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Jon wandered along the commercial street, not really taking in Robb and Jory’s conversation.  He was aware of the stares their party were getting – but, then, Lord Eddard’s heir would receive such attention wherever he went in the North.  Jon noticed those stares.  They’d stopped staring at him long ago; had come to accept that the quiet boy who shadowed Robb would remain at Winterfell. 

Their father had given Robb and Jon permission to accompany Jory on a visit to Wintertown to trade for some materials he needed.  Jon had jumped at the opportunity, keen to be away from the stifling atmosphere and Theon, and followed his brother and the guardsman out of the gates. 

Jon’s nameday was approaching, and Lady Catelyn always seemed to look at him more severely as the reminder of his existence came round.  A reminder that he was younger than Robb and therefore came after her marriage to his father. 

Jon had never thought on it much.  He had his father, his brothers, and his sisters.  And Uncle Benjen, though he was at Castle Black now.  He’d left when Jon and Robb had seen four namedays and Sansa just beginning to master the art of walking unaided.  Benjen had been back to visit, but Jon still missed the days in which his uncle had always been at Winterfell. 

His father always ensured Jon savoured his nameday.  He may not enjoy the lively celebrations which commemorated the births of Lady Catelyn’s children, but he was always given first choice at dinner and gifted with tokens by the family and many of the servants. 

Jon also found his father happier in the days before his nameday than he was in the half-moon or so before Robb’s.  Old Nan had once said that it was because their father dreaded the day of his sister’s death.  The boys had been unsure, but Jon had noticed after that he always took a flower to the crypts a fortnight before Robb’s nameday. 

“What do you think, Jon?”  He was pulled out of his thoughts by the call of his brother, and Jon was forced to admit to not having heard the question. 

“Sorry”, he apologized.  “What did you ask?”

Robb sighed in feigned exasperation, as he was wont to do.  “I said, don’t you think it will be so much better when winter comes?  There will be so many more people here!”

Jon smiled grimly.  He understood his brother’s thinking, but his mind turned to the glaring warning that was the Stark words.  Winter is coming.  Wintertown’s population would grow quickly, it was true, but those gathered would be in a battle for survival.  The winters of Jon’s lifetime had been short and far between.  Old Nan had told him more than once this meant the Old Gods would soon visit a long and terrible winter upon them.

Jon tried to push Old Nan’s blether from his mind and turned to his brother. 

“There will be many more here, it is true”, he agreed.  Jon hoped their father would allow them to come back to Wintertown when the next winter arrived, to see the changes. 

Jory hailed their attention, and pointed at a store on the other side of the street.  “I need to run in there for five minutes.  Here’s a couple of silver stags – why don’t the two of you go to that stall and buy yourselves a treat, hmm?”

Jon and Robb gladly accepted the money and ran off, Jory’s warning not to go far ringing in their ears.  Once the freedom might have gone to their heads, but Jon and Robb were so seldom permitted to leave the security of Winterfell outside their father’s company (save for a hunt or fishing treat with Jory or one of the other senior guards) they did not wish to give Lord Stark an excuse to remove the privilege. 

Once again, Jon was pleased that Theon had not accompanied them on their outing.  He was back at Winterfell, helping Bran practice his archery before Ser Rodrik’s next lesson. 

The two boys ran over to a stall selling warm food.  They both quickly selected pork and apple sausages encased in bread and smothered in hot, creamy mustard.  Jon felt that somehow it was better than anything Gage had ever made but soon chastised himself for being so uncharitable.  It was the treat that made it better, not the quality of the goods.  Jon could count on one hand the times he’d purchased food in this way. 

“This is delicious”, Robb moaned through a mouthful.  Jon laughed and pointed at the mustard dripping down his brother’s chin.  Robb gave him a light-hearted shove and wiped it off with the back of his hand. 

“You’re just as bad sometimes”, his brother reminded him.  Jon nodded. 

He was just about to suggest they go and wait for Jory outside the store he’d entered, when he heard the woman speak.  The street was full of hustle and bustle and for all she seemed to be trying to keep her voice low, it was the one Jon pulled from the crowd. 

“…….right, ‘tis strange how these things work out.  One of them all the mother and the other all the father.  You’d know the young lord for Lady Stark’s boy all day long, but the other one looks for all the world like Lord Stark himself.  None of that Dayne woman in him at all.”

Jon froze and watched as the woman and her companion – who seemed to be around the same age – walked away and into the smaller of the two inns that served Wintertown. 

“Jon – “  Before Robb could speak more than Jon’s name, Jory returned and asked what they’d bought. 

“Sausages.  They were delicious.  Thank you”, said Robb.  Jon remembered himself and added his thanks to those of his brother.

Jon walked back to Winterfell in a daze.  Luckily Robb’s chatter kept Jory occupied and prevented any questions.  That Dayne woman.  His mother.  He’d never heard her spoken of at Winterfell, but there seemed to be a silent conspiracy not to mention anything of Jon’s mother at Winterfell. 

Jon knew Jory’s father and his uncle, Ser Rodrik, had fought for House Stark during Robert’s Rebellion but neither they nor any of the other Winterfell men who had gone south mentioned her name. 

He wanted to feel something for her.  Jon had dreamed of his mother for years.  A gentle, high-born, generous woman with kind eyes.  A woman who loved him just as Lady Catelyn loved his brothers and sisters.  He craved it more than anything in the world. 

Father had never told him who she was, and Jon allowed his dreams to form a picture of her. 

And yet, somehow, a Wintertown woman had heard enough to name a woman of House Dayne as his mother.  Was she right?  Was his mother related to Ser Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning and one of the greatest swordsmen the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen?  Or a serving girl at the Dayne home?  No, Jon decided.  If his mother was that Dayne woman then she was of House Dayne.

Jon furrowed his brow as he tried to recall Maester Luwin’s lessons on Dorne.  They were few and far between as the maester had mainly concentrated on the North.  Jon had always felt this to be right, given Robb would one day rule that dominion, but now he wished they’d covered more than the basics on the most southron part of Westeros. 

A Dayne.  His mother was a Dayne. 

He worried momentarily that he was latching on to the first name he’d heard, but the woman in Wintertown had seemed so sure…….

Jon wondered how he could best broach the matter with his father.  He would soon be four and ten, and deserved to know.  He was almost a man now – had Uncle Benjen not said on his last visit that the Night’s Watch had recruits of that age?

“Jon?  Jon?  Jon?”  He looked blankly at Robb and soon took in that they had reached Winterfell. 

“Thank you for taking us with you, Jory”, Jon nodded. 

“Will you come to my chambers?”  Robb asked.  His brother had an impatient air about him, and Jon quickly agreed.  He needed to talk to someone. 

They walked as fast as they could without attracting attention, and Jon found himself relieved they did not cross the paths of their brothers and sisters – nor that of Theon.  When they reached Robb’s chambers, Jon sat down on one of the chairs next to the fire and looked at his brother for some sort of reaction. 

“House Dayne are an old and noble family”, Robb told him. 

“I know.”

“Do you think – do you think maybe she was Ser Arthur Dayne’s sister?  Or cousin, perhaps?”

“That I do not know”, Jon sighed.  “You know I would have told you if father had said anything.  Last time I asked was when Rickon was born.  He said it was not yet time, that I was not yet old enough to understand.”

The conversation after the birth of their youngest brother had upset Jon.  As the years went by, he despaired more and more of ever knowing the truth of his birth.  Although his dreams were of a high-born, gentle woman with kind eyes, Jon would rather she were the daughter of a crofter than never know her name. 

“A Dayne.  Hmmm.  Given our father killed Ser Arthur, it might explain why he never told you.  Gods, if your mother was Ser Arthur’s sister then that means father killed your uncle!”

Jon found his head in a spin. 

“Do not say it in such a way.  You make it sound so dishonourable, and father is not that.  When he fought and killed Ser Arthur Dayne it was to get our aunt back from the Dragon Prince.  In many ways it was not Ser Arthur our father killed, but a knight of the Kingsguard.”

Robb gasped.  “I know!  It is your nameday soon, is it not?”

Jon nodded.  Robb’s had passed recently and he was not much older than Jon, though Jon had grown faster than his brother. 

