"Well I suppose I can't expect much of a ransom," Jaime said as he looked to the bastard squire before him, the mystery knight unmasked. "Instead, I'll return your horse and armor in exchange for your services as a squire for… a month."
Jon sighed. "It's not my place agree to that, Ser Jaime."
"Ser Barristan?" Jaime turned his horse as he looked to the Lord Commander sat mounted with the other knights.
That drew all eyes to the Lord Commander, who was staring at Jon. Once they looked to him Barristan was relieved he wasn't gaping at the boy, he couldn't draw attention to him.
"I'll agree to it," Barristan nodded, putting on a smile. "Let him suffer as punishment for lying and saying he couldn't squire for me today."
That was enough to make the crowd laugh as they turned back to Jaime, who looked to Jon. "You can start tomorrow," he told the bastard squire as rode away, leaving Jon to mount his horse and ride back to his friends.
Loras and Domeric gave him grim nods while Sam frowned up at Jon. "I'm sorry, Jon. I thought you rode well."
"Thank you, Sam," Jon said with a nod. "Let me remove my armor and I'll help you with the lances."
"There's no need," Sam said, but Jon was already unfastening his armor as he rode to tie off his horse.
Jon took to helping Sam prepare lances for Domeric and squiring for Barristan during their tilts. Barristan rode to a yield against Jaime, who then took a victory from Sandor. Domeric dominated his tilts while Loras gained the love of every woman who watched him.
When it came time for Loras and Domeric to ride against each other it was clear the women of the crowd preferred Loras but the men seemed mixed. Bets changed hands as the riders stood at the ends of their lanes and in a show of friendship raised their fist with a nod before taking their reins and riding.
Lances shattered as both men rode past each other. The crowd cheering when they nodded to each other while returning to their starts. With new lances they rode again, and again they shattered against each other.
It was on the fifth lance that Loras foresaw the shift in Domeric's and moved, letting his own slam into the Bolton's side, knocking him off his saddle. The crowd cheered as Loras glanced back and saw Domeric getting to his feet.
"I'll pay you once we return to the keep," Domeric assured as he removed his helmet once they moved off the lanes.
"You can keep your armor," Loras said with a smirk. "I've no need of such grim plate. Though I imagine your stallion may come at a prime price."
Barristan found himself distracted as he returned to stand beside the king while Loras rode against Jaime. He kept staring at the spot where Jon had removed his helmet and he'd put it all together.
Robert had made the realm think Rhaegar some dragon he slew after he stole the love of his life and hid her away in a tower where he raped her until she died, but he knew the prince better than that. It seemed so obvious now that Rhaegar had loved her, taken her away to be with her, and when Eddard Stark rode south for her he returned with her child and claimed him a bastard to spare him the fate of Rhaegar's other children.
Jon had his mother's Stark looks but there were hints of his father there, barely enough to be noticed if Barristan's mind hadn't been shifting back to Harrenhal all day. Seeing him with a harp, devouring books in the library, pushing himself to be the best at everything he tried, it was as if he'd inherited it all from Rhaegar, yet likely that drive was born from being raised a bastard. Was he even a bastard? For all he knew Rhaegar had married Lyanna once Elia grew frail.
Loras knocked Jaime from his horse and amid cheers claimed his first tourney victory as a knight.
When he took the crown of yellow roses and rode around the field, Loras slowed as he near the royal family. With his visor raised, he shot a quick smirk to Jon before stopping and presenting the crown at the tip of his lance to Queen Cersei. "As a loyal knight in service of the king I find none hold the beauty of his queen."
Robert laughed as Cersei shot Loras a cold look with a plastered smile and took the crown from him. Jon found himself relieved, as did Myrcella despite her frown.
Once the melee was done they all retreated to the keep for a grand feast, as they usually were for Joffrey's nameday. Myrcella watched as Loras asked the queen to dance, and she forced a smile and accepted as was expected of her, still wearing the crown of yellow roses picked for their Baratheon colors. Myrcella had always thought her mother beautiful and took it as a compliment when anyone compared her to the queen, but she found herself thankful Loras hadn't chosen her because the yellow flowers didn't sit well against their golden hair.
