Chapter Text
“You’re not going.” Mother’s sharp voice had Jon gritting his teeth. She sat next to Bran’s bed with one of the fiercest glares he had seen on her.
“I wish to go,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice level. “The Watch is necessary and it’s a-”
“No.” The denial cracked like a whip. “You’re going to King’s Landing to protect your sisters.” The decree was one he knew he shouldn’t argue. Especially when he knew Father had already given up on fighting Mother about it. “Your father has lost his senses and I need one of my boys protecting those girls.”
“What’s the worst that can happen to them?” Jon asked, not minding his tongue like he should. “They’re with Father and the king-”
The disdainful curl of Mother’s lips at the mention of the king had him closing his mouth. Something had to have happened to make her distrust the choices of Father so much. It couldn’t just be that she was upset about him leaving while Bran was laid up in bed. There was more to this but he was smart to enough not to press for answers to questions he couldn’t form yet.
“Mother-”
“I’m done arguing, Jon,” his mother said, turning away from him to continue her doll crafting, “go join your father and sisters.”
“As you wish.”
A dip of his head was given to her before he leaned down to press a parting kiss to Bran’s forehead. Then he was leaving the room. Where he was unsurprised to find Robb grabbing his arm to tug him down the thick stone halls. It was quiet until they were well out of earshot of everyone.
“She really has you leaving with Father,” Robb said, and there was no question to it.
“I would rather go with Uncle Benjen,” Jon muttered.
“I’m pretty sure she won’t let you take black until she’s dead.” A hand patted his shoulder in mocking consolation. It had him slapping at his brother’s hand. “I think she’s waiting for one of us to give her grandchildren before any of us get the chance to escape her hawk eyes.”
“She’s not getting them from me.”
The snickering from Robb echoed off the stone walls. “Doubt she knows that,” he replied, nudging his shoulder with his own. “It might actually be safer for you at the Wall than down South.” That was a sobering thought but it was one they had both known for the last three years. “Maybe you’ll find a lowly lord that you-”
“Shut up,” Jon hissed, smacking at Robb’s head.
“Relax, brother mine,” Robb said, “no one’s here.” The halls were dead around them as they walked towards their own rooms. “Not even the wolves are about.”
“That does not mean I wish to have a single chance of word getting out.” He would be disowned for more than being a bastard if that came to light. He might even be put to death without a chance for the Wall. “Word will be sent if I do find someone.”
That had Robb laughing in earnest. His brother was the only one in Winterfell that knew of his…lack of interest in women and he would like to keep it that way. And the only reason he found out was because Jon had been caught kissing the blacksmith’s grandson a couple years ago. He was lucky Robb hadn’t told their parents and gotten him sentenced to death.
But maybe a death sentence would be favorable to leaving Winterfell for King’s Landing. Jon could only watch as Uncle Benjen went North from the kingsroad with the other black brothers and Tyrion Lannister before being forced to follow his father. At least he had Arya and Ghost to keep him proper company. He loved all of his siblings but there was no denying that no one really got on with Sansa. She was very different from the rest of them and he would rather not incur her wrath for an illmade comment.
It was a tedious journey and the farther South they went the hotter it got. Jon had taken to copying his father’s hair style to keep the worst of the hair out of his face and already lost the heavy black cloak. Even worse was after doing a little sword training with Arya and they were both left sweating through their clothes. The only saving grace were the rivers and creeks of cold snowmelt from the North.
“You must be faster than that,” Jon said as he smacked Arya’s shoulder with a wooden broom handle. “You’re small so use that to your advantage.”
“Why do you hit so hard?” Arya complained while backing out of range to rub her shoulder.
“So you learn to dodge or parry to avoid getting hit again.”
He readied the broom handle for another round and she copied him. For a moment they circled each other at the edge of the river then he took the first step forward to strike out. Arya managed to block the attack but she still wasn’t moving fast enough to doge his next swing. It struck her left thigh in a crack that had her whimpering. But she visibly gritted her teeth and countered with a swing of her own.