“Father always asks you what you want for your nameday.  This year, why not ask him to tell you who your mother is?”  Robb seemed to think his idea an excellent one, and though nervous Jon found himself unable to think of an alternative plan. 

He had wondered how to broach the matter with his father, and Robb’s idea was better than none. 

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps”, Robb snorted.  “You know father finds it hard to refuse something we desperately want for our nameday!”

“Okay”, Jon agreed.  “I will ask him.”

-

Father, however, proved as rigid as ever on the matter. 

“Why?” Jon asked desperately.  Every other soul in Winterfell, whether their mothers lived or not, at least knew their name.  Everyone but Jon. 

He’d asked, as Robb had suggested, when father called him into the solar to discuss the dishes he would like on the evening of his nameday and the gift he was to be granted.  Jon had hoped that as he had never previously asked for anything ostentatious (or obviously Stark, knowing it would displease Lady Catelyn) his father might grant his dearest wish on this occasion. 

“Please, father”, Jon almost begged.  “When Rickon was born, you promised to tell me when I was older.  I am older now.  I’m almost a man.  I wouldn’t – I’m not asking to meet her, I know you must have a good reason for not permitting me to see her – but please, if you could just tell me her name.”

Jon fought back the tears threatening to spill and tried his best to control his voice.  His father looked back at him with a mixture of pity and something else he couldn’t identify. 

“I’m sorry, Jon.  I really am.  But you are not yet old enough to hear this.  It is complicated and – for the moment, it is best you do not know.  How about a new sword?  There is enough time for Mikken to make one before your nameday.”

Jon simply shrugged.  On any other occasion the offer of a new sword would have taken the place of anything else he desired.  But after hearing the Wintertown woman’s words the day before, his mother’s identity had become the sole occupant of Jon’s thoughts.  He did think of this mysterious woman often, and always had, but from time to time she would take over his mind. 

“Why don’t you have a think about it and tell me in a day or two?  Mikken isn’t working on anything urgent at the moment, so I’m sure he could set it all aside.”  His father made an attempt at a smile, but Jon found himself unable to return it.  His nameday was usually one of Jon’s favourite days of the year.  This year, however, it was tarnished. 

“And…..if I can think of nothing else?” Jon asked tentatively.

“Please, Jon.  I promise we will speak of everything one day.  Just not now.  You are still too young.” 

Jon had never been one to shout and scream and stomp to get his own way – of all of them Arya was the one who did that – so he nodded stoically, and withdrew from his father’s solar.  It wasn’t the first time father had refused, nor did Jon think it would be the last, but for Jon this time had hurt more than the others. 

He made his way back to his chambers and curled up on the seat beneath his window.  It looked out over the Winterfell courtyard, and a few moments after he took up his watch Jon noted his father leave the door closest to his solar and walk across the yard to the entrance to the crypts. 

A knock at the door took Jon out of his thoughts.     

“Come in”, he said softly.  He knew it would be either Arya, intent on hiding from Septa Mordane, or Robb – the only person who knew the purpose behind his meeting with father. 

Robb walked into the room wearing a look of nervous excitement that fell as soon as he saw Jon’s face. 

“Father didn’t tell you”, he deduced. 

Jon shook his head.  “I am still too young, he says.  And yet girls of our age marry and boys of our age are accepted into the Night’s Watch.  Uncle Benjen has said so more than once.”

“Maybe the Wintertown woman was right, then?”  Robb scratched the side of his face, where Jon knew his brother was making an attempt to grow his first whiskers.  “If your mother was high-born, a true Dayne of Starfall, then he may have made a contract with her when he brought you to Winterfell.”

“I think she was right”, said Jon.  “If nothing else, I’ve never heard another woman named my mother.  As you said before, perhaps she was Ser Arthur’s sister and he thinks I might be upset because he killed my uncle.  I don’t know.”

“Did you decide on another gift?”

“Not yet”, Jon sighed.  “Robb, I – I don’t feel like going down to dinner tonight.  Will you tell father I had a headache and went to bed early?”

“Okay.”  Robb seemed to take that as his cue to leave, and Jon returned to gazing out of the window.  It was almost sundown and time for dinner when his father left the crypts. 

Jon knew he wouldn’t be missed that much.  Theon would be delighted, and Lady Catelyn relieved of an excuse not to tolerate his presence.  His father would understand; he’d know why and not ask any questions.

Lying in bed that night, Jon began to form a plan.  If his father was so intent on forcing him to wait without a good reason then he would need to demand answers from his mother.  He did not care if she had never truly loved his father, or if she had been living a life of enforced, resentful solitude at Starfall because of his birth, he needed to know the truth.  Even if that truth hurt. 

When he woke, Jon made his way to the library under the cover of near darkness and located two maps.  The first was of the Seven Kingdoms, and the second was of Dorne alone. 

-

“Are you mad?” Robb hissed when Jon told his brother of the plan.  “You can’t simply leave Winterfell and head off to Dorne!  Father would be heartbroken.”

Jon held his tongue and did not point out to Robb that he was heartbroken himself from not knowing the truth.  Hearing who she was had woken a hunger in him, a desire to know more than her name.  A desire to meet his mother. 

Robb had seen his mother each and every day of his four and ten years.  He could never understand what it was to be forced to live in such ignorance of who he was.

“I have to do this.  I need to know the truth of who I am, Robb.  That Wintertown woman said I look exactly like father, but she may never have been to Dorne.  She may never have seen this Dayne woman.  I just – I just want to look upon my mother and see myself in her.” His voice began to break at that, and Robb nodded. 

“I do still think it will break father’s heart.  He cares for you as much as he does the rest of us.  And Arya….what am I to tell her?”

“Don’t.  I have to, Robb.”  If he thought about it too much, Robb would be able to guilt him into staying and Jon knew he would regret that.

“What do I need to do?”  Robb asked.

“Just make sure they don’t know I’m not in the castle for as long as you can.  I’ll go on our day off from lessons and practice so I’m not meant to be anywhere and you don’t need to lie too much.”  Robb had always been a horrible liar, so much so that Jon was beginning to think he shouldn’t even have mentioned his trip in front of his brother, but he and Robb had never had any secrets from one another.

“What if they ask if I know where you’ve gone?”  Robb chewed on his lip, the way he and Arya did when they were worried. 

Jon sighed.  “Tell them you don’t know.  Tell them the only family I know of outside Winterfell is Uncle Benjen.  Maybe they’ll think I’ve gone to Castle Black.”

As far as his father knew, that was the case.  Jon hadn’t mentioned the Wintertown woman’s words during the interview with his father, so he had no reason to suspect Jon had merely been looking for confirmation.

“How are you going to get there?”

“There are ships leaving from White Harbour all the time.  Father spoke of it at dinner a few days ago, remember?  When Poole spoke of trading more there.  I can work my way to Dorne helping out.”  Jon could read and write, which was more than he supposed many on trading vessels could do.  He could clean plate and armour, and nobody had ever called him untidy.

“You’ve never been at sea before.  What if it makes you ill?  Mother says Aunt Lysa always used to get terribly sick when she was at sea.”

Jon’s jaw tightened at the mention of Lady Catelyn.  He wondered sometimes if she knew who his mother was.  He could never be sure.  Perhaps his mother was beautiful, more so than Lady Catelyn, and she was jealous?  Was that perhaps another reason his father refused to speak his mother’s name?

“I’ll be fine.  I’m sure it will be no worse than sitting upon a horse.  Please, brother, I have to do this”, Jon repeated. 

“Okay.”  Robb still looked a tad sceptical, but at least he wasn’t threatening to tell tales to their father as Sansa would have done.  But then, Sansa knowing would require her to acknowledge him and she rarely did so when their father wasn’t present. 

-

Robb Stark sat nervously, fidgeting as he pushed his luncheon around the plate in front of him.  In a way, he wished Jon hadn’t mentioned his silly plan.  Until that morning, when Jon had been come to say goodbye, Robb had hoped his brother would change his mind. 

He couldn’t blame Jon.  Although Jon was younger than him, and was therefore proof that his father had betrayed his mother, Robb had never seen Jon as someone to whom blame should be apportioned.  Jon was as much his brother as Bran or Rickon.  He couldn’t remember not living at Winterfell with Jon. 

