Chapter Text
Jon followed slowly along behind the great wheelhouses. He still couldn’t believe he was here with the king and his father’s entourage heading for King’s Landing. He wasn’t meant to be here. He was meant to be with his uncle Benjen on his way to The Wall to join the Night’s Watch, but his father had denied him once more. Lord Eddard Stark was adamant that his son see some of the world and the opportunities it held before he swore to give it up. He could understand his father’s reasoning, even if he didn’t agree with it. He knew what the Night’s Watch oath included, no marriage, no children, no lands. Jon didn’t want any of those things, he just wanted an opportunity to bring himself and his family honor. They had argued heatedly about it and Jon can admit to himself he may have gone too far, saying things he didn’t mean to and didn’t truly believe.
“I know I am nothing but a bastard to you, the unwanted proof of your dishonor, the one stain on Lord Stark’s white cloak. You may be content to hide me in the shadow of your halls to wither away quietly and be forgotten, but I am not.”
Jon could still remember the flash of hurt in his father’s eyes before they hardened like ice. His father had announced that he would not in fact be hiding Jon away like a shameful secret but taking him to King’s Landing with his house hold guard. Jon would be shadowing Jory Cassel, his father’s captain of the guard, to learn the role and attending to Lord Stark himself when needed. Jon had been left gaping like a fish in the court yard as his father turned away, ordering him to be ready to leave with the king’s party in a week’s time.
The announcement had caused an immediate upheaval in the family. Arya had been overjoyed that she would have him there with her to play and cause mischief, while Sansa had cried and stomped her foot asking how she would win Prince Joffery’s favor if she was seen with their disgraceful bastard brother. Robb had gone silent staring at Jon with an expression that meant they would be speaking later. Little Rickon had been overwhelmed by all the commotion and simply cried, not understanding what was happening. None of them were privy to the conversation that Lord and Lady Stark had on the matter, but judging by the tightness of their father’s shoulders and the pinched expression on Lady Catelyn’s face it had not been a pleasant one.
There was no knowing how Bran would feel. Their dear little brother had still not woken from his fall when they had left…
And now here he was, riding at a maddeningly show pace toward the capitol of the Seven Kingdoms. The gods were laughing at him, he was sure. Robb himself had when Jon expressed his displeasure at this turn of events. His true born brother who was also his best friend and confidant, had laughed at his sullen demeanor and grabbed both his shoulders smiling winningly.
“This will be good for you, Snow! You will see the South and all the world has to offer in King’s Landing. I know it has always been your dream to join the Watch, but it has never been mine. My wish is for you to find yourself and your worth while you are away and come back to me ready not to swear away your life, but to stand at my side as my brother,” he drew Jon into an embrace, squeezing him tightly, “I shall miss you, brother. Take this opportunity to see the South and how they operate and report back to me unscathed. That is an order, Snow.”
Jon hid his grin in his brother’s shoulder, “as my Lord commands.”
The trip was said to take a month, though with the speed the wheelhouses needed to travel Jon had his doubts. They had broken a wheel twice already causing them to stop for repairs. Between that and the king’s frequent desire to hunt and reminisce with his father, it was taking a rather long time. Luckily, they had planned to stay at an inn for a few nights. The king had decided on this rather than one of castles along the way as it was closer to a hunting area he meant to make use of. This stop meant a real bed and bath for the first time in two weeks. Jon couldn’t deny he was looking forward to it just a bit. Though the travel had been novel in the beginning, it being Jon’s first time traveling South of the neck, sleeping in a tent on a cot, quick cold baths in the river, and sharing guard rotations had taken its toll. Now, he would have a bit of a break by accompanying his sisters and attending his father.
