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Sometimes Jon hated being here, here being Winterfell. It was the only home he had known, and quite possibly the only home he would ever know. He was nine years old now, and he clearly knew the status of his birth. A bastard. He understood very early on that the Lady Stark was not his mother; it was quite impossible not to understand from the reaction he received from her years ago when he had called her mother.
"I am not your mother, Bastard, nor will I ever be."
The words had been etched into his very soul, and never again had he dared to utter the word in her presence, let alone address her as such. But that did not diminish the fact that he wished to call her mother and wished to be doted upon and loved as she loved his siblings. He wished for her acknowledgment and suspected he would forever crave it from her.
Why? because she was the only mother he had ever known and possibly would ever know.
It was for this reason that he always requested and, at times, begged for his father to tell him of his mother. Anything. A name or whether she was alive? Or whether she cared for him—anything. Lady Stark would never be his mother, so he wished to have something of his mother that could make him replace the feeble position the Lady held. He did not wish to consider Lady Stark his mother, but how could he replace her if there was no one to replace her with?
It tortured his mind at times, but it was not all so bad. His father loved him; for how many great lords had brought their bastard get to their keep and raised them alongside their trueborn children? Jon had heard that not many had; in fact, very few in history had done so. And he was ever grateful. His brother Robb loved him even more fiercely. Jon could never remember a time without his red-haired brother. They had crawled together, taken their first steps together, and held their first wooden sword together. His brother loved him fiercely, and so did Jon in return.
But things had started to change since Greyjoy’s rebellion. His father’s affections had been few and far between; he would rarely look upon him, muss his hair, call him son, or smile at him. Mayhaps, the stain that he brought to him was finally affecting him. He would not have minded had Robb’s attention not shifted as well; the introduction of Theon Greyjoy as the ward of House Stark had changed his brother. The presence of an older boy amongst them had been exciting for the Stark boys. But Theon preferred to taunt his bastard status at any given opportunity, and Jon grew tired of the boy. But that did not deter Robb; he loved the ward like a brother now and sometimes preferred his company over his own brother’s. It hurt Jon, it truly did.
His sister Sansa loved him early on, but she was coming to the age where she understood the circumstances of Jon's birth and what it represented to her mother. She was not cruel to him, but had been trying to emulate her mother, and in the process, her mother’s indifference had started to reflect in her interactions with him. It hurt at first but was compensated by Arya, his fierce little sister. Even at close to 3 namedays, it was clear to everyone whose company she preferred, and he would love her till his dying days for that.
But today it was clear to Jon that, for all that Winterfell was the only home he had ever known, it could and will never be his home.
"You can never be Lord of Winterfell, brother. You are a bastard." The words he had never hoped to hear from his brother’s mouth had been heard in the training yard of the keep in the presence of all his family. His father looked stone-faced, Lady Stark looked pleased, and Sansa had a look that might be a grimace, but it was Greyjoy’s taunting smirk that had pushed Jon over the hill.
But he would not be weak in the presence of others, and so, dropped his practise sword and did what a boy of nine namedays could do. He ran.
And that was how he found himself at the Godswood, seated against the Hearttree. It was the only place he could be left alone. Tears were threatening to spill, but he was the blood of the Kings of Winter, and he could be strong. He would not cry.
Jon rested his head against the trunk of the heart tree. "All I wish for is to be loved! I care not for titles or glory. All I wish is for someone to show me that they truly love me. Is that too much to ask for? All I want is love." These were the thoughts of his heart. But he never expected an answer from the gods, and why would they provide anything to a bastard? He closed his eyes in resignation.
Jon did not know how much time had passed since he had been resting at the base of the heart tree; it seems that he had dozed off. It was the crunching of boots on leaves that caused him to open his eyes.
It seemed his father had decided to come for him.
But the man before him looked nothing like his father. In fact, he looked the furthest from any man Jon had ever seen in his life. Most men he had seen were of dark hair and thick beards, but this man was fair of skin and his hair was long and white, tied in a loose knot swept over his left shoulder. His clothing was all black, with a red cloak covering the left side of his body. If the man’s appearance did not catch his attention, then the sigil etched onto the black cloak certainly did. Jon had been taking lessons alongside his brother, history among them, and Jon was a diligent learner. And even if he wasn’t, any son of any lord with half a brain could recognise the red Three-Headed Dragon insignia. The insignia of quite possibly the most hated family in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, House Targaryen. He was a man of House Targaryen.
A Dragon.
But he thought the dragons had been killed by King Robert. All of them.
Fear gripped his heart, there would only be one reason for a member of House Targaryen to be here. He must seek revenge. Revenge against his father and House Stark, for they and he were central to the fall of the once rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. He got to his feet clumsily but as quickly as possible, not even having time to think about how a man of such distinct looks managed to waltz right into the middle of Winterfell, unseen and unnoticed.