And Jon was right – he deserved to know the truth. 

Robb had watched wistfully as Jon had ridden away, choosing a guard change to make his move.  He had spent the remainder of the morning in a state of nervous tension and it had wound his stomach up so much that he found himself unable to eat all of the cold game pie and salad in front of him. 

“Are you alright, Robb?” his mother asked kindly from her place on the other side of father.  “You haven’t eaten much.”

“I think I ate too much this morning”, Robb lied.  He stuck his fork into a large piece of meat and placed it in his mouth, forcing himself to swallow.  At least Jon was going south rather than north.  It was unlikely, therefore, that he would be set upon by wildlings. 

“Would you like to play a game later?” Sansa asked him expectantly.  “We could play monsters and maidens.”

“Maybe”, Robb shrugged.  He saw a look of disappointment cross Sansa’s face.  “Find me later, and if I’m not doing anything then we will.”

His mother and Sansa were the first to leave, the former muttering about wanting the seamstress to take measurements for a new dress – most likely for Sansa, Robb assumed.  When they were no longer in earshot, his father turned to him. 

“Where is Jon?  I haven’t seen him since first thing.  He usually comes to luncheon.”  Robb guessed his mother’s prompt arrival for the midday meal had prevented this question from being raised earlier.  It hurt Robb to see his brother treated so. 

“He complained of a headache this morning, but then I think I saw him go to the godswood.  He must have lost all sense of time.  I’m sure we’ll see him later.”  Robb hoped that sounded plausible.  His father seemed to accept it in any case. 

Robb knew his father’s ignorance of the situation wouldn’t last forever.  He found his loyalty torn in two – and knew that when his father started asking questions it would be all he could do to avoid betraying Jon’s trust in him. 

-

His father’s ignorance lasted until evening.  Robb had found himself grateful for the excuse of a headache he’d mentioned at luncheon, and used that to explain why Jon hadn’t joined them.  He implied Jon had told him of this, but didn’t say it outright. 

“Headache”, had been the extent of his response when father asked why his brother had not joined them.  Robb noted he did ask in front of mother this time.  He also noted the flash of lightening in his mother’s eyes when Jon’s name was mentioned. 

After they’d eaten, the family retired to the old day nursery, next to where Rickon still slept, and listened to their father tell a story of Brandon the Shipwright.  With Jon heading for White Harbour and a ship, Robb found the tale eerily appropriate and did not seem to hear much of what was said. 

His thoughts were of Jon.  The seven of them were sitting around the fire, enjoying the company of family.  Jon was out in the wilderness somewhere, and Robb was unsure how much of the stockpiled food he’d filched from the kitchens his brother would risk eating.  He knew Jon had little more than a heavy fur cloak to wrap himself in. 

It was when Hullen, the Master of Horse, entered the room that Robb knew the game was up. 

Hullen bowed his head respectfully, and asked to speak to his father in private.  Robb watched his father leave the room.  A few moments later, he heard his father’s roaring voice.  Sansa jumped, and Rickon began to cry.  Lord Stark rarely shouted, but when he did it was something to behold. 

“He’s been gone how long?!”

“Mother?  What’s wrong”, Sansa murmured, seeing the fear on their mother’s face. 

“I don’t know, sweetling.  I’m sure it isn’t anything terrible.  Here, take Rickon for me.”  Sansa took the crying babe, but before mother could leave the room, father was back.  He looked directly at Robb.  Robb, who had implied he’d seen Jon during the day.  Robb, who everyone knew Jon was closest to – save, perhaps, Arya. 

“Where is he, Robb?” Robb felt a tightening in his chest.  He’d never seen his father this angry before.  He doubted his father had been this angry before outside of a battlefield. 

“Whom have we lost?” his mother asked.  “And why do you presume Robb is involved?”

“Hullen tells me one of the horses is missing, that he hasn’t been seen since early this morning.  This horse was last seen being patted down by Jon, whom nobody has seen since he broke his fast this morning.  Nobody save Robb.”

Robb could feel his brothers and sisters turning their eyes to him.  To the side, he caught a glimpse of the terror on Arya’s face.  Robb had warned Jon how upset she would be to find him gone!

“Hullen went to see Jon, but found his chambers empty and gaps on his shelves.  Jon isn’t in Winterfell, is he?  When did you actually see him last?”

“This – this morning, father”, Robb admitted. 

“My solar.  Now”, his father told him.  Feeling like a boy of seven caught stealing sweets, Robb looked down as he passed his father and left the room.  He went along the corridor terrified of his father’s anger and disappointment.  Robb had let him down.  And yet, if he were to speak of where Jon had gone, then he would let his brother down.

There was no easy choice, no right choice. 

His father did not take long.  He walked into the solar, where Robb stood next to the fire and it struck Robb again that he had never seen his father this angry before.  There was something else, though, in his eyes.  Had he seen it in anyone other than his father, Robb might have taken it for fear. 

“You lied to me at luncheon about Jon having a headache, and you lied about possibly seeing him go to the godswood.  You lied to me at dinner when you said again that Jon had a headache.”

Robb stared at his father, unsure what to do.  He was wearing his Lord Stark face, as Bran called it.  Before he could think of anything to say, his mother slipped into the room.  Robb was shocked.  Usually she left anything to do with Jon’s welfare to father, Old Nan or Maester Luwin.

“Of everyone in this castle, Jon is closest to you and Arya.  Arya is eight, and if Jon said he was leaving then she would demand he take her with him.  You know that as well as I do.  Jon loves and trusts you.  You are the only person he would have told.”

Robb coughed.  He should’ve thought of this before Jon left.  Telling him had meant Jon left Robb with a choice – betray his father or betray his brother. 

“Jon’s had half a day’s start on us, Robb.  I need to know where he is going.”

“The boy is most likely on his way to Castle Black”, his mother offered.  “Benjen is the only person outside of Winterfell he knows.”

“Is that right?”

Robb gazed into his father’s eyes.  All he had to do was utter the lie Jon had given him.  His mother had even set up the possibility it could be the truth. 

Robb silently begged Jon to forgive him, and shook his head.  “No, father.”

“So, you do know where he has gone?  I need you to tell me.  If you do not do so, then we will go out to the godswood and I will ask you before the heart tree.  And then any lie you tell will not only be told to me, but to the Old Gods.”

Robb gulped, and heard his mother’s loud objections. 

“Ned, please.”

“Dorne”, Robb croaked.  “May he forgive me, but he’s gone to Dorne.”

“Dorne?!  Why in seven hells would he go to Dorne?”  Looking at the confusion on his father’s face, Robb wondered for a moment if they’d been wrong to take the Wintertown woman’s word.  After all, his father knew how upset Jon had been at the recent refusal to name his mother.  Travelling to her homeland said he wanted to meet her regardless. 

And then Robb looked at his mother.  Her face had paled and Robb saw her grip the side of her chair.  Perhaps they had been right. 

Robb had broken Jon’s trust, but he could defend his brother’s actions. 

“We – there was a woman in Wintertown when we went there with Jory.  She said – she said that I looked like mother and Jon looked like you.  That…..that there was nothing of his mother in him.  Nothing of that Dayne woman.  I’m sorry, mother.”

He knew his own mother didn’t like anyone to refer to Jon’s. 

Robb looked at his father.  He seemed to have aged years in a matter of moments.  “Jon has gone to Dorne.  And what did Jon plan to do when he got to Dorne?  Turn up at Starfall and demand to see a woman whose name he doesn’t even know?  I take it this is why he asked me to name his mother as his nameday gift.”

Robb flinched.  They hadn’t really discussed what came after.  Robb had just assumed Jon would present himself and they’d know who he was. 

“We have to stop him before he gets anywhere near Starfall.  How does Jon intend to get there?  By riding the full length of the Seven Kingdoms?”

Robb lowered his head. 

“Please, Robb.  I need to know everything.  Jon would not be safe in Dorne.”

“Ned, it is unlikely the boy will get anywhere near the place.  He has no knowledge of how to get there.”