As they approached the inn, Jon dutifully followed after Jory as he spoke with the innkeeper about which rooms were theirs, seeing the right luggage was sent to the right place, organizing their men’s assignments with the king’s, and finally doing their own inspection of the place the people they were meant to be guarding would be staying. Jon made an effort to watch and listen to everything. Jory’s tone and addresses to different people, where his eyes strayed as he kept a vigilant watch of their surroundings, who the captain took particular notice of. He understood the attention to the doors leading in and out of the inn, but his noting of the windows on the second floor puzzled him as did his strict attention to the women staff. When they were alone, he asked about Jory’s interest in the windows and servants. This earned him an appraising look from Jory before the man answered.
“You must always be aware of windows, Jon. They may seem safe if they are up high, but a determined man can climb just as young Bran did. Even more easily done should he have climbing spikes. It’s not necessary to post a guard at every window, but it is the knowing that’s important. Making a guard rotation to pass all the areas that might be entered easily or otherwise.” Jory explained. “As for the women servants, they are often overlooked as a threat as most women are in the South. They are given access to nearly all spaces and ignored when men are having serious conversations as if they might not be listening. Never underestimate a woman, Jon. They hear and know things that you should not think them to and they have access to places that an enemy may not be able to enter without their assistance, never mind what they could do on their own. The maid servants’ loyalty is just as important as any man’s.”
Jon’s eyes grew wide at this revelation. It was true that Bran could climb almost anywhere in Winterfell, but he had not thought to apply a child’s past time to an enemy seeking entry. Nor had he considered the threat a woman could pose. In the North it was not uncommon for women to be warriors, most notably the women of Bear Island, but to think the soft spoken, bowing and demurring serving girls could be just as dangerous in their own right was something he’d not considered before. He nodded to Jory his understanding. Jory nodded back and they continued their tour of the inn, Jon now doing his best to remember faces of servants and where they worked.
As they surveyed the last area, the kitchens, and made to return to their rooms Jory swiped a piece of bread for him and ruffled his hair.
“You’ve done well today. Go join your father and sisters, I’ll handle the rest from here.”
Jon shot Jory a quick smile before breaking off and heading to where he knew his family’s rooms were, scarfing down the bread on his way as only a growing boy could. Arriving at his father’s door, he rapped quickly three times, then two, then three again.
“Come,” he heard his Lord father call and Jon entered.
His father was sitting at a small desk by the window looking over papers when he entered. His father finished what he was reading before standing and giving Jon a smile.
“Jon, how has your day been? Are you learning good things from Jory?” He asked as he held his arms open for a hug. Jon went to him and took the embrace, “He speaks very highly of your diligence so far.” His father finished, giving Jon a firm squeeze.
Jon felt a flush of pride run through him, “I have been trying to learn all I can.” He replied, pulling back from his father.
Lord Stark smiled fondly and ran a hand through Jon’s hair absent mindedly. “Good, that’s good.”
His father returned to the little desk and held up one of the notes that littered the desk, “This is from Robert. He wants us to dine with him this evening,” his father grimaced, “him and his wife and their family.”
Jon knew his father loved King Robert, but it had been clear since their first feast at Winterfell that Ned did not approve of his friend’s behavior at feasts, nor did he particularly like Robert’s wife Queen Cersei. There was something cold and untrue about her manner that neither the Lord of the North, nor his children liked. Excepting Sansa of course, who thought all royalty were the epitome of society. To be asked to dine with them privately was an honor to be sure, but one his father would have happily lived without it seemed.
“I’ll find my supper elsewhere, father, it is no trouble,” Jon replied easily, fully aware of his place in the world of nobility.
His father grimaced again and shook his head, “No, it seems King Robert would like to meet you as well. Any son of mine is worth knowing, or so he says.” He set the note back on the desk and looked back a Jon with a searching look, “I know this is a lot, Jon, but it is an order from the king.”
Jon stood shocked. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined that the king would take a second glance at him as a bastard. Even as his chosen brother’s bastard, it simply wasn’t done. He focused his eyes on the floor as his mind worked. The Queen would be wroth he was sure. There was no way she would want a bastard at her table, high born or otherwise. There would be consequences for the dishonor she would feel it was, never mind it was her husband’s order. Lady Catelyn had always found a way to make her displeasure known, how much worse would it be with a queen? But what other option was there?