She'd been disappointed to find out Jon wouldn't be riding with his friends, but understood he wasn't a knight yet despite her frequent slips of Ser Jon. That disappointment grew when she found he hadn't shown up even to squire for Barristan as he rode, so took to cheering her uncle. Finding out that she'd been cheering against Jon had left her a swell of emotion, fearing that in some small way if she'd cheered for him instead luck might have been on his side and he could have won. Even if the flowers didn't look good in her hair she would have worn them proudly if he'd given them to her.
Myrcella had chosen her finest green silks in hopes of bringing out her eyes and spent hours fretting over the soft curls of her golden hair. She knew he never would, but a part of her hoped that something about her would be too much and Jon might cast aside his honor and fear to ask her to dance. Instead the first to ask her to dance was Loras Tyrell, who held out his hand to her with a smile.
"Would you care to dance, Princess Myrcella?"
She rose from her seat with a smile and joined him on the floor. The flower knight's showy smile softened as he looked to the princess while they danced. "I hope you weren't insulted by my passing you with the petal crown, princess."
"I wasn't," Myrcella assured. "You chose well. I can only hope to some day share part of my mother's beauty."
"I believe you already match it, your grace," Loras said with a smirk, "but I feared for my life should I crown you before another."
Myrcella followed his gaze to where Jon sat at a table with Domeric and Samwell, looking more sullen than usual as he stared at his plate, tapping his finger against the rim of his glass.
"I doubt any could claim your life, Ser Loras," she said looking back to him with a somber smile.
"For you he would," Loras assured, taking a moment to spin her.
"And yet he will not ask me to dance," she said knowingly. A frown took her lips as she looked to Loras. "He is a wolf and I a stag. He is a bastard and I am bound to my father's crown. He is near a man and I still a child. I am a friend, family by friendship, but never anything more."
She was young, too young to be considered in such a way, especially by someone like Jon, but Loras knew Jon cared for the girl. It wouldn't be long before the princess blossomed and could no longer be ignored. It had already begun, but it had been so gradual they had missed it's beginning. Soon men would come for her hand and her betrothal would be set.
"Jon is no wolf." Seeing her confusion he corrected, "He's a Snow."
"It doesn't change that he has wolf's blood in him," said Myrcella.
"Wolves hunt stags," said Loras, smiling at the flush that took Myrcella's cheeks. "In time I'm sure not even his honor could withstand your beauty, and you may find him asking for more than a dance."
Jon watched as Myrcella went from dancing with Loras to Lord Renly. When she glanced at Jon and smiled he returned it, quickly looking back to his plate before anyone saw him. Of course Dom and Sam saw, both smirking as he looked to them.
"Will you ask her to dance?" Sam asked with a glance toward the princess. "I'm sure she'd say yes."
Jon glanced at her before looking to the high table where Cersei sat sipping at wine, watching Joffrey dance with a maiden from one of the visiting houses. He knew that if he asked Myrcella to dance it would draw attention from enough people, likely even King Robert himself, and turn her attention on them.
Jon had learned early in his stay that most of the kingsguard were far from noble knights of legend. They were just men, some of whom seemed to favor the queen. Even if Jaime hadn't confronted Jon by asking him about Myrcella, he had no doubt one of the others had told her of Myrcella's interest in him. It was why often when she was with any but Jaime or Barristan and himself he made sure to make himself a simple, dutiful knight fond of a princess in his care. He had played Aemon the Dragonknight plenty as a child, so this was no different.
It wasn't just himself he was keeping out of trouble, but he knew enough of the royal family to know it would cause her problems as well. As awful as it was, he found he agreed with Lord Arryn that Myrcella and Tommen being largely ignored by their family had been a blessing which left them better than the others. Robert was a lush fool half the time and almost pitiful somedays, but even he was better than Cersei and Joffrey, who no doubt would make a mess if they suspected he felt anything for Myrcella. She was a princess, she could have a crush on a knight in her service, but if he made any show in return and let them think something could happen they would do something drastic. They would betroth her to some lord and send her away, decide they had enough of Jon and send him to the Wall, or even take his head.