“Unless he has taken the maps Maester Luwin has been unable to find.  I asked him to locate one yesterday and he noticed some others were missing.  Jon will not be safe in Dorne, should he reach it – Doran Martell is above killing children, but the Red Viper is not someone I would cross willingly.  Do you think anyone of my sister’s blood would be safe when the Dornish blame her for Rhaegar setting Elia aside?!”

“I’m sure they blame Rhaegar.  They cannot blame your sister for being kidnapped.”

Robb looked at his father.  He was uneasy.  He spoke seldom of that war, and never of his sister.  Old Nan had told them a story or two, but when Sansa saw how it pained the old woman to speak of Lyanna they stopped asking. 

“The Dornish blame them both.  I cannot even be sure how much they know.  If they know all, then anyone of my sister’s blood is a prisoner in their hands.”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you took up with Ashara Dayne.”

“I thought I’d laid that ghost to rest”, his father sighed.  “I asked that nobody speak of her within the walls of Winterfell.”

Robb was curious.  If nothing else, he had learned more of his parents and the war that had torn the Seven Kingdoms to shreds tonight than he ever had before. 

His father turned to him.  “Jon is going on a fool’s errand.  Ashara Dayne is dead.  There is nothing in Dorne for him.  And…..even if she were not dead, Lady Ashara is not Jon’s mother.”

“Then why did you ever let me believe she was?” His mother’s anger seemed to be growing along with his father’s.  Robb had always known – the family had always known – how delicate a subject Jon’s mother was.  It was not a matter raised in her presence. 

“I didn’t – I danced with Ashara once at Harrenhal, that place where everything went to hell.  Gods, is it cursed!  I didn’t even ask her to dance, Brandon asked her to take pity on me.  We didn’t speak again until near the end of the war, when she told me where Arthur was guarding Lyanna.  She thought perhaps we could come to some accord that would save her brother’s life.”

“And the child?  I know she had one, Ned.  The Seven Kingdoms knows she had a child!”

“A girl.  A stillborn girl.  Brandon’s daughter.  You were betrothed to him, and I didn’t want you to think we’d both betrayed you.”  His father sighed deeply and then pinched the bridge of his nose.  Robb’s eyes sought his mother and found her in shock. 

Robb shuffled his feet and saw his father flinch slightly.  Almost as if he’d forgotten Robb were in the room with him. 

“Do you love your sisters, Robb?  Do you love Sansa and Arya?”

A stupid question, of course he did.  Robb nodded. 

“You would do anything for them?  Anything they asked?  If they gave you their most precious treasure and asked you to protect it, would you do it?” 

“Of course I would, father”, Robb told him earnestly.  But what did that have to do with finding Jon?

“Would you commit treason for your sisters, Robb?  If they asked you to defy a king you had sworn an oath of fealty to, would you do it?”

“I – I – I “ Robb stammered.  He wasn’t sure precisely what his father was asking him, and nor it seemed did his mother. 

“What does this have to do with anything, Ned?  Robb, just tell him where your half-brother is so we can send someone after him”, she sighed.  Robb felt a stab of pity for her.  His mother looked ashen and as if she could sleep for a week. 

“It has everything to do with the matter at hand”, his father said quietly.  He came and stood directly in front of Robb.  “Would you?”

Robb looked at his mother, and recalled the words of House Tully.  They seemed more appropriate for this than those of House Stark.  “Family, duty, honour.  Family comes first.”

“You are your mother’s son.  In so many ways, you both are.”  Both of us?  Robb was confused.  Did he mean Jon was like his mother?

“My sister entrusted me with her most precious treasure.  She was dying when I found her.  Do you know what the last thing she said to me was?” 

Robb looked back at his father, unable to speak.

“His name is Aegon Targaryen.  If Robert finds out, he’ll kill him.  You know he will.  You have to protect him.  Promise me, Ned.  I gave my sister my promise.  I choose her over Robert and committed treason against a king I swore fealty to.  I have committed treason each and every day since by keeping that promise.  By protecting her son.  Please, Robb, I beg you.”

Robb felt a sudden urge to vomit.  Before he could do anything more than think of the urge, he had turned his head away from his father and emptied his stomach. 

“Robb!”  His mother ran over and ran her hands up and down his back soothingly. 

Robb spat onto the floor, hoping the circumstances allowed for it.  He couldn’t believe it.  Jon was Aunt Lyanna’s son?  Jon – no, not Jon.  Aegon Targaryen.  Targaryen.  He thought back to what his father said about Prince Rhaegar setting his wife aside.  Jon was trueborn?  Jon had a claim to the Iron Throne?  Robb couldn’t fathom it. 

He wasn’t sure if he should be jealous of Jon or pity him.

“White Harbour”, he rasped.  “He intends to work his way south on a ship.”

“Thank you.”  Robb wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and then immediately found himself in his father’s tight embrace.  “Go and fetch Maester Luwin.  I need to send a raven to Lord Manderly, asking him to hold all ships until further notice, in case we cannot reach Jon in time.  There is no telling which route he took.  Then go to Hullen and ask him to saddle half a dozen horses.  Our fastest, mind.”

“Yes, father.”

As Robb left the room, determined to be one of the half dozen riding after Jon, he heard his mother speak.

“You should have told me the truth, Ned.  At the beginning we were strangers, so I understand why you did not.  But we haven’t been strangers for a long time, now.  You should have told me the truth.”

-

Jon rubbed his hands together, grateful it was still summer.  The fire he had lit just after dusk was warming nicely.  He heard some murmurings from the horse he’d brought with him, currently tethered to a tree, and fed the poor beast some of the apple he had in his travel bag. 

He yawned, and started to think of sleep.  It had been a long hard ride.  Until the middle of the day, he’d half thought Robb would have an instant attack of the guilts and tell their father.  But nobody had come after him thus far.  Perhaps they had not even noticed his absence yet.  Perhaps they did not care.

When they’d parted, Jon had tried once again to make his brother see this was something he had to do.  Maybe Robb, the trueborn heir, would never understand, but Jon knew he would at least try. 

Jon leaned back against the tree stump he sat against, and allowed sleep to overtake him.

-

He was woken by birdsong the following morning, and immediately rubbed his neck.  Sleeping against trees was not the most comfortable thing in the world.  He was relieved it would only last as long as it took him to reach White Harbour. 

In White Harbour, he would trade in his horse for some emergency money before finding a ship.  Jon had deliberately chosen a horse he knew wasn’t a favourite of anyone in Winterfell for this purpose.  If his father could bear the cost of a new sword for his nameday, he could bear the cost of replacing this horse instead of a gift. 

Jon didn’t have any money of his own and the few possessions he had were keepsakes with no value for bartering.  In the end, he had taken only a few changes of clothes, a small sword Mikken wouldn’t miss, as much food as he could get away with stockpiling over a three day period, and some sentimental things he couldn’t leave behind – including the wooden wolf Robb had whittled for his last nameday and an uneven handkerchief Arya had made him. 

He had also packed the only two books he owned personally (one on Brandon the Builder and the other on Daeron the Young Dragon) reasoning he would need a way to fill his time on the ship.  Jon didn’t want to get close to those he was travelling with.  He didn’t want them asking too many questions.

Once the horse was saddled, Jon quickly perused his map before setting off again in the direction of White Harbour.  With any luck, his father was currently charging up the kingsroad towards Castle Black.  That was the lie he had given Robb, but he thought again that his brother was a terrible liar. 

Jon picked up his pace.

-

“Lord Stark!  A fire!”  Robb heard Hullen shout as he rounded a corner.  His father’s pace increased, and Robb followed suit.  They had ridden all through the night, and Robb began to worry about their horses.  He wasn’t sure how long they could cope with such relentless pace. 

“This hasn’t long been put out, I reckon”, said Jory.  Jory had taught them all to light fires on hunting trips. 

“Jon had a half-day start on us”, his father replied.  “He would’ve stopped overnight to rest and then started again this morning.  We have ridden all through the night – I don’t believe we’re that far behind him.  You are right; this fire hasn’t long been put out.”