“The queen won’t like it.” He said hoarsely.
“No,” his father agreed, “she won’t. But her hands will be tied, same as ours.”
“Not quite the same,” Jon whispered, nerves wracking his body at the thought of being in the same room with royalty, much less the same table. Gods, what would Sansa think?
His father frowned at his worry, “You will do fine, Jon.” His father said determinedly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “You will keep your head down, only speak when spoken to, and be the very image of politeness. As soon as we are able, I will make our excuses and leave. You have my word.”
Jon could do nothing but nod and think back to the cold stares, endless chores and barely concealed contempt of Lady Stark.
A few more words were exchanged, the time and place to meet the rest of the family before dinner and instructions to inform his sisters of the event before Jon took his leave. He found the room his sisters would be sharing just down the hall and again rapped the special knock. As soon as his knuckles left the wood the door was flung open and his wild little sister was standing in the doorway grinning up at him.
“Jon!” she cried, launching herself at him. He caught her easily and squeezed her tight causing her to giggle and struggle to get away. “Enough! Put me down!” She cried in mock outrage.
“Arya! Stop shouting, you are not acting very ladylike,” Sansa chastised from the other side of the room where she was diligently smoothing out her gowns.
Arya wrinkled her nose as Jon set her back on her feet, “Good, I don’t want to be a lady.”
Sansa just rolled her eyes turning back to her gowns, perfectly aware of where such an argument would end up as it had been had many times before by herself, their mother, and Septa Mordane.
Ayra stuck her tongue out at her sister’s back before whirling back to Jon with a mischievous smile, “Now that you’re here, we can go and practice swords! I haven’t had anytime to do so being trapped in the wheelhouse.”
Jon smiled back and reached out to muss her already messy hair earning a slap to his hand as his littlest sister ducked away, “No I’m afraid not, little wolf. We have been invited to eat with the king and his family this evening and father wishes us all to bathe and dress appropriately.”
Sansa spun around so fast Jon worried she might break her own neck, her eyes wide and mouth already curling into a smile, “The royal family is inviting us to dine privately with them?” at Jon’s nod she bounced on her feet, “oh, but that is wonderful! I will get to speak more with Prince Joffery and endear myself to the king and queen!” she rushed over to her gowns and began to fuss over them, “I must wear a fine gown, but not too fine as it is an intimate gathering and I don’t want to look over dressed…” Sansa trailed off into mumbles as she continued to scrutinize her clothing options.
“You say ‘we’, but you won’t be coming, will you.” Arya said, looking upset.
Jon scuffed a foot on the floor and replied, “actually the king requested me as well.”
Both his sisters looked at him in astonishment.
“I Know! Father tried to talk him out of it, but apparently, he is very interested in meeting all of his friend’s children, even me.” Jon explained exasperatedly.
“But you’re not true born. You’re not supposed to be there. I’m sure the queen will not be happy.” Sansa said.
“That’s what I said, but father said the king had ordered it and that our hands are tied.” Jon replied, leaning back on the wall.
“Well, I’m glad you’ll be there. You are our brother, and this way at least I’ll have someone to talk to.” Arya smirked.
Jon sighed and rubbed a hand over his face in defeat. Of course, Arya wouldn’t care for the queen’s upset.
“What are you wearing?” Sansa suddenly asked. When Jon just stared at her she huffed and crossed her arms continuing, “Bring your clothing here so I can go through it and pick something appropriate. Then you’ll need a bath. A thorough bath.” She wrinkled her nose, presumably at his smell causing Arya to giggle. “Go collect your clothes, I’ll have the servants draw a bath in your chambers and bring your clothes to you when you’re finished.”
Jon gave her an incredulous look. “You’re seriously going to dress me?”
