Hey all! So this is something I've been working on over at and it was suggested I post it here. The story will be much the same as it is there, though I will fix any typos I find before I cross-post. There are twenty or so chapters that have already been written that I'll be posting sporadically throughout the week. I hope you all enjoy it and feel free to leave a review!

The Bastard of Winterfell

Jon Snow was forced to hang back and watch as his father returned with the King. Lady Catelyn did not want him to be seen with Lord Stark's trueborn children. Relations between the North and King's Landing were strained as it was, she had said, and it would do no good to insult the King by presenting him with a bastard. So Jon stood on one of the balconies overlooking Winterfell's main courtyard along with the men at arms and the servants and the scullery maids as the gates of the ancient castle creaked open and Lord Stark entered alongside his liege lord and the royal retinue.

Not that his father was without retainers. When Lord Eddard had heard that the king was coming to Winterfell he rode out to meet him at Moat Cailin with half the strength of the North. The sigils and arms of Umbers and Manderlys and Dustins and Ryswells could all be seen pouring through the gate along with those of the King and his wife. The wolf had brought his pack, every last one of them baring their teeth. It sent a clear message. Jon's father would allow the King's presence in his keep, in his demesne, and in his kingdom, for lack of a better word, for although Jon could not remember a time when things were different he had been told by Maester Luwin that the North had almost become a realm unto itself after the Rebellion, but he would never be welcome in any of them.

In a way, Jon was glad that he wouldn't have to deal with any of this for much longer. He had spoken to his uncle Benjen about joining the Night's Watch, and he had been told that blood and the circumstances of one's birth mattered little at the Wall. His uncle had told him that bastards and the sons of smallfolk had risen to be First Steward, First Ranger, and even Lord Commander if they proved themselves worthy. It would be cold and lonely there, Benjen had warned him, but Jon was a Stark by blood if not by name, and harsh winters were something he was more than ready for. And as for loneliness, Jon doubted his uncle could truly appreciate the isolation of being a bastard in the halls of one's own father, hated by the Lady of the Castle and shunned even by some of the servants. Whatever kindness he might have received, Jon knew he did not belong. He was ready to go.

Well, almost ready. The only reason he waited here, the only reason he had not packed, said his goodbyes, and rode north as his father rode south was because Lord Eddard had finally relented. Something about his calling the banners and marching to Moat Cailin had caused the icy front he put up whenever the subject of Jon's mother was discussed to thaw. He had promised to tell Jon everything about his mother when he returned, but something his father had said Jon had found very confusing. Gods be good, we'll be able to discuss it alone.

Turning his attention back to the courtyard he could see his father dismount and take his place beside his wife and trueborn children. Lord Eddard noticed Jon's absence and looked around for him. When their eyes met, it pained Jon to realize that the look in his father's eyes was one of relief. He really doesn't want me beside him, thought Jon. He almost wanted to leave, but curiosity held him there. He had never seen a king before, and unless his wildest fantasies about slaying a King-beyond-the-Wall came true he doubted he would have the chance to do so again.

The first of the King's retinue to dismount was no doubt Ser Barristan Selmy, the knight of the Kingsguard who had been chosen to accompany the royal family on their long trek north. He was aged, to be true, but Jon had heard Bran say that the Kingsguard were the finest knights in all the Realm, and there was nothing about the way Ser Barristan carried himself that made him believe otherwise. He dismounted before the king he was sworn to protect, and then stepped over to the wheelhouse that had entered through the gate to help the royal family out and into the courtyard.

Jon could not help but look with awe at the Queen as she descended the steps. Cersei Lannister was as beautiful as everyone said, with long golden hair and piercing emerald eyes that appraised everything before her in a somewhat haughty but nonetheless regal manner. She shepherded her children out as well, with whom Jon was far less impressed. Truth be told, he could not even remember their names. Not that he would need to anyway. As a man of the Night's Watch, he would serve the Realm, not any one king or his issue. He had been told that the King had other children by his first wife, ahead of Cersei's in the line of succession, but he did not see them. They would be roughly his and Robb's age by now. Their father probably wanted them to have some practice in ruling the Realm, which is why he left them in King's Landing.

With that Jon looked to the King. He dismounted his black destrier gracefully, removing the dragon-winged helm upon his head and revealing a handsome face with all the features of Valyrian nobility, though clearly aged and worn from the stress of holding the Seven Kingdoms together. Well, six kingdoms, according to Robb. He never failed to remind Jon of how their father had gotten away with not paying tithes to King's Landing by directly paying off the Crown's debt to the Iron Bank, or how he only called the banners when the North itself was threatened, refusing the King's summons until Euron Greyjoy had been foolish enough to raid the Stony Shore. Their father was the Stark of Winterfell, Robb had said, and no matter what had happened south of the Neck among the First Men his word was law. Jon had believed it when he was young, and almost believed it now as he saw King Rhaegar's small retinue surrounded by angry, hostile Northmen.

But the bread and salt were offered all the same. The King was welcomed as a guest in his father's hall, despite everything he had done. It might have been too much for his brother but Jon was not surprised. Jon perhaps lacked the head for tactics that Robb had, but he knew the North did not have the men to go to war against the entire South, even if half the Southron troops would probably catch cold and die at the mere sight of a summer snow. That's why denying the King the right to travel in what were technically his own lands was so perilous. But the King risked much by coming here, for Maester Luwin had told him the only thing that kept the peace between the Iron Throne and the North was an unspoken agreement between King Rhaegar and his father. The King would stay out of the North's business, and Lord Eddard would return the favor.