Robb hoped that was the case.  He knew Jon wouldn’t be happy with him when they met again, but hoped that would change once father told him everything.  Although Robb had been permitted – against his mother’s wishes, given his vomiting – to come with them, his father had made it very clear that Robb was to tell Jon nothing of his parentage.  That would wait until their return to Winterfell.

“Come on!” His father yelled.  Robb patted his horse and set back off.  It wasn’t that long after daybreak. 

-

His father and Jory proved right.  It could only have been an hour after they discovered the fire that Ser Rodrik spotted him.  “Lord Stark!”

Robb followed Ser Rodrik’s line of sight and saw a man with Jon’s dark hair riding a horse not too far ahead of them.  They were gaining on him all the time.  Robb chanced a glance at his father and saw the steely determination in his eyes.  Jon (Robb refused to call him Aegon, even in his head) may be Aunt Lyanna’s son by blood, but Robb knew his father cared as much for him as any of them.

He kicked off, and rode faster, wanting to be the first to reach his brother. 

Hullen was Master of Horse, though, and made Robb look like a beginner.  The only consolation he had was that Jon appeared equally inept in comparison.  Although he must’ve known his journey had come to an end, Robb saw Jon try to outrun them. 

He failed. 

“Young Jon, that’s us now”, he heard Hullen say.  “Come now, call a halt.”

Jon stopped his horse, and as Robb rode up to him he caught his brother’s eye. 

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t be a good enough liar”, Jon sighed.  But there was no malice in his words. 

“I’m sorry, brother.  I truly am.”  Once you know the truth, you will understand.  You will understand why I spoke….and why father never did. 

-

Jon dismounted as his father approached the horse.  He looked at him for signs of anger and found himself in his father’s arms. 

“Don’t you ever, ever do that to me again, Jon?  Do you understand?”  Jon nodded, full of emotion.  If nothing else, his father had cared enough to come after him.  Maybe there was a real reason his father never spoke about her; maybe his father’s attention was all he would ever hold. 

Jon pulled away from his father.  “I’m sorry, father.  I know I shouldn’t have done it.  I just – I’m sorry.”

“Come with me.”  Robb gave Jon a half-smile as he passed, following his father away from the rest of them.  When they were out of earshot, his father turned to face him. 

“I am as much to blame for this as anyone, Jon.  And when all is said and done I hope you will understand.  More importantly, I hope you will forgive me.” 

Jon was puzzled.  His father was an honourable man.  Siring a bastard aside, Jon had never known him to do anything wrong.  Unless his father meant to finally tell him?  And the forgiveness was for not speaking out sooner?

“I would forgive you anything, father”, Jon told him honestly.  A mixture of pain and pride crossed his father’s face. 

“I didn’t want to tell you until you were old enough to handle it.  I wonder if anyone would ever be – anyway, when we get back to Winterfell you shall have your nameday wish.  Not immediately.  You will have a decent night’s sleep in a proper bed first.  But after that, you and I can talk.  You will have questions and I will do my best to answer them.”

“Thank you, father.  Truly.  I cannot tell you how much this means to me.”  Jon felt his voice wobble. His father said nothing, only embracing him again.  Jon thought he’d outgrown the need for such affection, but perhaps he wasn’t as mature as he had believed.

“I only ask one thing in return.  Don’t hold this against Robb.  Your brother only wanted what was best for you, and told me more than one lie to protect you.”  Jon smiled, and agreed to the condition.  He could never stay angry at Robb for long in any case, nobody could.

When they returned to the group, his father announced that they would rest awhile – the pursuing horses having ridden for more than twelve hours without a proper break – and then begin their journey back to Winterfell. 

Robb sat down on the grass, and Jon joined him. 

“I am sorry, brother.  Truly.  But father – he – “

“It is alright.  He means to tell me the truth.  He has pledged to upon our return to Winterfell.  After a good night’s sleep.  And a good meal, most like.  Father did say you held out on him for me.”

“I did”, Robb nodded. 

“How did he break you?  Did he make you swear before the heart tree?”  Jon knew his father had once forced Bran to spend a night before a heart tree over his climbing. 

“He threatened it”, Robb admitted.  “No, he – I’m not supposed to – but, well I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to say…..he told me that Dorne is dangerous for a Stark.  The Dornish remember Princess Elia, and that Prince Rhaegar set her aside for our blood.”

“Thinking on it, I don’t suppose they were too thrilled about father killing Ser Arthur Dayne either”, Jon mused.  “You should get some sleep, brother.  You look exhausted.”

-

Back at Winterfell, Jon felt as if he had been transported into another world.  They had arrived back at the castle long after dark, tired and dusty from the road.  Lady Catelyn had immediately descended upon them, and after ensuring Robb was alright she sent them both to the kitchens for a snack before bed. 

The following morning, Jon was permitted to sleep for as long as he liked.  When he went down for breakfast, the servants all smiled at him.  They said nothing and Jon was grateful for their tact.  The most normal part of the whole thing was Arya running the length of the great hall and jumping into his arms.  It seemed they were all getting a late start today.

When Jon set her down, his youngest sister punched him in the shoulder.  “Next time you leave, you have to take me with you.”

“Ouch.  That hurt.”

“Good.  Don’t leave me again.”

Jon smiled at her softly.  This was why, despite their closeness, he had not confided in her about his plan.  “I promise, little sister.”

For once, nobody raised an objection to Arya’s demands that Jon sit next to her.  But even with her offers of snacks the night before, it was Lady Catelyn who surprised him the most. 

“Sansa, pass those eggs to Jon, please.”  Jon accepted them from his sister with a shy smile.

“Thank you, Sansa.”

Jon was in a bit of a daze; he tried to remember the last time Lady Catelyn had used his name and came up short.  Perhaps his father’s reaction to his disappearance had changed something in her.  Jon fidgeted as he contemplated just how much he must have scared his father to do that. 

-

An hour after breakfast had finished, Jon reported to his father’s solar as requested.  He recalled his last visit, and the request he had made, and felt a bundle of nerves jolt through him at the thought of finally discovering who his mother was. 

Once, he had dreamed of a high-born woman.  Jon no longer cared about that.  He just wanted to know who she was. 

His father entered the room, a grim set to his face.  Jon noted instantly his father carried two winter roses.  Both appeared freshly cut. 

“Here.”  He handed one of them to Jon.  Looking down, Jon wondered what he was meant to do with it.

“Follow me.”  Jon obeyed wordlessly, following his father through the corridors of Winterfell, out into the courtyard and then to the entrance to the crypts.  Jon hesitated.  The crypts were for the dead of House Stark.  Why had his father brought him here?

“I was overdue a visit”, his father said, cutting through his thoughts so accurately Jon wondered if he’d spoken aloud. 

They went down the steps and along to his grandfather’s statue.  Here, they stopped.  Jon gulped.  He’d always held this place in both terror and fascination.  There were nightmares, recurring ones, in which the dead Starks chased him out because it was not his place. 

“This was my father, Lord Rickard”, his father began.  “He is your grandfather.  He wished to expand our influence southward.  Although the North became part of the Seven Kingdoms when Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen, we had seldom involved ourselves in the rule of that realm.  Lord Cregan Stark’s tenure as Hand of the King is one of the shortest in history – perhaps the shortest of all.”

“At the end of the Dance of the Dragons”, Jon recalled, his lessons with Maester Luwin coming to the fore of his mind. 

“During the Dance, Lord Cregan made a marriage pact with House Targaryen, did Maester Luwin tell you that?”  Jon shook his head.  “Hmmm.  Perhaps he did not think it a suitable topic.  Lord Cregan agreed to support Rhaenyra Targaryen’s cause if she gave him a princess to wed.  In the end, he did not wed that far south.  But the Pact of Ice and Fire remains written in books of the time.”

“The Pact of Ice and Fire”, Jon repeated.  Maester Luwin had never spoken of that.  He had only told them of the ruin the Dance had brought to the Seven Kingdoms, and to House Targaryen.  It had been vital in the eradication of the dragon population.   

“My father wished to go against tradition.  The War of the Ninepenny Kings brought the realm together as never before.  He was inspired by it to make alliances with other noble families.  It is why he sought to unite his heir with a daughter of House Tully, and his own daughter with the heir to House Baratheon.  His grandsons would rule over two great castles.”