Sansa raised her eyebrows and gave him an unimpressed look then motioned towards the door. “Go now, it’ll take you awhile to wash off the last few weeks of dirt.”
Jon stared a her for a moment longer before shaking his head and leaving to get his clothes. He could hear Arya and Sansa brake into full on laughter as he walked down the corridor. Sometimes having sisters was the worst.
Later that evening he stood in the hall before his father’s door waiting for the others to arrive. He straightened his tunic and adjusted his collar for the thousandth time feeling nervous. Sansa had picked his finest grey tunic and breeches and checked the fit of the garments, having him turn this way and that before deeming it acceptable and then setting herself on his hair. She brushed and oiled it making sure each curl fell just so, again checking it from several angles before smiling and nodding to herself. Arya sat on the bed watching and poking fun, while Septa Mordane sat silently glaring at him the whole time. Sansa’s efforts had paid off though he had to admit, he’d never looked so clean and put together usually preferring to hide in the background.
He heard a door open and looked up to see his father exiting his room. He glanced up at Jon and smiled, coming to stand before him.
“Well, you cleaned up well.” Lord Stark joked, pulling on a lock of hair, “let me guess, Sansa’s doing?”
Jon grinned back, “She was very diligent in her work.”
They chuckled together as they walked to the girls’ room, his father knocking on the door. After a few moments they were bid to come in. Sansa was already dressed in a pretty pale blue dress that brought out her eyes with her hair styled in the Southron way. Jon watched as their father gave her a hug and kiss to the cheek telling her how beautiful she looked, drawing a pleased smile from Sansa. Ayra, on the other hand, was still sitting at the dressing table fussing at the maid who was trying to arrange her hair. Apparently, the maid believed that Lady Arya needed to wear her hair in an ‘appropriate and sophisticated’ Southern style, while Arya argued that she was of the North and didn’t want a fussy Southern hair style. Lord Stark stepped over to the mirror, dropped a kiss to Arya’s hair and sternly told the maid there was nothing inappropriate or unsophisticated about Northern hair styles. The maid ducked her head and apologized to the Lord of Winterfell and immediately returned to Arya’s hair. She brushed it out and braided it into two neat plaits on either side of the middle part, following the curve of her skull and down her back. Arya graciously allowed the maid to tie pale green ribbons into the ends to match her dress, and the girls were finally finished and ready to head to dinner.
The family entered the hall together and began walking to the private dining room the inn had especially prepared for the royal family. Their father walked in the middle, his daughters on either side, while Jon walked just behind.
“Listen, things are different here than in Winterfell. We are used to eating with Jon and treating him as part of our family, which he is, but here in the South it is frowned upon. There may be some animosity from the queen’s family towards Jon for the perceived slight of having to share a table with a bastard, but you must remember we are a pack. It is our job to protect each other in whatever way we can. Just as Jon will protect your back with sword and shield, you must protect him here. He cannot move or speak against high born lords and ladies without serious consequence, regardless of what they may say or do. You can move attention away from him, defend his presence and actions when others try and provoke him or get rid of him.”
Sansa and Arya both looked up at their father concernedly.
“Why would they want to get rid of Jon?” Ayra asked.
“Surely, as part of your household guard, they would not hurt him. You are the Hand of the King.” Sansa said.
