Chapter Text
When Lord Robb told Jon that Father was ashamed of him, Jon tightened his fists and screamed it wasn’t true, but deep down he knew the other boy was right.
Young Lord Robb was Jon’s half-brother, he knew, and Lord Stark had laughed and said that he was no lord yet, and Jon should only call him Robb. He had looked a little sad as he spoke, and Jon had promised him he would, but he and Robb had only met four or five times, and he much preferred not to call him anything at all.
His half-brother had another brother of his own, Jon knew, and two sisters, and a mother who was not the same as Jon’s. They all lived in Winterfell, further North than Greywater Watch, and Lord Howland once told Jon he used to live there too, when he was very small, but he couldn’t remember. Robb, who was a little older, had said he did, but that Jon looked different back then.
“You had different hair,” he had informed him. “It was brown.”
Jon had made a face at him. Does he believe me stupid? His hair was a pale blonde, had always been; he was sure of that. “You’re lying.”
“’Course I’m not,” Robb had said. He didn’t look a thing like Lord Stark, Jon had decided then, no more than Jon himself did. Why does he get to live at Winterfell when I do not? He knew that Robb’s lady mother was Father’s wife, but couldn’t he have married Jon’s mother instead?
“This is why you had to leave, you know.” That had piqued Jon’s attention, and he had listened closely to what his half-brother had to say. “You started to look like your mother, so you had to leave. Father told me so.”
Jon hadn’t believed him, and they had quarrelled; and the day had ended with he asking Lord Stark if he could please not bring Robb along the next time they met. “He is a good boy, Jon,” Father said, gently. “Same as you. It would do well for you to be friends.”
That was stupid. Jon was not allowed to have friends, as he wasn’t allowed to leave Greywater Watch except for the times he and Howland rode north to Moat Cailin to meet Lord Stark there, but he had been bringing Robb along for two years now, and Jon didn’t want to share.
He has him all year long. Jon only saw Father twice a year, and when he asked to go back to Winterfell with him he’d been told it couldn’t be done. Robb was right, he thought. He’s ashamed.
But he knew better than ask Lord Stark about it; so he waited until they had to leave and he was on the road with Lord Howland again.
“Is Lord Stark really ashamed of me because I look like my mother?” Jon blurted, then immediately regretted it. Howland’s eyes darted towards him, sharp and intense.
“Did Robb tell you that?” he asked, and Jon nodded.
Howland did the same. “I suppose so. One would need only a look at you to guess…” he paused slightly and closed his eyes for a moment. “…to guess who your mother was. Lord Stark is not ashamed of you, Jon, but his lady wife would be.”
Howland’s lady wife wasn’t ashamed of Jon, he wanted to say. Lady Samara was always quick with a smile for him, every time. “Robb said I used to look different,” Jon continued, curious; and Lord Reed nodded once again.
“You did. He meant to raise you himself at Winterfell when you were smaller.” Grow up in Winterfell, like Robb Stark. He wondered how that would have been. There were knights in Winterfell, with swords and maces; but no Meera.
He realized something else.
“Is my mother dead? You said she was.”
Howland flinched at that, then blinked. “I suppose she could be. She is in Lys, Jon, she is as good as.”
Lys. That was in Essos, and Jon tried to imagine when Lord Stark could have gone there. “What’s her name?” he asked. “Was I born in Lys, too? Do you think Lord Stark would tell me –”
“– Jon,” Howland interrupted him. “You need to promise me this now. You must never, ever ask Lord Stark about your mother. He wouldn’t want to be remembered.”
“Oh.” He wanted to ask why, but there was no need.
“Your mother,” Lord Reed told Jon, firmly. “Was a whore.” There was kindness in Howland’s voice, and his eyes were sad, but Jon understood. He knew what whores where, even though he’d never seen one, and he knew that they did not mingle with lords. Or, at least, not for long.
“Jon?” Howland asked him softly, after a while. “Are you well?”
“Of course I am,” he said. It did not mean a thing. His life hadn’t changed at all, he told himself, except that now he knew why he only saw Lord Stark twice a year. He would still go back to Greywater Watch with Lord Howland and go on with his life, follow his lessons and learn swordplay and play with Meera.
And, one day, he would still be a knight.