Jon bit his lip.  He knew Lady Catelyn had originally been betrothed to Uncle Brandon, father’s elder brother.  The one killed by the Mad King.  It was something never really spoken of at Winterfell.  But, then, most of Robert’s Rebellion was never really spoken of at Winterfell.

“Father?”  He had gone silent for a moment. 

“His desire to make these alliances was the main reason he fostered me in the Eyrie and Brandon at Barrowton.  It was why he sent us all to Harrenhal.  There was a great tourney there about a year before war broke out.  I still remember the scale of it all.  It was like nothing Westeros had seen before, and nothing it has seen since”, he sighed. 

Father lit a candle in front of the statue, and then moved along to Uncle Brandon’s.  Jon followed suit, wondering what this had to do with his mother.  Had father met her at this tourney?

“You have heard me speak of Howland Reed”, his father stated.  Jon nodded.

“He saved your life in the fight against Ser Arthur Dayne.”  Jon tried not to blush.  He’d had grand ideas of being nephew to the Sword of the Morning.  It had been childish stupidity.  Jon questioned the truth of what he had heard in Wintertown.

“It was at Harrenhal we met for the first time.  Brandon had just sent his squire, Ethan Glover, off to enter him in the joust when Lyanna turned up at our tent with an odd-looking man in tow.  He was covered in scratches and wounds.  It was Lord Howland.  Some Riverlanders had attacked him simply for being a Crannogman.  As Lyanna reminded us, House Stark must protect their bannermen.  She had done just that, threatening them at sword point to leave him alone.”

Jon snorted at that.  “She – Aunt Lyanna sounds a lot like Arya, father.”

“They are very alike.  They look a lot alike.”  As we do, Jon thought.

“Lyanna then convinced Howland to come to the feast with us that night and a friendship was born.  From that day on, Howland was utterly loyal to my sister and her memory.  He still is.  Jon……Robb told me what you overheard in Wintertown.  For that, I owe you an apology.  I stopped mention of Lady Ashara Dayne’s name within these walls a long time ago.  But not because she is your mother.  I did it because she had suffered enough.”

Jon thought back to what Robb had said, about Dorne being a dangerous place for those with Stark blood. 

“Lady Ashara was very beautiful, and every man in the Seven Kingdoms – myself included – was a little bit taken with her.  Not even as great a swordsman as her brother could deter her many suitors.  Robb knows, so you may as well, that Lady Ashara is dead.  That is no secret.  There are reasons the people of Wintertown and beyond, even some within this castle, believe she was your mother.”

He had known in his heart it was silly to think of himself as the child of Ser Arthur Dayne’s sister.  So, Robb knew the story they’d heard was false, did he?  Jon wondered what else his brother now knew.  What else their father had told Robb to discover where Jon wanted to go and how he meant to get there.

“Almost a year before she died, Lady Ashara lost a child at birth.  A girl.  Her loss is widely known, but some have come close to guessing the truth.  Jon, Brandon was the father of Lady Ashara’s child.  I returned to Winterfell with you and some assumptions were made.  They were wrong.  I stopped mention of her name because that poor dead woman had suffered too many losses and threw herself from a tower.  That was enough without being the subject of gossip.”

“Yes, father.”  That child had been his cousin.  Had she lived, Jon wondered if he would have known her.  For her grief to drive her to such a thing, Jon thought Lady Ashara must have loved Uncle Brandon and their daughter very much. 

“Howland Reed wasn’t the only friend my sister made at Harrenhal.  It was there she met Prince Rhaegar for the first time.”  Jon saw the sadness on his father’s face grow.  He wondered what Lady Lyanna had been like.  If she was as like Arya as father claimed, she must have been wild.  Father had let it slip she’d held the men attacking Lord Howland at swordpoint, which meant perhaps she usually carried one. 

“I remember the tears in Lyanna’s eyes when he played that harp of his and sung a love song.  I remember the dreamy look upon her face when he cast his gaze in her direction.”  His father let out a deep breath.  “I remember her pouring a cup of wine over Benjen’s head when he teased her for it.”

“She was like Arya, then”, said Jon.  He found he liked that.  His little sister had always felt as out of place as he did.  One day, it would warm her to know she was so like another Stark. 

“She was.  And this part you shall never, ever tell Arya, do you understand?”  Jon nodded his assent.  “Lyanna – unbeknownst to anyone but Benjen – devised a way to avenge Lord Howland.  She entered the tourney as a mystery knight, and challenged the three knights his assailants served.”

“Wow”, Jon breathed.  He understood instantly why this was information his father did not want Arya to have.  She’d ask a lot of questions – and the last one would be a request to learn jousting.  “Did she win, father?”

“She beat all three of them”, he nodded.  “And then as payment requested they teach their squires honour.  It would have been of no consequence, but….King Aerys was at Harrenhal.  He saw Lyanna’s sigil, a laughing weirwood tree, and thought it mocked him.  He declared the mystery knight his enemy and offered a reward to whomever unmasked him.”

“When did you know?”  Jon asked. 

“When she challenged the third one, the way she rode……anyone who knew Lyanna well would have known it was her.  When she did not appear the following day, King Aerys sent Prince Rhaegar to discover the mystery knight.  I was sat in the stands with Brandon, hoping against hope he would not return with my sister’s head.  Instead, he came back with her shield, and declared he’d found it in the godswood.”

“So the king never found out it was a girl?” Such a thing would be frowned upon, Jon knew, by those in the south. 

“He didn’t, no.  But I found out later that Prince Rhaegar did.  He won the tourney and crowned Lyanna as Queen of Love and Beauty.  It was an insult to his wife, Princess Elia, and to the daughter of his host, Lord Whent.  Robert, betrothed to Lyanna, was none too happy either.  For all he boasted Rhaegar was simply giving Lyanna her due as the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.  Brandon was as angry as Robert.”

His father moved forward and lit a candle at Uncle Brandon’s statue.  Again, Jon followed him, and then they stood in front of Lyanna. 

“When Rhaegar crowned her, he did so with a wreath of winter roses”, his father sighed sadly.  “They were her favourite flower.  Come, let us give them to her.”

They placed the roses in Lyanna’s stone hands, and Jon looked up at her face.  He found it hard to imagine her in life without trying to picture an older Arya.

“Everyone thinks they know the truth of what happened after.  They think Rhaegar kidnapped her, ran off to Dorne with her – his wife’s own home – and raped her.  They think Robert went to war because he loved her.  Mostly, those who know the truth are dead.”

“But why don’t you tell everyone the truth, father?”  Jon asked.  He was becoming caught up in this lesson.  Family history was seldom as recent.  Father usually spoke of Starks who died hundreds or thousands of years before Jon’s birth. 

“Sometimes it isn’t as easy as that.  I told you, some things must wait until you are old enough.  What is true is this:  Brandon heard Lyanna had disappeared, and that Rhaegar was known to be nearby.  He was impulsive and impetuous, and he rode hard for King’s Landing.  He stood outside the Red Keep, and called for Rhaegar to come out and die.  It was never going to end amicably.”

“Because the king was mad?”

“To call for the Crown Prince’s death is treason.  The king’s madness didn’t help matters.  He summoned my father, and the fathers of Brandon’s companions to the capital.  He executed your uncle and grandfather.  I won’t go into the details.  Suffice it to say, they met their deaths.  But not enough Stark blood had been spilled, so he called for my head.  I was visiting Lord Arryn at the time and he refused the request.  We went to war.”

Jon did not ask questions about the deaths of his uncle and grandfather.  He’d heard stories around the castle that the Mad King was obsessed with fire, and had burned them both alive.  Jon winced at the mere thought of it.  How could a person do such a thing?

“I won’t bore you with tales of battles.  We won.  The Battle of the Trident was a real turning point.  It was where Robert killed Prince Rhaegar.”

“Did that – “  Did it please you to see him killed?  Did it make up for anything?  Jon couldn’t bring himself to ask those questions. 

“Did it what?”

“Did that happen before you knew whatever the truth is?”  His father nodded.