Father took both their hands and squeezed them, “You are of the North. In the North we judge a man on his merits. How honorable he is, how trustworthy, how loyal, how capable. Even a Northern Lord must prove himself to gain the respect of his men. In the Southern court, men are judged off blood. A man may be dishonorable and foolish, but if he is an heir of a great lord that will be over looked. Men like this will take one look at the circumstances of Jon’s birth and see him as lesser. A cretin grasping higher than his station, in need of being put in his place and they will seek to do so. We must show our support of him, defend him when he cannot defend himself. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”
Both girls frowned and nodded, Sansa with contemplation and Arya with determination. Jon found himself nodding too, though the words hadn’t been for him. They were a pack and they would protect one another. Their father brought the girls’ hands up for a kiss to each set of knuckles then glanced over his shoulder and gave Jon a quick smile which Jon returned with a nod. They continued down through the corridors until they came to the private dinning hall, guards posted either side of the door. They walked up to the guards and Lord Stark instructed one man to announce them as the Hand of the King and his children. The guard stole a swift glance at Jon, before moving to do as asked, opening the door. Jon took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as they were announced and then followed behind his father and sisters as they entered the hall. The king was sitting at the head of the table, the queen and her children lined up on his right with the queen’s twin brother, the Kingslayer, at the end. The other two Kingsguard that King Robert had brought, Ser Trant and Ser Blount, were also in attendance, though they stood on duty to either side of the king.
“Ned!” King Robert exclaimed as they entered, standing from his seat and tightly embracing Lord Stark as they drew close.
“Robert,” their father said as he returned the embrace.
“Well, sit down, sit down. Let’s get reacquainted. Though we’ve been traveling together, it doesn’t feel like our families have had a moment to spend in each other’s company,” the king said jovially as he sat back down and motioned for the servants to bring drinks. The Starks all sat at the king’s left, Lord stark directly next to him followed by Sansa, across from Prince Joffrey, then Arya across from Princess Myrcella, and finally Jon at the end across from Prince Tommen. Jon cast a quick nervous glance at Ser Jaime who had apparently been waiting for him to do so as he immediately caught Jon’s eye and smirked back with a wink. Jon quickly looked down at his plate. Once everyone was settled the king continued, “Now, this is Sansa, the very image of her mother,” he smiled at Sansa, who blushed and nodded, “and then Arya, right? Looks just like you, Ned. Don’t worry, girl. You’ll not grown a beard like your old man.” He laughed at his own joke while Arya just blinked in confusion. “And then there’s your bastard lad, what was your name again, boy?”
Jon froze for a moment in panic before he gathered himself and turned towards the king making sure to keep his eyes no higher than the king’s plate. “Jon Snow, your Grace.”
“Jon,” the king smiled, “after Jon Arryn?” he turned to Lord Stark, who nodded, “A good man, our Jon. Like a father to the both of us. It’s an honor to be named after such a man, boy.” The king said then, looking back at Jon.
There was a short pause, as Jon realized a response was expected. He swallowed thickly and said, “I shall endeavor to never do it dishonor, your Grace.”
“Good lad,” the king chuckled, “Of course you remember my queenly wife, Cersei and the children Princes Joffrey and Tommen and our Princess Myrcella.” The king introduced his wife and children motioning to each in turn and the Starks all nodded and said their words of greeting to the royal family, Jon’s being short and deferential.
There was some small talk as they waited for the food to arrive, Sansa asking if the trip had been comfortable for the royals so far and commiserating about the bumpy road and breaking wheels. All expressing satisfaction that the weather seemed to be holding out and not drenching them in rain. The food arrived then and everyone began to fill their plates as the king laughed about having a well-cooked meal and how much better it would be if they had hunted the beast themselves. Once the food was distributed and the drinks refilled the queen asked after Bran, wondering if there had been news delivered while on the road.
“There has not been, but we continue to pray and hold out hope,” Their father said. At the mention of their brother, he and his sisters could not help but to look down morosely at their plates.
“Poor boy. I shall continue to pray as well,” The queen replied, affecting a sympathetic smile.
“I do hope he lives,” Ser Jaime agreed, “though, I can’t imagine he’ll ever be able to wield a sword.”
His father’s face became stony, “perhaps he will not be able to continue his training with a sword, but there are other qualities that give a man worth, is there not, Ser Jaime?”
The statement had clearly been aimed at the younger Lannister brother, Tyrion, who due to his dwarfism was also not a warrior. Jon could see from the corner of his eye as the Kingslayer clenched his jaw briefly before smiling winningly and agreeing.