The white-haired man stood just before him, and Jon was able to get a proper look at the man’s face. He was pretty, that seemed to be the proper word to describe his face. So pretty, that Jon thought he might not be of this world, for he had never seen any man of such beauty. He was tall, possibly taller than his father, and lean in build. For all his beauty, though, Jon noted that there was a sense of sadness surrounding him, a sadness in his deep purple eyes. If someone else observed them together, they'd notice parallels between the youngster and the man.
Jon did not know why, but he did not like the sadness that seemed to burden him.
His thoughts were cut off when he felt strong hands grip his shoulders. He refocused, making eye contact—gray on purple.
"You asked for me?" Even his voice carried a sadness to it, but there was a certain iron underneath it. Mayhaps, this is what Kings would sound like?
"Who- Who are you? And what do you want?" Jon was quite certain he did not ask for anyone, let alone someone who seemed to be a Targaryen—at least, he thought he was one.
"Who I am is of no significance now. And as for what I want? That is a question I must ask you, for you are the one who asked for me." The man’s response confused Jon. He was certain he did not ask for anyone, and certainly not a Targaryen.
Are you certain?
"What was that?" Jon was certain someone whispered something to him. He was cut off from his thoughts again when a calloused yet somewhat soft palm took hold of his chin. He found himself looking at the man’s face. Purple eyes staring intently at him.
"How are you here? You are a Targaryen. I am certain of it. How did you evade the guards? Surely they would’ve recognised someone of such distinct looks."
The man gave a small smile at his queries.
"You are quite sharp for one so young. You managed to deduce my family from my looks alone. Impressive." Jon felt good about the compliment; it was quite rare that he received one. "Although if you are being taught the history of the realm, it shouldn’t be too difficult to deduce my family name."
Jon looked at the man in awe, for the man standing before him was a son of House Targaryen. Many of his heroes were from this very family. He wondered if this was how princes and kings looked.
He shook his head. The Targaryens were Kings no longer.
"My Lor-er Prince? Your Grace?" Jon did not know how to address him. While the Targaryens were once the rulers and royal family of the Seven Kingdoms, they are no longer such. His confusion seemed to amuse the man, if the slight upturn of his lips were a sign.
Jon liked that. He should smile more.
"I am neither a king nor a prince any longer. I am not even a lord. Though you may call me Ser if it would put you at ease, Son. And I wish for you to be at ease, I do not intend to harm you."
Son? That was an odd way for a Targaryen to address him, but he did not think long about it. Uncle Benjen called him son when he came south from the Wall, and sometimes even some of his father’s bannermen. Lord Karstark certainly did.
"What is your name, son?" again with the son?
"Jon, Ser. My name is Jon Snow."
The man hummed in response, his palm moving to hold his cheek and then to his head of black curls, which he started to brush back with his hand. Jon again knew not why, but the gesture seemed to calm him. There was a certain warmth that seemed to flow through him because of it.
"Jon..." he said, saying his name as though he were testing it. "Yes, you do look like a Jon."
Jon gave a smile in response.
"Now tell me, Jon." "What ails you?" he asked.
"Ails me?" He thought back in doubt. He never said anything like that to him.
"There is a sadness about you, Jon. Mayhaps, I can help alleviate your sadness." He said it with a kind warmth to his tone. "The Gods thought it prudent for me to do so." He added.
The Gods? What does that mean?
"I-," he began, but found it difficult. Bugger it. What’s the worst that could happen? He needed the outlet, and the man seemed happy to be of service. "My name is Jon Snow, Ser. The Bastard of Winterfell, they call me. I suspect that I am quite famous all over the Seven Kingdoms, for I am the one and only stain on my father’s honour, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. I did not ask to be born a bastard. I did not ask to be born at all. I hate it. I hate being a bastard."
He felt his face heat up in anger and some despair thinking of his troubles, and looked to the man to see his reaction. He looked sad—incredibly so. He knew not why he should feel sadness for the sob story of a bastard son of Stark. The house most responsible for the downfall of the man’s house.
Jon did not know why, but he felt he could say anything he wanted to the man and he would not think ill of him, so he continued.
"Lady Stark hates me even though I have done her no harm, and truly, I try to do my best for her to consider me good, if nothing else so that she at least graces me with a smile. I did not care about her opinions after a time as I had the love of my father and siblings. But- "he bit his lips. He had already said much, but he needed to say it all, for if he did not, Jon feared he might act rashly back in the training yard or with anyone, and he did not want that to happen.
"- I feel as though, father does not love me anymore. He does not spend time with me, nor does he smile at me anymore. He barely spares me a glance or calls me son. I feel… I feel like I do not belong here. Winterfell was never mine to call home—not really, but I had hoped I could call it so until I found a path that I could follow. I do not know if I wish to stay here much longer." He felt tears prickling at his eyes, but he would not let them fall. He could be strong.