“It did.  Looking back, Rhaegar’s death complicated things.  It also made up Tywin Lannister’s mind about which side to take.  He marched with due haste on King’s Landing, presented himself as a friend, and then proceeded to sack the city.  It was at this time Ser Jaime Lannister killed King Aerys, and Lord Tywin’s men killed Princess Elia and her children.  King Aerys was mad, but Ser Jaime was a knight of the Kingsguard.  In killing him, he broke a sacred oath.”

“Would you have killed him?” Jon asked. 

His father hesitated.  “His madness was so far gone, I’m not sure how much of reality he grasped by then.  He could quietly have been locked away.  Of course, had we done so then there would always be loyalists trying to set him free.  His son and grandchildren were dead and his wife died several moons later in childbed.  In a way, I suppose executing him would have been a mercy of sorts after he’d lost everything.”

Jon contemplated that and found he agreed. 

“I asked Robert to punish Ser Jaime.  I asked him to punish the men who had killed Princess Elia and her children.  Robert refused.  Perhaps he thought he owed too much to Lord Tywin.  I don’t know.  He called the children dragonspawn.  The girl was four and the boy younger than Rickon.  Their bodies were wrapped in red cloaks so nobody would see how much they had bled.”

Jon felt sick.  He tried to imagine what it would be like if someone killed Rickon, and failed.  Why would someone do such a thing?  Why would someone order it?

“Why would someone want children dead?” Jon gasped.  His father embraced him briefly. 

“Not everyone in this world is good, Jon.  As you grow, you will learn that.  Lord Tywin wanted to end Rhaegar’s line.  He wanted the Targaryens as dead as the Reynes of Castamere.  I argued long and hard for justice, but it was not forthcoming.  In the end, Lord Arryn stepped in and sent my army south to relieve Lord Stannis at Storm’s End.  He had been under siege for a year, surrounded by Reacher forces.”

“Father?” Jon said timidly.  “You – you haven’t mentioned my mother in all of this.  Are we going to speak of her when we get back to your solar?”

“Soon, Jon.  Soon.  I promise.”  His father closed his eyes for a moment, looked up at Lyanna’s statue, and then turned back to face Jon.  “After Storm’s End, I heard from Lady Ashara.  She had served Princess Elia at Court.  That was part of the reason for her presence at Harrenhal.  After the deaths of her daughter, Brandon, Elia, and Elia’s children, she felt she’d lost enough.  She wanted Arthur alive and she knew I wanted Lyanna back.”

“She wanted to trade her brother’s life for Aunt Lyanna’s?”

“Essentially.  She told me where I could find them and begged me to spare her brother.  But when I got there, Ser Arthur made it clear he would rather fight to the death than surrender.  He was a true Kingsguard, and although we fought on opposite sides I thought him a good man.  He had honour, in his own way.  As I didn’t want a fight, I only took six men with me to the Tower of Joy.  Howland Reed was one of the six.”

“You defeated Ser Arthur, didn’t you father?” said Jon proudly.  The Seven Kingdoms all knew of his father’s victory over the great swordsman. 

But all his father said was: “There were seven of us against the three Kingsguards; only Lord Howland and I lived to leave the Tower.  When I went inside, I found Lyanna.  Jon, I made some choices in that Tower.  I want you to know that I do not regret them, and that I would make them again, do you understand?”

“I do.”  Father had always taught him and Robb to be true and honourable, and to deal with the consequences of their actions. 

“She was dying when I found her.”  Father’s voice began to wobble.  “Blood everywhere and no way to stop it.  She knew she was going to die.  What have I always told you about being afraid?”

“It is the only time a man can be brave”, said Jon. 

“She was brave.  My sweet, sweet sister.  I should have listened to her when she said she didn’t want to marry Robert.  I should have protected her at Harrenhal.  I made her a promise that day.  Do you want to know her last words?”

“Please”, he croaked. 

“His name is Aegon Targaryen.  If Robert finds out, he’ll kill him.  You know he will.  You have to protect him.  Promise me, Ned.”

Jon let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding.  His aunt had birthed Rhaegar’s true-born child?  For only a true-born could carry Rhaegar’s name.  She had been his wife.  All Seven Kingdoms whispered of Robert’s devotion to his aunt, and how Rhaegar had carried her off.  It was all a lie.

“I gave her my promise, and have kept it all these years.  When I did, the wet-nurse placed you in my arms.  You were so tiny, but you already looked like a Stark.  Like Lyanna.  Like me, yes, but so, so like Lyanna.  I am sorry I have lied to you about everything from your name to your nameday.  I am sorry I have denied you your birth-right.  I am not sorry for the choice I made.  I would do it again, because you are my blood.  And I promised my sister I would protect you.”

Jon looked up at the statue.  He wanted to shout and scream and punch his fath – Lord Stark – his uncle.  And he wanted to weep.  Jon knew he had both found and lost his mother all at once.  And it had also cost him a father. 

“Jon, say something.  Anything”, Lord Stark pleaded. 

“But I don’t know what to say”, he admitted.  “Is – is there anything about me that is real?”

“You are my blood, and I will always consider you my son.  But, I could not continue to call you Aegon.  It was too Targaryen.  And so you became Jon.  A nickname of sorts, and it was plausible I would name one of my children for Lord Arryn.  I couldn’t let anyone question why you were born close to Lyanna’s death so I made you a little younger.  In truth, you are older than Robb.”

“And I – there is no other family out there, waiting for me, is there?  Another family who know I exist and want to know me?”  Jon had always wondered if his mother had other children he might one day meet.  More brothers and sisters.  Another aunt, or uncle.  Perhaps even a grandparent.  His brothers and sisters – no, his cousins, in truth – they had one of them.  Jon did not. 

Thinking on grandparents brought a horrible thought to Jon’s mind.  “The Mad King was my grandfather.  He burned your father alive!”

“You are nothing like the Mad King”, Lord Stark replied immediately.  “Nothing like him, do you hear me?”

“I am sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.  If anyone does, then it is me.  I have lied to you, to everyone.”  Lord Stark pulled Jon into his arms. “I know this is a shock; it is why I wanted to wait until you were older.  You understand that for all I have essentially committed treason against him for years, I do not want you to challenge Robert for the Iron Throne?”

Jon nodded.  “Enough of our family have died for it.”

“They have.  We will think of something, I will not have you waste away, but we need to be careful.”

Something occurred to Jon.  “Did you tell Robb of this?”

“I did.  He seemed hesitant until I made it clear how dangerous it was for you to be anywhere near Dorne.  The last of his hesitation disappeared when I told him of my promise to your mother.”

“Oh.”  Jon remained lost for words.  He had never been the most verbose member of the family, but now he wondered if he’d ever find a way of expressing how he felt.  As if he had everything and nothing at once.  As if he had won a great prize and lost all he had. 

When he was much younger, Jon had held a secret wish that his father might one day plead with the king to award him legitimacy and the Stark name.  But now he did not need legitimacy.  He already had it – along with the Targaryen name. 

And Jon wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

“I remember you told me once that your hero was Daeron the Young Dragon”, said Lord Stark gently.  “You share his blood.  And that of Aemon the Dragonknight.  Not all Targaryens were monsters.  I need you to remember that, Jon.”

Jon nodded.  “Am I the last of them?”  Could the mad blood die out with him?

“No.  Rhaegar had a brother and sister who fled Dragonstone when Lord Stannis approached.  They live in Essos somewhere.  I know nothing of them save their names.  They are your aunt and uncle, but I would caution contact with them.  Your claim is greater than theirs.  They may see you as a threat.  But, there is someone close by.  Someone you might be able to meet if I can be persuaded it is safe enough.”

Jon wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.  He’d always dreamed about another family, but now he was nervous about the idea of meeting a Targaryen.  Reality and abstraction were not the same thing.

“But who?” 

“There is a very old man who is maester at Castle Black.  He was King Maekar’s third son.  Has Maester Luwin taught you about King Maekar?”

“The Hammer and the anvil?  From the Blackfyre Rebellion”, Jon recalled slowly.  He knew the lessons on the Blackfyres had been directed at him, for Lady Catelyn had quizzed Robb on what they’d been taught extensively. 