"Your Grace," said Jon's father icily. "We welcome you to Winterfell." The King arched an eyebrow at this, the Queen almost scoffed, and Jon himself had to admit he was surprised by his father's choice of words. He had heard Sansa go over the courtly courtesies of a royal visit so many times he could remember almost all of them. She had prattled on about how when the King arrived Lord Eddard would bow, offer him Ice and say "Your Grace, Winterfell is yours." But that was not what happened. After partaking of the bread and salt the King made his reply.

"We thank you for your hospitality, Lord Eddard." The King's voice was even and courtly, if he was perturbed there was not the slightest hint of it in his tone. He looked over the trueborn children with melancholy and turned back to Jon's father. "Are these your children?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Lord Eddard replied. "Allow me to present my eldest, Robb, my second and third sons, Bran and Rickon, and my two daughters, Sansa and Arya." Each bowed or curtsied as Jon imagined he would have had to were he allowed down there with them, each murmuring 'Your Grace' politely and audibly. Rhaegar looked over each of them, but he seemed dissatisfied.

"And the Bastard of Winterfell?"

"I did not think it appropriate to present a child of low birth to Your Grace," interjected Lady Catelyn. "Please, let us show you to your chambers, I'm sure you would like some rest after—"

"Where is my son, Lord Eddard?" The King seemed to lose a great deal of his composure. Gasps and looks of confusion rippled across the courtyard. Lady Catelyn looked at Jon's father with an utter lack of comprehension, and Queen Cersei did the same to the King. "Did you really think you could keep him from me forever? Did you honestly believe I wouldn't find out?"

"This is not how we agreed to do this," Lord Eddard spat. "Jon, get down here!" shouted his father, all courtly courtesy gone from his voice. Jon could barely believe what he was hearing. My son? What could King Rhaegar possibly mean by that? He hurried down and entered the courtyard, standing by his father, who put his hand on Jon's shoulder reassuringly.

"I knew I wouldn't have to," Lord Eddard told the King. "Jon's nearly a man grown and can make his own decisions. In less than a week's time he intends to join the Night's Watch." It was then that the King turned his full attention towards Jon. His gaze was withering and thorough, as if he was trying to pick apart and dissect every part of Jon, to stare into his very soul.

"They call you Jon?" he asked, frustration evident in his voice.

"Y-yes, Your Grace," Jon stammered back. The King looked back at Jon's father.

"Lyanna and I had agreed upon Jaehaerys."

"You left my sister in no state to name him, Your Grace." Jon's father replied.

"Ned, what is he talking about?" asked Lady Catelyn. The King laughed.

"You never even told your own wife?" The King could not help but reveal his disdain. "How many years did she suffer thinking you had dishonored her, when the boy wasn't even yours?"

"Father?" Jon looked at Lord Eddard desperately. He had so many questions, but they all seemed to stick in his throat. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I promised you we'd speak of your mother when I returned," Lord Eddard told him, "because I knew, one way or another, that we would have to. I had hoped it wouldn't have to be like this."

"As you said, Lord Eddard, the boy is nearly a man grown and can make his own decisions. Perhaps it would be better if he knew the truth before he did."

"Father, what's going on?" begged Jon. Everything seemed wrong. He needed to know what was happening.

"That man may have raised you, boy, but he is not your father," the King told him. "Your mother was his sister, and Lord Stark is far too honorable to have committed incest." The King cast a sideways glance at Cersei that would have gone unnoticed had she not huffed indignantly at the words.

His sister? Jon thought. Aunt Lyanna? But King Rhaegar abducted and raped her. That would mean…

"Yes, boy," the King pronounced in the same tone as he might use to pass judgment on a disloyal vassal. "I am your father."

No, thought Jon. That's not true. That's impossible.

"My love," interjected the Queen, "Surely we have traveled so far for matters of far greater importance than this. Allow yourself some rest and we can return to the subject of the bastard—"

"He is no bastard," said the King. "Kings have taken more than one wife before, and Lyanna and I were wed before a Heart Tree. By your own law, Lord Eddard, she was mine." The Queen looked horrified by this, and even as confused as Jon was it was not hard to see why. If John were no bastard he would be ahead of all of her children in the line of succession. Should some misfortune befall Prince Aegon he would be the heir to the Iron Throne.

"I grow weary of this," the King went on. "Lord Eddard, have your servants show me to my chambers. We will have much to discuss after my party and I finally get some rest." Slowly he turned his attention back towards Jon.

"Jaehaerys, I promised your mother I would let you foster at Winterfell and I have fulfilled my oath. I could have simply ordered you south, but your uncle is right. You are nearly a man grown and can make your own decisions. By tomorrow evening I would know what you wish." With that the King strode off behind one of the castle's servants, with a mortified Queen and her children in tow. Jon looked to Lord Eddard, the man who for so many years he had called father, for some sign of reassurance, for something that might show that this was all an elaborate mummer's farce. He received nothing of the sort.

"I'm sorry, Jon," was all his uncle could say. Jon ran out of the courtyard, barely registering Arya and Robb and Bran and Rickon shouting his name. He ran into his chambers and shut the door, pulling the bolt forward so that none could enter. There was supposed to be a feast tonight in honor of the King's—of his father's arrival. He did not know if he would be in attendance. Not until he had made his decision.