Jon felt strong arms encircling him. A hug, such a simple thing, but one that has been a rarity for Jon as of late. The man brushed his fingers through his hair once more, and Jon had not felt such affection or warmth in so long that he melted into the embrace. He could stay here forever, he felt.
"It has been tough for you, has it not, Son?" The man asked him softly. "I’m sorry." Jon did not know why the man was apologising to him, but he could not stop his tears from falling now.
"I just want to be loved like a trueborn. I know such a thing is not possible, and I should be grateful for the place I am given at Winterfell, and truly I am, but sometimes I wish for more. I crave more. I crave everything that my siblings have, and I am ashamed of it." There. Jon had said it. That was the deepest, darkest secret in his heart. He would never admit it out loud, and he would never harm any of his siblings. Ever. But it was tough for a young boy of nine namedays to not have desires.
"You are a strong child, stronger than I was at your age." The man broke the hug to take his face in his hands. "You see the error in your desires and deny yourself of such if it means the harm of those you hold dear. And for that reason, you are far greater a man than I ever was." His eyes became pained at the admission as he gained a faraway look.
"No!" Jon hadn’t the faintest idea whether he was denying the man or defending him. He took a step back. "You are a Targaryen, are you not? How could you, a trueborn, be lesser than I, a bastard." Jon raged, even if the dynasty had been toppled and their name ruined, they were still of noble blood.
The man chuckled in response. "Know this, Jon. Being trueborn does not make one better than a bastard. It is the deeds one does that make them better, and you, I know, will go on to do great things." The man was not japing or saying so to make Jon feel better, he knew it. He sensed no deceit.
"And as for Lord Stark, Remember, son, he is a man who wakes and walks into a castle that was home to him and his family. All he has now are the ghosts of the past and the memories of those he held dear. He bears a great burden, one that he cannot share." He stepped forward and gripped his shoulders again. "Just imagine, son. One day you might walk the halls of Winterfell, trudge through the snows of the Godswood, and ride through the plains of the north without any of your brothers by your side. Where once Eddard looked over his shoulder, he saw the smile of his sister, or to his side, he saw his brothers jape at his expense, or in the Lord’s solar, he saw his Lord father. All he has now are the ghosts of what was once his family. The last of them. And yet, Lord Stark moves forward for the love he bears for the family he has now rather than living in the past."
He felt horror at the words. He could never imagine a future where he was at Winterfell and did not see the bright smiles of Robb or the sweet gestures of Sansa, or the toothy smile Arya always gifted him. He would be haunted by their memories and may go mad from them.
Jon saw the reason behind the man’s words and felt himself guilty. Jon had always only seen things from his own end and never from his father’s. His father could have left him with his mother or her family, or worse, he could have left Jon for dead or never care to see that he had a life, but he saw fit to raise him alongside his trueborn sons and daughters. Even if it raised the ire of the woman he loved. Father had nearly lost everything save for Uncle Benjen, but he had gone to the Wall. He was a lone wolf who was building his pack once more.
"Lord Stark is a better man than I. I failed my family where he has not." Jon felt that the look in his face was full of regret. "He cared enough to bring his bastard son to his home and raise and care for him befitting a trueborn, whereas I had abandoned my children, unable to protect them."
"For certain, there are some things he could handle better, but try not to take it personally, son, hmm? Not everyone can be perfect. We might try to be, but every person has their inherent flaws." That made Jon think. He had always thought his father was perfect and peerless—that he had no flaws but perhaps he was wrong.
"You are a smart lad, smarter than most your age, and I believe you will always do what is right." Jon had not received many compliments in his young life. Of course, he had heard Lady Stark say such things to her children and even from father. Of course, he had the odd compliment, but they were few and far between, very rare words of praise. But he had not received praise from anyone with such confidence in him. It felt nice.
"Thank You."
"Oh child. You need not thank me, never." Once again, he took his face in his hands, a tender look on his face. "It is I who should be grateful. Grateful to the gods for the opportunity I am given." Jon did not understand what he meant, and at this point, he did not care about it. It was odd for the boy; he was never used to getting much affection, and here was a man who should despise his family showering him with affection and compliments. It was an odd feeling that he felt, but not an unwelcome one.
"May I ask you something, Ser?" Jon did not want to raise his hopes, but he had to ask and hoped this person might finally be the one to give him the answer he sought the most.
"Yes, go on." He urged him on, and that gave him the push he needed.
"Do you know who my mother is? I know it should not be possible, for my father has never mentioned having a Targaryen as a friend. But still, I must ask, "Do you know her?"
There were a multitude of emotions passing through the man’s face. He looked quite pained at the question but still answered.