To think at one time Jon wanted to go to the Wall, but now a part of him hoped he could earn enough favor to gain his own name, one somehow worthy enough of a princess. He hoped the fool king would suddenly decide to legitimize Jon just to unite the Stark and Baratheon houses by marrying him to Myrcella while keeping Joffrey and Robb available for other betrothals. He would be the story other bastards told themselves to lift their spirits, to assure themselves they could achieve anything because for whatever reason the gods had smiled upon him, but it would never happen. Maybe it was being away from the North and the lack of a proper godswood, but Jon had come to feel the Gods never favored anyone. They likely cast their die and observed what came from them or guided them toward some path, never caring what becomes of the people below.
It felt at times as if Jon was meant to be a bastard and no matter what he did he always would be, and there was nothing that could change that. Working hard didn't matter. Making himself better didn't matter. He could win every tourney for the rest of time, become the most just and honorable knight through all of history, and it would never change that he was just a bastard.
Jon shook his head, his jaw shifting as he looked to Dom and Sam. "I'm leaving."
Sam seemed surprised while Domeric furrowed his brow. "Already?"
"I'm going to see if Mott's still open," said Jon. "I'll sell back the armor I bought and put it toward Arya's sword."
"You did well today, Jon," Domeric said as Jon rose from the table. "You unhorsed a man and broke lances with Jaime Lannister. There's no shame in losing to him."
Jon, feeling like he was drowning in pitch, shrugged and said morosely, "All I am is shame."
Barristan watched his squire leave the hall and frowned seeing the boy looking so disheartened. He returned to watching the hall, yet found himself wanting to go find the boy. It would be wrong to tell him what he suspected without being sure. Even if he knew, what would be the point in telling him? What would come of it? He would go from thinking his father was in the North and assuming his mother was dead while hoping she would one day show up and reveal herself, to knowing that both his parents had died, that his life was lie cast upon him to protect him from a man willing to murder infants, a man he'd guarded and followed for years now.
He could try to retake the throne, and then who would Barristan side with? King Robert or the son of the Rhaegar, the king who should have been. His eyes found the door again as he frowned, wondering how he should handle this.
Coming to the Street of Steel he heard the familiar ping of hammer and steel leading him to Tobho Mott's shop. Entering the shop he found few still working, but recognized the apprentice who made his helmet. Tobho Mott spotted him and smiled as he walked to the squire.
"How'd you do?" he asked.
"I shouldn't have paid for your silence," Jon said with a laugh. "I lost and was revealed in my second tilt." Jon tapped the bag holding all the armor. "The armor was good, but I was hoping I could sell it back and commission something else."
Tobho thought it over. "I could take them back for a reduced price if they are still in tact." Once Tobho looked the armor over he gave Jon a nod. "And you wish to commission a custom set?"
"No," Jon chuckled. "I actually want to gift someone a sword. They're small though, skinny as a reed from what I remember."
Tobho nodded, taking a moment to think before motioning for Jon to follow him and bringing him to a rack of different swords. The smith scanned it before removing a slender bravo blade with a gilded basket hilt and jeweled pommel.
"It's the type of blade used by bravo of the Free Cities," Tobho explained, handing the boy the blade. "Water dancers."
Jon took the hilt and wielded the blade, noting how much lighter it was, made purely for thrusting. Jon performed a few swift thrust, using a showy riposte before handing the blade back to Tobho.
"It could work, but they'd prefer a more northern hilt," Jon said carefully, trying to not insult the man by calling the hilt gawdy.
"And nothing for yourself?" Tobho asked setting the sword back on the rack.
Jon frowned. "Not yet."
Losing himself in a book on the Second Blackfyre Rebellion Jon woke from another dream of Winterfell's Crypts. With the morning sun rising he went to begin squiring for Jaime Lannister. Ultimately it wasn't much different from squiring for Ser Barristan, only Jaime spoke with more bite than the respectful Lord Commander. He even took to Barristan's habit of sending Jon away whenever he was with Cersei. Most interesting was when he took Jon to the yards to spar, which became a daily occurrence rather than something he did once or twice a sennight.
