Ellooooo, welcome to chapter 3.

Thanks for all who faved, followed and reviewed! Some have been curious about Jon's talk with Joff and his response, and yes i think that it probs is unlikely in canon but you know, its a fic. As for Jon being 'too OOC' and not being respectful to the King, i have made some subtle changes to the dialouge however i dont quite get the 'too OOC' part. This is a fanfiction, Jon has a different blend of Rheagar and Lyanna than he does in cannon which i have thought up, how can it be 'too OOC'? (Not rhetorical, genuinely want responses so i can improve).

I also agree with the statement about Catelyn not being that bad have changed the text slightly :)

Guest reviewers comment about Jeyne and Jon's caution as to siring a bastard: 'there are some characteristics that cannot be changed and some are ingrained through his treatment by others' - i agree, however a different outward attitude changes the ways in which one responds to such treatment, this is a pretty basic principle in developmental psychology tbh, different people exposed to the same treatment react in different ways. This Jon is effectively a 'diffrent person' from the one in canon, so why should his reaction to his status be the same, just for the sake of following cannon? For isntance Jon obviously resented the fact that he would never make anything in life because of his status (in the books). However, in this fic, Jon has begun to see his status as a bastard as not completely negative hence the treatment he receives (which btw, isnt that bad as noted by the reviewer this guest reviewer referenced) affects him differently, specifically he disregards it and seeks other pleasures. He does not see siring a bastard as a that a negative thing as he doesnt see his bastardhood as being that bad. As for Jeyne, a mere fictional product resulting from a changed Jon interacting with Winterfell characters.

Pack of One's comment about Jon not wanting power being BS: i agree, in cannon it is. But this is a different Jon, so why should it be BS? You could react similarily to anything in fanfiction and say 'this character wouldnt say that because in the book he was like this', but surely in a fanfiction the universe is changes (albeit slightly in this case) and hence his opinions, feelings, etc. have changed?

Hope i responded ok to your comments and if i missed anything call me out on it.

Anyways, Enjoy!

Ned Stark sighed tiredly as he looked over the accounts for the last week. The King's stay had been expensive to say the least. Grain stores had been depleting twice as fast with reserves of ales, meads and salted meats going just as quickly. Robert had some expensive tastes, and Ned had been cautious to remind him that Winterfell was not Kings Landing, nor did it have the capital's funding.

The Lord of Winterfell dropped the ink blotted parchments on the large oak desk in his scholar and leant back into his chair, his thoughts drifting to one of a million worries. For one, tension between the King's men, specifically the Lannister members, and the Winterfell natives had been palpable. Words had been parlayed, fights had been fought and bones broken. Each side had both initiated fights and suffered injuries as consequences so neither could be held accountable. The King was not fazed by the violence; in fact he found it amusing while the Queen complained directly, claiming for the Northern parties to be reprimanded for their 'barbaric' behaviour. Robert, well Robert would sit at the head of the great hall drowning himself in wine, either hammering his fat fist on the table cheering as people fought or groping serving girls shamelessly. Needless to say his old friend was not the same as the man he once knew.

Then there was the King offering him to be his Hand. Ned Stark did not have a taste for politics, and being the King's hand definitely called for a matured and acquired taste in the game. No, he would not make a good Hand to the King. Besides, winter was coming and he was needed here, in the North, with his people. Not to mention the last time Starks had gone south they had been murdered brutally by the mad King Aerys the second.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the Lord of Winterfell's thoughts drifted to more recent events, namely his son Jon's bout with the crown Prince Joffrey. The Queen had been livid to say the least. She'd called for the boy to be punished, specifically for him to be sent to the wall which both the King and himself declined, Ned albeit a lot more politely. The Prince and suffered a bruised thigh, giving him a slight limp, and a badly bruised hand and wrist which he wore in a sling. Ned was unsure what was said between the two boys after their fight, however since then he had noticed a marked change in Joff. Namely, he did not seem to sneer and smirk at anyone whom he deemed lower than himself. Where Joffrey would normally sit and call people names he now sat quietly, as if pondering a great questions internally and would speak to his siblings and Ned's own children with little contempt. Ned had also caught him training with the Hound who seemed to take joy from mercilessly beating the boy, seemingly at his own request. Although, it was clear the Prince was still challenged, so to speak. Ned to could see it in his eyes, a sinister flame that promised harm to any who crossed him, only now it seemed more guarded, hidden behind a shroud of stoic nonchalance.

