothers. Elynor stated that both skills were useful, whether she became a lady or a warrior. Arya looked confused but nodded. They stopped at the Godswood, where six wolf pups were chained to a weirwood tree. Arya released one, calling it Nymeria. She spoke of how her father had found a litter of direwolf pups near their deceased mother. He had planned to kill them until he changed his mind and gave them to his children. Elynor smiled at the story, a new admiration for Lord Stark coming to her. She knelt to be eye-level with the wolf before extending her open hand. Nymeria sniffed it curiously, no doubt interested in the scent of old books and horse reins, before licking her fingers. Her tongue was rough, covering her hand in one swoop. Both girls smiled at the gesture.
Arya had little interest in life at King's Landing. Rather, she showed interest in Elynor's ability to use a sword. "Do you really think girls can learn to fight?"
"My father had me learn," Elynor admitted, sitting next to her underneath the tree. "And most girls with martial skills are better than boys. Don't tell anyone, but I brought my rapier with me. Would you like to see it later?"
Before Arya could reply, a septa called out for her. Arya rolled her eyes, ignoring the call.
"Is that your septa? You should see what she wants. I promise I'll show you later."
The girl nodded before walking away, her direwolf trotting close behind.
"She seems to have taken a liking for you." a voice from behind commented.
Lord Stark and King Robert were standing on the other side of the tree. Elynor sprang up, lowering her head in respect. "My King. Lord Stark." She rose as she spoke. "Forgive me, I didn't see you."
"No need to apologize." Lord Stark replied. "What is your name?"
"Elynor, my lord. Tyrion Lannister is my father."
Lord Stark checked for any sign that she was a Lannister, though Elynor knew it was hard to tell. She was roughly two hands taller than her father, and he claimed she was prettier, but she could never believe it. Though her curls shone golden glints in the sunlight, it was consistently brown. All that she shared with her father were green eyes of a Lannister, which she claimed proudly.
"Tyrion's daughter," Lord Stark mused. "Are you taken care of?"
"Of course." That wasn't entirely true, but that's what he wanted to hear. That's what most wanted to hear.
He sighed and welcomed her to Winterfell before she excused herself from their presence.
That night, the Starks held a feast for the King and his company. Elynor had decided not to go, as she found parties overcrowded, and Cersei had advised her not to attend, as the presence of the Imp's daughter would be insulting. Well, Joffrey would be there, so why bother going?
She sighed, fiddling with the golden chain around her neck. It was a gift from her mother, though Elynor could not remember her. The pearl, her father had told her once, held significance to her family. Around the pearl were mermaids, each trying to hold the pearl up and support it. He then told her to keep it hidden from the queen and prince, who would be tempted to snatch it away. Thank the gods, neither of them had seen it for the many years she'd hidden it under her dress.
Eventually, reading alone became dull. Everyone was at the feast, either eating and drinking or serving food and drink. The night was calm and quiet in Winterfell. No one was outdoors. It was so peaceful. So pleasantly quiet. She knew better than to leave her room. Cersei would be infuriated by my doing so. But how would she know otherwise? She had refused Elynor from the feast. She had said nothing about going anywhere else. When her hand was at the door, her rapier caught her eye next to my bed. She wouldn't need it, so why was she contemplating carrying it with her? A long-forgotten septa's words came clear to her mind: A lady has no need for a sword at her waist. She hesitated but chose to hide the rapier underneath her cloak.
The sounds of laughter, drunkenness, and music erupting from the doors and windows of the Great Hall. Even the servers coming through the open doors were a little tipsy from wine and ale. A few insects chirped along with the music playing inside, the wind forcing trees to dance along. Though she knew she could never be a part of such merriment, the knowledge of its existence brought her some comfort.
Outside was a small training yard. Straw dummies stood guard over an assemblage of weapons: a plethora of swords, maces, the occasional axe, spears, bows, and arrows, and, most disturbing of all, a lone scythe. How fitting, she though. Targets were placed in a row across the yard, ready to be pierced by a quick, distant blade. Someone was already there, impassionedly mauling a dummy with his sword. His movements were agile and robust. His sword cut deep into the dummy, causing the stuffing to poke out of the fresh openings. If the dummy were made of flesh, the swordsman's mobility would kill him quickly and, hopefully, painlessly.
"Would you teach me that?"
The swordsman stopped his attack. Jon Snow's eyes held confusion, embarrassment, and disbelief. He clutched his sword firmly, letting it hang as an extension of his arm. His staggered breathing revealed the effort he had taken to maul the dummy behind him. "What?"