On the third day of squiring Jon found out they would be leaving. "We'll be escorting the queen and her children to Casterly Rock," Jaime told him as they left his room.
"You want me to go with you?" asked Jon.
"You're my squire," Jaime said with a smirk. "Don't worry, I'll make up for any extra time you have to spend apart from Barristan." His smile all but said a Lannister always pays his debts, but Jon was more worried about having to deal with Cersei and Joffrey than spending more time with Jaime.
It was on his fourth day squiring to Jaime that he asked, "Could I leave for an hour or so?"
Jaime looked up from where he was sat eating. "You have a date?"
"I need to get something," Jon said carefully. "I'll be back within the hour."
Jaime saw his wariness and smirked, downing the last of his food before waving his hand. "I'll escort you."
Jon stared at him for a moment, clearly considering turning him down and doing it later, but he couldn't be sure Tobho wouldn't sell Arya's sword if he waited. With a sigh he led Jaime into the Street of Steel. Thankfully Jaime waited outside the shop, watching the crowd gawk at him until Jon exited with a bundle of cloth that clearly contained a small sword.
"Decided to arm yourself finally?" asked Jaime.
"I've a dagger," Jon said of the dagger Barristan had bought him years ago, though he'd rarely used or even worn. "This isn't for me."
"No?"
Jon glanced at him. "I sold all but my helm and shield back and bought a sword for my sister."
"The little one?" Jaime thought for a second. "Arya?" When Jon nodded Jaime chuckled, remembering their talk on the trip south from Winterfell. "That'll stick it to the trout."
He managed to show the blade off to his friends before hiding it away with his letters, not caring that they were still in the room. He knew they wouldn't take the sword or bother to read the few letters he still kept. One thing that had come quickly even for Sam was a kind of trust. They hadn't bared all their secrets, not plainly, but they all supported each other enough to where if they wanted to there would be no doubt they could.
On his sixth day Jon left King's Landing riding beside Jaime outside the wheelhouse carrying the royal family. Jon tried to keep his attention ahead, ignoring the occasional glare from Tywin Lannister, who stared at him as suspiciously as Cersei ever had. It felt like the man thought Jon would suddenly remove his face to reveal he was a faceless man sent to slay him.
They'd barely started along Blackwater Rush when they saw Domeric riding toward them atop his red stallion. Jon and Jaime told the others to stand down as the Bolton heir rushed to them, clearly sent because he was the fastest rider at the Red Keep. Somberly he told them, "Jon Arryn's died. The king's called his family to return."
"What?" Jon asked, his horse taking a step forward as Jon shook his head. "How?"
"A sickness took him," Domeric said as a guard rushed to inform those within the wheelhouse. "His wife left for the Vale shortly after and the king has said we're to ride North to find a new Hand."
Jon shook his head. "He means to make my father Hand?"
Lord Arryn hadn't been particularly close, but Jon spoke to him at least once a week when the man checked in on him. Though often brief, they sometimes spoke of court, Jon's squiring, Lord Arryn's home in the Vale, Eddard's time as ward for him and even a few stories of Lord Arryn's youth. He'd helped find Jon a place within King's Landing and now he was dead.
Even if he might have looked forward to returning to Winterfell it felt wrong to do so when it came at the life of another. Yet Jon couldn't help the feeling that things would only get more complicated after this. That he would look back on these last few years as oddly peaceful compared to what would come.
"These pups may die anyway," Eddard Stark said looking to the direwolf pups in the arms of Robb and Bran.
"They won't," Robb said. "We won't let them die."
"Keep them, then. Jory, Desmond, gather up the other pups. It's time we were back to Winterfell."
Bran allowed himself to feel victorious and flash Robb a thankful smile once they were mounted, the pup snuggled inside his leathers as they crossed the bridge with five direwolf pups bound for Winterfell.
It wasn't until after they had gone the silence was broken by the soft steps of a she wolf who walked with purpose. She stepped past the corpse of the much larger direwolf and found a small white bundle away from the body. Pressing her nose to the runt's head, the wolf laid down, letting it suckle and drink from it's teat now that it's mother was dead. As the albino direwolf fed from her, the wolf stared south, waiting patiently as a raven cawed on the tree above.