CaveLeather
After six months in the dangerous wilds of the wolfswood, Jon finally returned to Winterfell after six long days of travel.
Every time he stood before the ancient walls, he felt their sheer size and weight.
The castle was enormous—easily the size of five or six large football fields.
Inside, the past pressed down from every direction: ruins from the Age of Heroes eight thousand years ago mixed with the newer, stronger buildings raised by generations of Kings of Winter.
Jon had once thought, crudely, that in an age without dragons, taking Winterfell by force with ordinary soldiers would be harder than forcing a septa who had sworn a holy vow of chastity to spread her legs.
No fortress was truly unbreakable, though.
History had shown again and again that the strongest walls meant nothing if betrayal came from inside.
The guards at the gate let him pass without question.
He was still Ned Stark’s bastard, after all, and the castle was buzzing with good news: the northern army had crushed the Greyjoy rebellion.
Lord Eddard was coming home victorious.
The moment Jon stepped into the inner yard, he felt the warm steam rising from the hot springs beneath the castle, pushing back the worst of the northern cold.
The atmosphere had changed completely.
The tension of war preparations was gone, replaced by relief and the excited expectation of Ned’s return.
Jon adjusted the plain black cloak that hid the star-forged sword at his hip.
Lady Lyanna stayed concealed.
He had no intention of showing it yet.
He planned to reveal the blade when he turned ten, using it to begin building his name and reputation among the smallfolk and soldiers of the North.
He walked steadily through the corridors to his small pantry room.
When he pushed open the door, he stopped in surprise.
The place had been thoroughly cleaned.
The bed was made, the dust and cobwebs gone.
“Robb again,” Jon muttered with a small, warm smile.
Only two people in all of Winterfell truly cared whether he lived or died—Ned and Robb.
Since Ned was still away, the order to clean this miserable little room could only have come from his brother.
He had barely set his small pack on the bed when he heard running footsteps in the corridor.
He didn’t need to turn around.
He already knew who it was.
The moment he saw Jon standing there unharmed, the tension drained from his body and a huge, relieved grin spread across his face.
“By the Old Gods, Jon! I thought you were dead in that damned forest!” Robb shouted.
Anger and worry warred in his voice, but relief won.
Jon smiled.
“Don’t worry, Robb. I won’t die before you do.”
Robb rolled his eyes dramatically.
“You bastard. Are you cursing me now?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just a lowly bastard. How could I curse the future Lord of Winterfell?”
They looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Robb dropped onto the bed.
“Where the hell were you for six months?”
“Living in the wolfswood. Running from angry bears. Eating rabbits. Sleeping under the stars.”
Robb’s eyes went wide with envy as Jon told the stories—especially the one about barely escaping a giant brown bear that could knock down trees with a single swipe.
Jon exaggerated the details a little, but the awe on Robb’s face made it worth it.
“I wish I could’ve gone with you,” Robb said quietly, the longing clear in his voice.
“You know that’s impossible. Your path was set the day you were born. You’re going to be Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”
Robb’s shoulders slumped.
He knew it was true.
Neither his father nor his mother would ever allow the heir to risk his life in the wild.
After a moment he looked up, uncertain.
“Jon… do you think I’ll actually be a good lord? Will I be able to protect the people through winter? Make sure everyone has enough to eat?”
Jon answered without hesitation.
“Of course you will. But only if you study like your life depends on it. A lord who doesn’t understand power can’t wield it.”
Robb straightened a little, the doubt easing.
“You’d probably make a better lord than me,” he said honestly.
“Maester Luwin’s tests, sword practice with Ser Rodrik—you’re always better.”
Jon’s face went still.
“If your mother ever hears you say that, she’ll cut out my tongue and probably my head while she’s at it.”
Robb pictured it and nodded seriously. Get faster updates on g.com.
“Yeah. Her face would go bright red and her eyes would bulge out like she wanted to eat you alive.”
Jon couldn’t hold it in.
He started laughing.
Robb joined him.
Still grinning, the two boys walked out of the room together, shoulders bumping.
They were heading for the training yard when Ser Rodrik Cassel stepped into their path.
“Snow. Lady Stark wants to see you in the great hall. Now.”
Jon raised an eyebrow but only shrugged and changed direction.
Robb’s face tightened with worry.
He stayed close to Jon’s side as they walked.
When they entered the great hall, Jon’s eyes went straight to the high seat.
Catelyn Stark sat there like it belonged to her, baby Sansa in her arms.
The one-year-old girl stared at Jon with wide, curious eyes while happily sucking on her own fist.
Jon felt a brief, unexpected softness at the sight of the little girl.
Then Catelyn’s cold blue eyes locked onto him and the feeling vanished.
How ridiculous, he thought.
A woman spreads her legs for a man, gives him a legitimate heir, and suddenly she gets to sit on a seat built on centuries of blood and conquest.
Men may conquer the world with steel, but women only need to conquer one man’s heart.
He stopped at the foot of the dais and gave her a perfectly executed, completely insincere bow.
“My lady, your radiant beauty lights up this entire hall. I pray for your continued health and happiness.”
Robb had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
Catelyn didn’t bother hiding her contempt now that Ned was away.
“Your life is hard to kill, bastard. You’re still breathing.”
“Yes, my lady. I am.”
Jon kept his face calm.
He knew exactly how much real power she held.
She could run the castle’s daily affairs, but the actual military strength of Winterfell belonged to Ser Rodrik.
The moment Ned returned, her regency would end and she would go back to being just another woman who could only rule through her husband.
Jon’s loyalty belonged to Ned and Robb.
Not to this southern woman who sat on a throne that was never meant for her.