Eddard shook his head to himself dismissively. It would do no good thinking of such things; after all, he couldn't very well approach Robert despite being an old friend and tell him that his son was a soon-to-be mad man.

The Lord of Winterfell smiled softly as his reigned his thoughts back to Jon. The boy had impressed him greatly with his skill, not just in the bout with Joffrey, but also his improvement over the last few years past. Ser Rodrick claimed he would one day make an exceptional swordsman, rivalling the likes of Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy, which coming from the Winterfell master at arms was exceptional in itself.

Nearing six feet, the boy had grown into a man any Father would be proud of, however Ned could not help the seed of worry that had begun to bud in his gut. Every day he would lay his eyes on the boy and be reminded his Mother, his lineage as clear as night and day. They shared the same nose and lips as well as their feisty attitude. Jon shared many traits with his Father too however. They shared the same tall, lean frame, the tell-tale thin, angular face which had emerged after Jon had shed his baby fat. And the eyes, the almost hauntingly dark lilac eyes that seemed to shimmer with a flame that could not be quenched. Ned would swear he could see the ghost of his face replacing Jon's at times and then the budding seed of fear and guilt and apprehension would once again surface.

A sharp rattle at the door broke Lord Stark out of his musings and he turned to see Catelyn's face edging around the door to his office.

"Dear Husband, I hope I am not interrupting anything." She said quietly with a small smile.

"Of course not." Ned replied with a tired smile of his own and with that Catelyn slipped into the solar closing the door softly behind her.

Eddard watched as the former Lady Tully moved to an armchair in the corner of the room and sank slowly into it.

The husband and wife sat in silence for a long moment, listening as the wind gently whispered at the window.

"I'm not going to accept the Kings offer, to be his Hand." Ned broke the silence and Catelyn turned her head to the side.

"What if he insists? He is the King, Ned, he could order you down south." She replied after a short pause.

"He would not do that, Robert is an old friend." Lord Stark was quick to reply.

"He would Ned." She sighed wistfully and gave him a sympathetic look, "He is not the man you once knew, you know this."

Ned did know this. Robert Baratheon was once a gallant warrior, the subject of songs of glory across Westeros, sought after by countless Ladies, who he lay with on more than one occasion. Now however, now he was a fat King drinking his life away. Ned had heard talk from Kings Landing too. Tales of small folk starving to death, tales of theft, rapes, and murders by both criminals and guards alike while the King sat cosy in the Red Keep.

"I'm needed here." He spoke after another short pause, his face pained.

"I know." She replied and stood up, brushing out the creases in her dress as she did so, "You look tired, Ned." Catelyn now stood in front of her Lord Husband and gently stroked the side of his face with her fingertips.

"I am tired." He replied succinctly, leaning into her touch. "I do not wish to go South, but I cannot deny Robert if he commands me, my honour is-."

"-Is your word. I know." She smiled with a soft exasperation which fell slowly, "Robb will have to take up your duties."

"He will make a fine Lord one day." Ned replied with a smile of his own, "Bran and Rickon too will be fine Lords of their own lands."

"And Sansa and Arya will be handsome ladies and marry Lords, bearing them many children." Catelyn's said proudly as her hand left Ned's face and fell into her other.

"You will have to force Arya to marry." The Lord laughed a deep, short laugh before the mirth slipped from his face as most as though a mask was removed, "And Jon…" He trailed off in though.