"Would you please teach me how to do what you just did?" He gave no response, looking as if she had asked him to breathe fire. "I do know how to use a sword."
He hesitated but beckoning her closer. "It's not exactly easy. So, don't be upset if you can't get it right away."
"Don't worry," she said, hanging her cloak on a nearby post and unsheathing my rapier, "I'm a fast learner."
Jon Snow showed her quickly: the ribs, the neck, a jab to the heart, and, "if she could," a deep slice down to the stomach. He demonstrated the combination, showing off his strength and control. After he was finished, he stepped back for her to mimic what he had just done. Jon Snow was stronger, no doubt; however, Elynor was agile. She approached the dummy slowly, analyzing her objective. She struck a blow to the dummy's ribs, whirled her sword up to its neck, and then stabbed the chest, driving her sword down to its stomach.
Jon Snow looked purely stunned as the dummy's head slid off of its neck. He was so perplexed, he dropped his sword. "How… How did you do that?"
"I just repeated what you did," Elynor shrugged. Jon frowned in disbelief, telling her to do it again. She did. Another innocent training dummy was decapitated and lacerated. Then, Jon Snow asked her to fight him. She told him no.
"Elynor, I hope you're going easy on that straw man."
Father was standing underneath an archway, watching the scene in front of him with silent merriment. In his hand was a tall wine bottle, which he drank from every few seconds. No doubt, it had been stolen from the kitchen.
"I assure you, Father, I am giving it nothing more than it can handle." his daughter laughed, sheathing her rapier. "What are you doing back there? I thought you'd be at the feast by this time."
"I'm preparing for a night with his family and mine." He pointed to Jon Snow behind me as he took another swig of wine. His footsteps led him to the training arena to lean against the fence. It was then that he moved his conversation to Jon Snow. "Your uncle's in the Night's Watch. I've always wanted to see The Wall."
Jon Snow looked down at him as if measuring him up. "You're Tyrion Lannister. The Queen's brother." Father nodded. Jon Snow looked at Elynor with a mixture of uncertainty. "He's your father?"
"Everyone seems surprised by that information."
"My two greatest accomplishments." My father forced the words out, smiling tiredly. "And you…" He looked for confirmation from Elynor, who nodded to his unspoken question. "You're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?"
Jon Snow turned to leave, obviously offended. Elynor bit her lip in discomfort from her father's bluntness. You would think that HE of all people would be delicate with that word.
"Did I offend you?" Father continued, unshaken. "Sorry. You are a bastard, though."
"Lord Eddard Stark is my father." Jon Snow defended himself.
"And Lady Stark is not your mother," Father finished. "Making you the bastard." He looked at me. "I say this to Elynor all the time. Let me share a piece of wisdom with you. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."
Father bowed before going inside, drinking from his bottle of ale on the way. However, Jon Snow was not finished.
"What do you know about being a bastard?"
Father pursed his lips and turn to face the Stark bastard. "All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes." Taking another swig, he left and went inside the Hall.
Bastard. The cursed word of Westeros. It didn't matter who you were or where you came from; if you were a bastard, the world would be cruel to you until you die. You were a disgrace to your house, a scandal. No titles or land would be given to you under any circumstance. A man's only chance to have or be something in the world would be to join the Night's Watch and pray to the gods for a high rank. A woman had no such opportunity; marriage was the only solution, be it an uncertain one. Becoming a maester or septon was also possible, but few were called to those positions. Either way, you were left to feel worthless and discreditable.
Jon Snow certainly understood that more than anybody. He may have been allowed to live in his father's home, but his own family had shunned him from the feast, probably from other esteemed events as well. He knew his only chance for respect was to go to the Wall and join the Night's Watch. According to Arya, he would be going in over a fortnight.
Jon Snow threw all of his anger and frustration at the dummy. Elynor flinched, remembering the sad eyes she had seen that morning.
"I'm sorry if my father was too blunt," Elynor apologized. "Sometimes he forgets how fortunate he is to be a legitimate son of a lord. I understand how you feel to be seen as less than by your own family-"
"What do you know about being a bastard?"
His words were sharp and cold, cutting deep within like a dangerously sharp sliver of ice. Elynor's felt her cheeks grow hot as she grabbed cloak. Before leaving, she bade him goodnight and left him with brief, yet essential words.
"I'm Elynor Hill, Tyrion Lannister's bastard."