"In a manner of speaking, I did know her. Yes." Jon felt his heart beat increase at the admission. Finally, he might know of his mother, and perhaps he will set out to find her and meet her in the future.
His face lit up in excitement. "Who is she? Her name? Can you tell me about her? Does she care about me?"
"I cannot tell you much about her. But I can tell you some things." That was not what Jon wanted to hear, but he would take it. He basically knew nothing about her, so any kind of information about her would be the greatest of treasure for him.
"She was beautiful, wild, and wilful, fiercely protective of those she cared for, and a joy to be around. She could ride a horse like anyone else. She saw the best in people even when they themselves did not." His eyes gained a faraway look at that, and Jon suspected the man’s eyes had gone misty.
Jon did notice one thing, though. The man said ‘was’ which meant only one thing: his mother was no longer of this world. Jon suspected his own eyes had again filled with tears.
The man seemed to collect himself before gazing into his eyes once more, a thousand emotions playing in his dark purple eyes. "But know one thing, Jon. Your mother loved you more than anything in the world, never doubt that. And I am certain that she is proud of the man you are now and who you will grow to be. Be certain of that, Jon."
The words were said with such certainty that there was no room for doubt. But now he knew that his mother had loved him greatly, and that would be enough to fill his heart. For so long, he had wondered whether his mother loved him or whether she abandoned him, and to have a definitive answer to the question was more than reassuring. It was as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
But he was unsure about the relationship this man had with his mother. He sounded as though he'd been close with her.
The wind picked up in the Godswood, and the red leaves began to float around.
"It seems that I have done what I needed to. It is time for me to leave now." The man said, his attention on the floating leaves, the wind ruffling his hair.
What? Jon didn’t want that. He unwittingly encircled his arms around the man. "Why do you have to leave, Ser? Can you not stay? I promise to talk to my father to let you stay at Winterfell." He pleaded, not wanting to part with the one man who was kind enough to tell him about his mother. He had given him such a great gift and made him feel better than anyone ever had.
The silver-haired man gave him a sad smile. "I had made many choices in my life, Jon, choices that ruined the lives of many and causes suffering still. I will never be rid of the guilt for my choices, and I welcome any punishments the Seven deem necessary. But still, I go in peace, knowing I have done some good in the end. I am grateful to the gods for giving me the chance to meet you and rid you of your worries, even if it is the only time I may do so." He laid a tender kiss on his forehead.
"There are many things I wish to say to you, Jon. But I cannot burden you with that knowledge for now. In time, you will know of them, and I only hope you will not hold it against anyone for the choices made. I fear you will face many hardships, but I believe you have the strength of character to face and succeed against any and all challenges you will face. You are so much more than I could’ve hoped for, Jon." The man hugged him close, and Jon held him tighter in response, closing his eyes. It felt as if he had gained something great and lost something at the same time.
When next he opened his eyes, the Snow of Winterfell was back seated against the Heart Tree, blood-red sap seeping down the carved eyes. The surroundings were peaceful and tranquil, in contrast to the strong breeze and rustling leaves that Jon remembered it as just moments before. He could still feel the tears in his eyes, but he brushed them off when he heard approaching footsteps.
This time, though, it was his father who had come for him.
"Jon." He called out, a smile on his face—a rarity given to Jon. "I suspected that you’d be here." He said it softly.
Jon stood up and slowly walked over to the Lord of Winterfell. " Father."
"I heard what your Robb said…" Jon nodded in response. "Don’t take his words to heart, son. He did not mean it, not truly. You know he loves you." He chuckled. " Sometimes I feel that he loves you more than all of us combined."
Jon felt himself smile at that. It was true—Robb was his staunchest supporter. He had even stood against his lady mother in his support, though Jon wished his brother would not cause any issue with his mother for him. Robb’s words truly hurt him, but his talk with the Targaryen spirit—he gathered that must be what the man was from the way he talked—had helped ease his mind. Not to mention, he could never be cross with Robb for long. He loved him too much for that.
"I am not cross with Robb, Father. Truly. And, even if I was, he would hound me until I forgave him." Jon sighed, his affection for his brother visible, to which his father laughed lightly.
"I am glad to hear that. Now then…" He ruffled his hair and then placed his right arm over his shoulder, proceeding to lead them out of the Godswood back to the main keep. "I heard your brother begging Old Nan to make your favourite pie, and she was all too happy to oblige."
"My dear brother hopes to bribe me then."
"That he does."
"Well, I suppose I can let it be this time." Jon crossed his arms, leaning into his father. The day did not start out so well for him, but he felt much better now and much lighter."
The wind shifted in the Godswood, causing the red leaves to flutter around. He could feel a breeze and then a tiny whisper in the wind. "You are loved, Jon. Never have any doubts."