"He can take the Black." Catelyn cut in distinctly, her tone suddenly clipped.

"Jon does not wish to be constrained to a life at the wall." Ned replied as his eyes found other interest's in the room. Catelyn had been as good to Jon as a wife could be to her husband's bastard son. The topic however was still sore, even after all these years.

"The Black is a noble cause," His wife continued, "Even bastards can rise up the ranks."

"I know." Ned sighed another tired sigh, "I can't force him to take the black, Catelyn."

"You can," Her eyes narrowed slightly and her lips thinned, "He's your son."

He winced slightly and moved his gaze to meet Catelyn's own misty blue eyes, "You know I cannot do that."

"I know you can do it." She retorted instantly, "but what I do not know is why you won't do it."

Ned did not say anything and the Lady of Winterfell turned swiftly and sat back down in the armchair across the solar, her eyes moving to the dark world outside the window as silence loomed over the two like a thick woollen blanket. The hearth cackled thirstily and Ned watched as the flames spat out embers which danced in the air for fleeting moments before disappearing into nothing.

"He can't stay here." Catelyn said suddenly over the cackling fire.

"I know." If his wife was surprised by the abrupt answer it did not reach her face nor eyes and she remained solemn, a picture of stoic beauty.

"Then what? You won't send him to the wall and he can't go to court if you are to be the King's hand." Ned considered her words for a short moment. Of course Jon's future had occurred to him before, however he usually put it out of his mind favouring a more pressing matter. When Jon was younger, he wanted to take the Black like Benjen, now, now things were more complicated. He was nearly a man grown with dangerous blood flowing through his veins, blood that would not allow him to sit frozen guarding a desolate wall.

"I will speak to him." Ned spoke and Catelyn nodded her head reluctantly in acceptance.

"Will you ever tell me truth?" She asked quietly and he met her shimmering blue eyes with his own.

"Yes." He replied, his voice as sure as the winter coming and silence once again loomed over the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

The grounds surrounding the Winterfell castle were a combination of vast stretches of grassy planes with rolling hills and tall, dense forests. Wild deer, elk, wolves and more roamed freely, untouched by the ever insatiable grasp of man. People often labelled the North vast and baron however in order to truly encapsulate the expanse of the land one would have to see it for themselves. Maester's were saying that summer was nearly at an end and a short autumn was approaching. In the North the land was never as vibrant and colourful in the summer as it is in Southron lands; nevertheless, it has its own quality, a solemn vibrancy that only Northmen could detect and appreciate. Now, as Jon gazed over the stretches of land from the summit of a small hill topped with a grove of pines, birch and even weirwood trees, he could see the subtle touch of summer fading. Birds did not sing as frequently, the air was more frigid and a rolling mist was ever shrouding the country. It was said that when stood atop the Wall, a great construction of ice and magic, gazing out into the emptiness beyond, it was easy to feel as though one were the only person in the world. Jon often felt the same as he stood facing the uninhabited grounds of Winterfell, watching nothing and seeing nothing.

The boy absentmindedly reached down with his hand and petted Ghost who had been nudging at his leg with his snout. The direwolf had only been with him for a fortnight yet he was growing exponentially both in loyalty to Jon and in size. The snow white fur seemed out of place among the throws of green, brown and grey but Jon thought it would only be a short while till he would blend in almost too well. He inwardly chuckled at the thought of a traveller or passer-by being startled by a pair of blood red eyes staring back at them from what seemed to be a snowy nothingness.