“Continuing his training, Ned? Had the boy already started sparing?” The king asked with interest.
Lord Stark chuckled, “Not sparing, your Grace, but all the boys start training at seven years old with sword, shield, and bow.”
The king shot a look at his queen who stiffened while Prince Joffrey began to stab his meat rather viciously.
“Hear that woman? At seven. Tell me again why Joff isn’t sparing by his age?” the king asked with contempt.
“My love, Joffrey is the Crown Prince. He has many other responsibilities to learn and we cannot risk injuring your heir in the training yard,” The queen said with a placating tone causing the king to huff.
“I’m sure you’re right, my queen. There is much to learn about running a kingdom as large as ours,” Lord Stark replied, trying to diffuse the situation no doubt.
“Women, always so soft,” the king said, ignoring his friend, “My heir should be strong on the battlefield like his father; it takes strength to run a kingdom!” he exclaimed before his gaze swept down the table to Jon, “Boy! You began your training at seven as well, yes? You any good?”
Jon, who had blessedly gone almost without notice until now nearly dropped his fork from where he had been bringing it to his mouth. He snapped his eyes to his father who nodded for him to answer. “I am adequate your Grace.” Jon replied.
Arya huffed and spoke for the first time, “You’re great in the yard, Jon!” She turned to the rest of the table, “He beats Robb and Theon all the time and even some of the guards! And I’ve seen him in the God’s Wood practicing with his left hand!” she finished, smiling proudly at Jon.
Jon felt his stomach turn as a mix of emotions ran through him. Happiness that his sister was proud of him and shear panic at making the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms look bad in comparison. They were only two years apart after all. Again, he found his eyes snapping to his father. He hadn’t told Lord Stark that he had been training his non-dominant hand and had instead done so in the secret of the Godswood. He saw the surprise on his fathers face, then slowly a wolfish grin spread across it and Jon felt his stomach settle. The Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North approved.
“Duel wielding?” Ser Jaime said with surprise and to Jon’s own surprise, he saw a small smile on the Kingsguard’s face. Then he remembered that Ser Jaime had been knighted by none other than Ser Aurthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who had used two swords.
“No, Ser, nothing as impressive as that,” Jon clarified, “it just seemed practical to be able to use either hand if needed. I doubt I’d have the skill to use a sword in each hand.”
“Practical!” the king laughed, “He’s certainly yours, Ned. Tell me, boy, how have you found it to be practical to use both hands when every knight in the Kingdoms is content with one?”
Jon glanced around the table and saw everyone was wondering the same thing, so Jon told the story, “There is a man at the Wall that they call Qhorin Halfhand. He lost most of his right hand to an axe while fighting wildlings Beyond the Wall. This would have stopped most men, thinking their fighting days done without out the use of their sword hand, but not Qhorin. He recovered and trained ruthlessly with his left hand for months and months until he was just as good and returned to the fight. He is renowned both in the North and Beyond the Wall for his determination, skill, and fierceness in battle. I am no Qhorin, but should I lose a hand in battle I hope to continue to do my duty.”
He looked up to see how his answer had been received. Ser Jaime was giving him an appraising look, while his sisters and the young prince and princess seemed excited with the story. The king and his father were looking on in approval. The queen and the crown prince, however, were not.
“It is a commendable, to be sure,” the queen said then, a condescending smile on her beautiful face, “but a great warrior would never lose a hand in a battle against a wildling savage.”
His father looked back at the queen with narrowed eyes. “Is that so? Forgive me your Grace, but how many of your great warriors have ever fought a wildling beyond the Wall, snow falling, wind blowing, outnumbered five to one?”
The queen looked back at Lord Stark, something ugly and mean sitting just beneath her eyes, and opened her mouth to speak only to be cut off by the king.
“Not a bloody one!” the king laughed, slapping the table, “Knights of summer the lot of them! Boy’s got the right of it to be sure! I’ll expect to see you training that left hand in the yard of the red keep, Jon Snow.”