To their left the direwolves lifted their heads at a sound. Jon barely took note of Ghost rising to his feet as he once more smacked Arya where she was unguarded. It had her crying out in rage and swinging harder at him. Anger made people stupid. It was a lesson she would have to learn and one he was willing to teach her like Ser Rodrik had taught him and Robb.
Before his next strike could hit there was a loud bark from Ghost and a polish sword blocking the broom staff. Jon broke his focus from Arya to look down mostly at where Prince Joffrey was interrupting. The snotnosed prince was annoying and had only gotten worse since leaving Winterfell. If Robb was here they would be laughing over how stuck up he was but it was just him and Arya that talked behind his back. And now he was getting in the way of something that didn’t have anything to do with him.
“Can we help you?” Jon asked, being as polite as his mother taught him.
“What is happening here?” Prince Joffrey asked and he knew it wasn’t because he was curious.
“Get outta here,” Arya snapped, “it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
Jon dropped the broom staff and held out his free hand to silence her. There was a grumble from her but not another word. “It’s a bit of swordplay,” he answered the prince’s question. Only answer what was asked and provide nothing else. It was a lesson he had learned.
“What I see is a bastard harming my dearly betrothed’s sister,” Prince Joffrey said with a raise of his sword. The tip was pressed to Jon’s left cheek beneath his eye. “What do you have to say to that, bastard?”
“Don’t touch him!” Arya shouted with a lunge towards the prince but Jon cut her off by throwing out his arm.
“I’m merely training my sister,” he told the prince.
The tip of the sword drew blood but he showed no signs of having felt the sting of the cold metal. A low snarl from the wolves brought a flicker of fear to Prince Joffrey’s green eyes. Slow, padding footsteps were taken by Ghost and Nymeria in a circle around both of them as if waiting for the order to attack. Jon held the stare of the prince without an ounce of worry.
Closer the wolves circled. It was a threat upon the prince that he was almost too stupid to take heed of. Or maybe he was by the slice of the blade over skin to leave a blood trail down his cheek to his jaw. Jon didn’t bother calling Ghost off as the wolf lunged forward to knock Prince Joffrey to the grass and placed threatening jaws around his throat. Nymeria snapped down to do the same around the prince’s sword hand to make him release the weapon. Sansa was shouting at them from the crest.
“Ghost.” It was a single command that had both direwolves backing off. Jon bent down to pick up the prince’s sword and gave it an experimental slash through the air. Listening to the whistle of the well balanced blade. “Get to your feet, my lord.”
“I-I’ll have those things killed for this!” The trembling shout came with the prince scrambling to shaking legs.
“Perhaps you would be wiser to let it go,” Jon said while holding the sword out. When Prince Joffrey grabbed the pommel above his hand, he didn’t let go. “Wolves never forget a slight.”
He released the sword and turned away to pick up the dropped broom staff. It was spun over his hand then pointed at Arya. They were done entertaining the prince and their sister. She glanced at where Sansa was coming towards Prince Joffrey to lead him away before lifting her broom handle as well. What came from this wouldn’t fall upon their heads unless that little prince lied.
The lie that came was hardly believable. Jon had long since scrubbed off the dried blood and by the time he and Arya made it back to the caravan for the evening word had spread of what happened. They were both brought forth to King Robert and Queen Cersei in front of a roaring fire. Their father was nowhere to be seen. Prince Joffrey stood at the queen’s side with a pitiful bandage around his throat and one peeking out beneath his right sleeve. At most the wolves had grazed him.
“Whatever he said,” Arya started with an accusing finger pointed at the prince, “it’s a lie! We didn’t do anything.”
“Quiet, Arya,” Jon warned her. She silenced herself but clearly wasn’t happy about it. “Apologies my lords and lady, but what is this about?” It was better to ask than assume.
“You set your wolves upon my son,” Queen Cersei said, looking down on them with the fire glowing in her eyes, “while he was out with his betrothed.”