Turning and walking into the shaw of trees with Ghost at his heel, Jon made his way to one of the few places he could honestly say he felt peaceful, away from indifferent eyes and swooning gazes. At the centre of the grove of pines, birch and weirwood was a small and sunken heart tree. With its ivory bark littered with moss and ivy, the weirwood bore a carved face, the likes of which Jon had only read of in tales of the infamous tourney at Harrenhal in 281 AC. The face's deep set eyes were narrow as though squinted with crow's feet set from the corners and only bore slight traces of red sap, as though they were shimmering with tears rather than openly weeping. The nose was bulbous and short, with laugh lines flanking either side. The most interesting part of the face however was by far the mouth. Rather than being contorted into a grimace of sorrow as commonplace in the face of a heart tree, it was instead stretched into a wide peeling smile, one of uproarious laughter. It was a strange sight to behold. Out here, surrounded by only a few trees for company, stood this old decrepit tree. No longer was it prayed before and Jon often wondered who last knelt under its shade before him. Yet still, lonely and forgotten it was ever laughing, mocking, taunting. Perhaps that was why Jon favoured the spot so. The tree, despite its circumstances merely laughed at the world which had strung it into the past, a relic of times been and gone.

Jon smiled to himself and gently brushed his hand against the callous surface as Ghost owlishly blinked up at him. In the distance a wolf howled ominously and the direwolf turned and dashed into the brush, leaving Jon alone with the laughing heart tree and his thoughts.

It was early evening and what semblance of sunlight that managed to peer through the thick cloud was fleeing into the west. Another reason why Cersei Lannister hated the North was because she would miss the sunset due to thick grey veil covering the sky. Here, one could not gaze upon the throws of burnt oranges and yellows which faded into waves of calming blues and then indigo. The moon that would hang either effervescent or melancholy, full or crescent and the stars that littered the night sky shimmering with lost promises and forgotten songs.

The Queen sighed, bored of sat staring out the window her thoughts disparate and worries more disparate still. Donning a thick cloak of silvery grey, she exited her solar.

"Your Grace." Ser Meryn Trant quickly greeted, dipping his head and falling into place by her side, slightly behind her.

"Do not follow me." Cersei replied swiftly.

"Your Grace, it is my duty; I must-" He stammered.

"I don't give a damn for your duty." She bit back, her voice beckoning her to be questioned, "I wish to be left alone, if you have any qualms with this you can take it up with the King."

"Yes, Your Grace." Ser Meryn reluctantly agreed, stepping back outside her door and the Queen strode on, the Kingsgaurd already forgotten.

Winding her way thoroughly the scarcely lit corridors of the winter castle, she made her way to a veranda that overlooked the courtyard. Met with the cold, frisk air, Cersei felt her cheeks redden and she unconsciously rubbed her hands together. Continuing on, she walked briskly down into the courtyard and through one of the gates into the Godswood. She could not compare the gardens of the Red Keep to the woods of the North however she begrudgingly admitted to herself that the holy grounds of the North's decrepit old gods had an eerie beauty to them. Catching a glimpse of stark white against the dirty ivory bark Cersei gasped as her emerald eyes met a pair of glowing red orbs. She took a half step backwards and the beast stalked forwards slowly, low on its haunches, its teeth bared menacingly.

"Ghost, down." A stern voice of a man soon to be called out and the wolf's snarl vanished as soon as it came. The newly named Ghost, then turned abruptly and padded softly to the side of the boy who called him. Cersei immediately recognised him as the Ned Stark's bastard, the boy who had hurt her Joff. His hair was as black as night and fell in gentle ringlets as far as his chin, and his face was long and drawn but still held some traces of puppy fat. His lilac eyes were boring into her own and she felt a fury bubble within her.

"I apologise, you Grace." The boy bowed his head but not as deep as Cersei would have liked, "He was startled by your presence is all."

The Queen considered a response for a moment, before she clasped her hands back together and composed herself, "I should have that beast put down." She said suddenly, her tone clipped and cold, "And you also for what you did to Joff." She added quickly.

Cersei felt a tug at her at the corner of her lips as a flash of fear glimpsed in the boy's eyes. He did not say anything but lowered his head submissively, "You are the Stark bastard, yes?"

"Yes, your Grace." The bastard replied, his voice low, never wavering.

"And this is your… direwolf." Cersei continued as her mouth turned into a scowl, a single eyebrow raised.