Jon nodded dutifully, “Of course, your Grace.” He noticed that the queen and Prince Joffrey were glaring daggers at him and suddenly lost his appetite.
“Snow,” Tommen said suddenly, “You are Lord Stark’s son, but why are you called Snow?” he asked innocently.
“Because his mother and father were not married. He’s a bastard,” Prince Joffrey scoffed before anyone else could speak.
“But mother said you have to be married to make a babe?” Princess Myrcella pipped up now, confusion written across her face.
Every adult in the room seemed to be lost for words for a moment, staring first at Myrcella and Tommen, then at each other clearly uncertain how to proceed. Joffrey glared at his sister opening his mouth to say gods only knew what when the king cleared his throat loudly.
“The making of a babe is a complicated matter,” he said.
“Indeed,” Lord Stark agreed seriously, “It involves maths and the cycles of the moon and a great many calculations.”
“Indeed, a great many calculations, boring stuff really. Best not to worry about it until you are older,” Ser Jaime added, fighting a laugh that would have ruined the farce.
“Suffice to say, Lady Stark is not Jon’s mother and therefore he is named Snow rather than Stark.” The king explained with a slight blush. Everyone sat, waiting to see the prince and princess’s response to being put off, but the children just nodded. The relief in the room was palpable as everyone returned to their dinner.
“I like the name Snow,” Myrcella said then, “it’s pretty!”
“Snow is pretty!” Tommen agreed enthusiastically.
“It covers everything in white and makes it look clean and new and how it sparkles in the sun is so pretty!” Myrcella continued, “and Jon is quite pretty too, so it fits.” She smiled.
Jon nearly choked. He had to cover his mouth with his napkin as he regained his composure, silently wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He suddenly regretted letting Sansa fix his hair and clothes. At the time he thought the work made him look more presentable to be seen by the royal family, but now he could physically feel his face heating with embarrassment. He locked his eyes on his plate, unable to look at the faces of the people at the table witnessing his mortification.
“Boys are handsome, not pretty,” Prince Joffrey corrected sounding annoyed.
“No, no. In this case I think pretty fits perfectly well,” Ser Jaime interjected with a snicker.
“Must have gotten it from his mother, Ned. Gods know he didn’t get it from you!” Robert laughed uproariously.
“I’m sure you’re right, your Grace,” Lord Stark replied stiffly summoning another bout of laughter from the king. “Robert, I hate to cut this short, but it has been a long journey and the children are tired; I think it may be time to call it a night. Besides, we need to be well rested if we are to hunt tomorrow.”
The king continued to chuckle as he waved away his friend, “Yes, yes, head off then. I’ll see you on the morn and we’ll head out for our hunt.”
“Your Grace,” Their father said as he stood and bowed, his children following suit.
As they turned to leave, Ser Jaime called out, “Jon Snow, you’ll be meeting with me in the yard for a spar on the marrow.”
Jon turned back with a look of shock on his face, “Ser, I am not worthy of the honor of sparing with a warrior of your caliber.”
“You’re right, you’re not. But you will meet me at the yard in the morning all the same.” Ser Jaime responded with a smirk.
Jon turned to his father nervously, unsure if he wanted leave to meet with the Kingsguard or not. His father looked back at him pensively, obviously just as unsure as his son. Sansa and Arya watched on, their heads swiveling between the two of them. The issue was taken from them by the king.
“Ah, Ned. Let the boy have a bit of fun,” Robert called from his seat, “when else will be boy get the opportunity?”
Jon could see his father’s throat work before he nodded. Jon turned back to the knight and tried to keep his shoulders square and his voice steady, “Then I shall meet you on the morrow, Ser Jaime.”
He watched as the Kingslayer adopted a satisfied look and leaned back in his chair arrogantly, “On the morrow.”