“That is right.  I am the Warden of the North.  Not now, but perhaps in a few moons – if you wish it – I could arrange a trip to Castle Black to meet with Lord Commander Mormont.  As Benjen is there, taking you and Robb with me would not seem out of place.  I would need to meet with the man myself first, and I am not yet convinced telling him the truth is a good idea, but you could at least meet him.”

Jon contemplated this.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to engage with that side of his family.  An aunt and uncle who might resent his claim and an old man were not what he had imagined his other family would be like.  He had seen a mother.

But his mother was dead. 

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course.  I think I have given you enough to think on for a long time.  Jon?  Robb knows, as does Lady Catelyn.  It is my wish we do not extend that circle at present.  I would not burden any of the servants and even Sansa is too young.  When she is older, and the rest of them, then you may tell them if you wish.” 

“Yes, fath – yes, Lord Stark.”  So Lady Catelyn knew.  Jon wondered if she had found out after his disappearance, or if she had always known.  The latter made more sense given her sudden change in demeanour towards him.  Jon supposed he could always ask if Robb knew.  His brother – his cousin – seemed to know quite a bit.

Lord Stark looked pained at that.  “I know I have lied to you and that perhaps takes away my right to ask, but I should like for you to continue calling me father.  Not just to avoid suspicion, but because I consider you to be as much my son as Robb, Bran and Rickon.  I have known you longer than Robb.  I can remember the day you were born.  In many ways, you were my first child.”

Jon couldn’t think of anything to say to that. 

His heart was too full. 

-

Robb replaced his sparring sword in the proper place and felt angry at himself for allowing thoughts of the talk he knew his father and Jon were having to distract him.  Theon had beaten him soundly in just about every round this morning, something almost unheard of nowadays. 

“Still tired after your midnight jaunt?” Theon taunted from his left. 

“I suppose I must be”, shrugged Robb. 

His mind drifted back to Jon.  He wondered what it was like to discover that your whole life was built on a lie; to find out that you weren’t who you thought you were.  Family had always meant so much to him and Robb couldn’t even begin to comprehend how it must feel to lose it a little.  Jon had always admired his father so much.

Robb went up to his chambers to change and wash his hands before luncheon.  His mother insisted upon it.  He wondered if Aunt Lyanna would have insisted upon such things for Jon.  Robb supposed so.  He half-listened to Theon’s inane chatter, softly murmuring his agreement every so often. 

On his way upstairs, they ran into Jon.  Robb kicked himself for coming up this way with Theon.  He doubted his parents or Jon himself would want Theon to know the truth. 

Jon seemed a little paler than normal, and his eyes could be interpreted as bright to anyone looking for it, but he seemed a lot calmer than Robb thought he would probably be in the same circumstances. 

“Still with us then, Snow?” Theon jeered.  Jon didn’t answer him.

“Leave it, Theon.”  Robb nudged him.  “You go on ahead.  I’ll catch you at luncheon.”

When Theon had was out of sight, Robb asked Jon about the box he was carrying.  It was made of a heavy wood and seemed quite old.

“Father gave it to me”, Jon told him.  “We – come to my chambers, we cannot talk here.”

“Come to mine.  I need to sort myself out anyway”, said Robb.  When the door had closed behind them, Robb removed his training jerkin and listened to Jon speak. 

“He told me you know.  He told me that was why you said where I was.  This – this box belonged to my mother.  It came back from Dorne with her.  With us, I suppose.”

Robb pulled on fresh clothing and went over to where Jon sat next to the fire.  He examined the box more closely and saw the intricate wolf carvings on the side.  A single letter, L, was carved onto the top.  Robb ran his fingers along the edge.  It might not be a living person, but at least Jon had a part of his mother now. 

“I know she – but, being in the crypts, it is like she’s been here looking over you the whole time”, Robb offered.

Jon smiled softly.  “I did not think of it like that.  You are right.  I’m sorry.  It’s just that everything is so confusing right now.  I don’t even know what to think.”

“I don’t care what a family tree or blood says.  You are my brother.  You have been all our lives and you will be for the rest of our lives.”  Robb needed Jon to know that.

“I should let you get to luncheon.  I’m allowed to stay in my chambers for the rest of the day, or to do whatever I want.  As long as I stay within the castle, obviously.”  Robb chuckled. 

Jon took his leave. 

“Jon?  If you want, when you’ve gone through that box yourself, you can show me.  I think I would like to see it.  She wasn’t just your mother, she was my aunt.  And father has never really spoken of the war.”

“Of course.”

When Jon left, Robb washed his hands and then walked down to luncheon.  His parents and sisters were there, but Bran and Rickon had yet to appear.  Robb took the seat next to his father.

“Is Jon not with you?” Arya asked.  Robb shook his head. 

“He said he would have lunch in his chambers.  You’ll see him later.”

“I’ll go up after lunch”, she replied, taking a piece of bread.  

“Sometimes people like to be left alone, Arya”, mother pointed out.  Robb agreed.  Jon needed time on his own to process things and Arya would only complicate that.  

“Why don’t you allow your brother today to recover from his travels and spend time with him tomorrow?” she suggested. 

Robb was relieved he hadn’t started his food yet.  He knew that he’d have choked on it after hearing those words from his mother’s lips.  Not once in his life had he ever heard her refer to Jon as their brother.  He was always that boy, the boy, or your half-brother.  Never Jon.  Never brother.

The shock of hearing it seemed to bring Arya round. 

-

Late on in the afternoon, Jon found himself walking towards the godswood.  He still hadn’t fully processed everything and wondered if he ever would.  He wasn’t sure what he expected – to one day wake up looking like a Targaryen from the histories Maester Luwin had in the library, to breathe fire like a dragon, or to go mad as his grandfather had. 

His father was his uncle, his aunt was his mother, and one of his grandfathers had killed the other, along with his uncle.  If there was one thing Jon did understand, it was why Lord Stark had delayed so long in telling him the truth.  It was so much to come to terms with.

He knelt before the heart tree and silently recited names. 

May the Old Gods watch over my brothers and sisters, my father, and Uncle Benjen.  May they help Lady Catelyn and I live together better now we know the truth.  May they watch over my mother, wherever she may be. 

Lyanna Stark. 

My mother. 

May the Old Gods help me decide what to do for the best.

As he concluded his prayer and turned to sit cross-legged before the tree as he normally did, Jon saw Robb walk towards him. 

“Brother”, Robb smiled in greeting.  “I thought you would still be in your chambers.  Arya wanted to go chasing after you.  You should speak with her tomorrow.”

“I will.”  Jon wanted so much to tell her of his mother, and how alike they were.  But he couldn’t trust himself to speak of her yet.  Not around those who could not know the truth. 

“I remember when we were five, when father was away in the Iron Islands, fighting the Greyjoys.  You had a nightmare and snuck into my room because you were scared”, said Robb.  “It is strange to think of that person as my king.”

Jon snorted.  “I don’t know I’m that.  Father made it clear he doesn’t want to challenge Robert and I agree.  My mother, our uncle and our grandfather all died the last time we tried to involve ourselves in the south.  I don’t want the same thing to happen again.”

“Okay”, Robb agreed.  “But know this – you are my brother and the son of a Stark of Winterfell.  If, one day, you change your mind, then I will stand behind you.  Winterfell will stand behind you.  The North will stand behind you.”

Jon looked for a sign Robb was teasing and found none.  He kept his voice as low as a hiss.  “That is treason!”

“And father said himself, when he told me the truth, that he has been committing treason since the day you were born by not telling Robert.  Please, Jon, just think about it.  I understand if you do not want to rule, but things change.  Father may be loyal to Robert, but we know nothing of his son.”

“Please, Robb.  No.  I – I’ll run off to Essos or the Night’s Watch or anywhere before I put any of you in danger.  None of you will be executed for treason because of me.”  For all the anger he felt about Lord Stark’s lies, Jon knew just how much danger his father, or uncle, or whatever his mind decided the man was, had placed himself in.  He wouldn’t let that be for nothing.

“Still, it is strange to think of”, Robb added. 

“It is”, Jon agreed.

For all the dreams he’d had about his mother, and all the scenarios he had imagined, he had never once thought of this. 

He had wanted to find her, and – in a way – Jon felt a bit like he had.