“We did not!”
The outraged cry from Arya had Jon praying to the old gods. “You did so,” Prince Joffrey shouted back. Murmurs were already running through those gathered around the fire for this strange trial.
“My sister and I were out by the river,” Jon said, voice cutting through the rising argument between his sister and the prince, “when Prince Joffrey and Sansa came upon us. It was perhaps a touch childish of us to be playing with sticks like children and I mayhaps have gotten carried away and hit Arya too hard.” There was hush over the fire. “Prince Joffrey intervened when he did not know what was happening. I’m afraid to say that it got out of hand and the wolves are sensitive to tension.”
“Joffrey.” It was a demand from Queen Cersei for her son to tell his side of the story. And Jon could read the thoughts going through his head.
“I was only defending my sweet lady Sansa’s sister,” Prince Joffrey said, taking the out that Jon had given him.
“And the wolves?”
“Oh, let it rest,” King Robert said wearily, “they’re children that had a squabble. It’s settled.” The queen looked ready to argue but the king silenced. “Joffrey drew Jon’s blood and their wolves drew blood in return, it’s done and over.”
Jon knew that it wasn’t going to get better than this and bowed to the king with a sincere offering of gratitude. His elbow was probably sharp in Arya’s ribs to force her to do the same. It was stiffer and less sincere but it was done. King Robert waved a hand with a horn of wine to send them off. With the dismissal, Jon grabbed his sister by the arm to drag her off to where their family was within the caravan.
Sansa wouldn’t speak with them. Father had heard about what happened and was furious that the issue wasn’t brought him as well but he agreed with the king that the matter was over. There was also a scolding about teaching Arya swordplay that Jon took without defending himself. It would probably make things worse if he said he was doing it because he had a sword fashioned for her before they left Winterfell. They were banned from doing such things again that had Arya pouting.
It wasn’t all that bad because they reached King’s Landing within the next few days anyway. Jon could feel the stares on them all and couldn’t say that he liked it. No doubt it was because of the wolves but that didn’t comfort him any. They were already bigger than most of the hounds in the kingdom and made an intimidating image to the people of the South that had probably never seen a proper wolf, let alone a direwolf.
They were put into rooms in the Red Keep. Ghost sniffed around the room Jon had been placed in before hooking his front legs over the windowsill to look out. It was going to be too warm down here for the wolves. He hoped they were smart enough to remain mostly within the stone halls to avoid the worst of the sun. There was no late summer snow here. Only thick sunlight and suffocating heat that had him wishing to shed most of his clothes. At this rate he might take up washing clothes with how many he’d be sweating through. To avoid causing problems for the maids. He was made for the North.
It was only a day and a half before Father was entering his room before dawn. Clothes were thrown into a leather sack from the chest at the end of the bed and his riding leathers tossed to him. Words were barely spoken before Jon was told that he was leaving King’s Landing with his mother. It didn’t quite register what was being said as he rubbed at his eyes while rolling out of the bed.
“Wait, how’s Mother here?” Jon asked in the middle of pulling on the leathers.
“She arrived by boat before ourselves,” Father said, the sack was pressed into his hand followed by his sword, “and I would have you protect her alone with Ser Rodrik on the way back to Winterfell.”
“She told me to protect the girls,” he argued.
“And I am telling you to protect your mother, Jon.”
There was no denying a direct order from his father. Ghost followed on their heels through the Keep and out into the streets where Mother was waiting. Someone had already gotten his horse out of the stables and saddled. Jon had too many question but he held his tongue as he greeted his mother with a swift kiss to her cheek. He would find answers later, he was certain of it.
They were on the kingsroad home as the sun was rising. He saved his questions until Mother seemed more willing to answer them. It was midday before he asked. And she held her tongue against them for a while longer, well into dusk and night. Into the next morning and the next day. She wasn’t willing to answer him. He looked to Ser Rodrik but his old teacher only shook his head. There would be no answers from him either.