With that last exchange, the Starks left the hall. As the door closed behind them both Arya and Sansa began to speak, but their father shushed them softly and placed a hand on their backs to move them down the corridor. Once they had turned the corner, Lord Stark spoke.
“It’s better not to speak of your brother or conversations we’ve had privately with the royal family where other people could hear,” he explained.
“There wasn’t anyone there,” Ayra frowned.
“The guards,” Jon said, his father nodding once in agreement.
Sansa glanced back at him before looking to their father, “But they aren’t listening. Their just standing guard.”
“And if a man was talking about his plan on attacking the royal family just down the corridor from him, do you think he would not hear it and tell the king?” Jon scoffed softly, earning a glare from Sansa and a warning look from their father.
“I can assure you, Sansa, the guards are listening. Lords and kings alike have asked their guards about conversations they may have over heard,” Lord Stark explained, leading them toward their rooms.
“Why?” Arya asked.
“Well, sometimes he may be suspicious of a man’s loyalty or motives. Other times he is just interested in the gossip going around the castle. Which maid is enamored with which young man, who enjoyed the feast he just threw, or who is quarreling with each other and may require intervention. There are many reasons, but never think they are not listening,” Their father continued to explain.
“There’s always someone around, though! When are we allowed to talk?” Arya whined loudly causing their father to shush her once more.
“There are many things of no importance that you may talk about whenever you like, but if it’s private, then speak in private.” Their father replied.
“But how will I know if it is private?” Arya continued just as whinny, but at least more quietly.
Jon stifled a laugh in his hand as his father let out a long-suffering sigh through his nose. “I’ll explain in my room, come along.”
They finished the walk back to Lord Stark’s room in silence. Their father opened the door wide and motioned them all inside. Their father led the girls to the bed and settled them on edge. Jon moved to lean against the wall, only to find their father grabbing his shoulder and leading him to sit on the bed as well. As their father dragged the chair from the desk over to sit in front of them, Jon was uncomfortably reminded of when he would get lectures as a small child. Lord Stark sat heavily in the chair and leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees and hands clasped, his face stern.
“Arya, you asked a good question. When is a conversation private and when is it not? This is something I want all of you to keep in mind when we get to King’s Landing, understand?” he locked eyes with each of them in turn. “Anything unkind or unflattering to the royal family or his Kingsguard, any quarrels you children have with each other or me, anything about our family or household that is not common knowledge, anything I discuss with you in private, or anything about Jon, is private. Think before you speak to someone not of our household. If you are unsure, ask me. If someone tries to get you to speak about something you think you shouldn’t, come to me. The only time we are in private is when we are in our chambers. Is that understood?” They chorused a ‘yes father’ and he stood and kissed each of them on the head. “I do not want you to be afraid to enjoy yourselves, but this is also a time to learn.” He crouched in front of Sansa then, “Especially you, sweetling. As Joffrey’s queen you will be expected to know these things and to be observant to all around you and the king.” Sansa nodded and whispered a ‘yes father’. “Good.” Their father smiled, “Now off to bed, I wasn’t japing when I told the king you are tired and need rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
They all groaned and argued that they were not tired, though of course they were, as they made their way to the door. They exchanged final good nights with their father before Jon walked the girls to their room, confirming that their septa and maid where there to help them dress for bed. Jon returned to his own room in the servant’s quarters and prepared for bed himself. As he was laying his head down for the night, he suddenly remembered that he was to meet with Jaime Lannister in the morning to spar. He rolled over, feeling nerves turn in his gut as different scenarios of the meeting played through his head. Did Ser Jaime mean to actually spar with him and appraise his skill or was this just an excuse to humiliate him? The first would be amazing while the latter would be deeply unpleasant, though not unexpected. As he rolled over again, he resolved to get the most out of the experience regardless of the intention. Even if Ser Jaime simply drove Jon into the dirt repeatedly, the man was said to be the greatest sword in the Seven Kingdoms and this was an opportunity to observe his technique. With that resolve in mind Jon was finally able to fall asleep.