"His name is Ghost." He confirmed with a nod, his face solemn.

"I gathered that." She quipped dryly and moved around the boy slowly, a lioness preying on a mutt of a young wolf.

"What brings you to the Godswood?" the bastard asked, once again meeting her emerald gaze with his own lilac one, "Your Grace," He quickly added.

"The happenings of the Queen do not concern the likes of you," Cersei answered and the boy's face fell with a mixture of poorly veiled anger and exasperation.

"I grew tired of being sat in my solar." She eventually replied after a short sigh. Walking forwards, the Queen approached the nearest weirwood tree and stroked the callous bark with her fingertips.

"A lioness should not be confined, I suppose," the bastard jested and Cersei felt a grin stretch across her lips despite herself and quelled it as quickly as it came.

"Indeed," She noticed the matching smirk on the bastard's face and that his beast had disappeared, as silent as the night, "You're awfully bold for a bastard." Cersei commented nonchalantly, her gaze returned to the white bark, running her palm flat against the surface.

"Thank you, your Grace." She sucked her teeth and withheld rolling her eyes.

"That was not a compliment," The lioness brought her gaze back to his, "It will get you killed one day."

"With all due respect, your Grace, I'd rather die boldly than live a coward." His eyes were hard and Cersei felt a small ember of respect for the boy spark within her.

"Be that as it may, bold wolves who stray from their packs are often put down one way or another." Her hand left the bark and clasped her other once more.

A silence fell over the two and Cersei found herself taking in the Godswood. From the blood red leaves of the weirwood trees to the gentle mist that mystified the holy ground, it truly was a fantastical place. A breeze brushed through the woods and the leafs in the trees swayed slowly while those on the earthen floor rustled restlessly.

"I will not forget what you did to Joff." She commented absently after a short while and watched as the bastard nodded uncertainly, seemingly unsure of how to respond, "However, his… attitude seems to have improved somewhat."

"You're welcome, your Grace." The wolf mutt spoke wryly and her eyes flashed with fury. The insolent whelp did not know his place, despite her warnings. Noticing her displeasure however, his mirth dropped and he once more became solemn. Cersei was almost taken aback by the transition and briefly wondered who the boy's mother was. No one would have believed that the honourable Ned Stark would sire a bastard, yet alone take the babe into his household to be raised alongside his trueborn. Nonetheless, here he was, a bastard of the North with lilac eyes. Cersei presumed his Mother was Ashara Dayne, the late Lady of Starfall which would explain the colour of the eyes. Although she did not know the Sword of Morning's sister well enough as to ascertain the similarities in their personalities.

"Joff is training hard each and every day." She informed the boy and he nodded once more.

"That is good, your Grace." He replied stiffly.

"He will be King one day," Cersei commented, glancing at the boy out of the corner of her eye, "It would be wise not to raise the ire of the man who you will one day pledge your fealty too," She eyed him steadily, judging his reaction, "Or the current Queen, mind you."

"I agree, your Grace." The bastard said.

"If you agree, then why did you beat Joffrey and embarrass him so?" Cersei snapped, her lips curled into a restrained snarl and her eyes narrowed.

"What you had rather me do?" he asked, genuine curiosity flashing in his eyes. Cersei bristled at his response however was unable to respond as the bastard continued, "If I had let him win, he would grow to believe he is untouchable, invincible and would one day face a fight with that same misplaced confidence and be cut down." He paused slightly and eyed Cersei carefully, "If I were to win by going easy on him, the prince could have claimed I was weak, and that he did not wish to fight properly against a lowly bastard such as myself. He would go on in the same way, preying on the weak. Only by losing, by losing badly can he learn to grow strong. Learn that he is not invincible, that the King's blood flowing through his veins does not make him immune to harm."

The boy lowered his stare and Cersei considered his words for a moment. Oh how she longed to throw the him into the black cells. To have him stripped, whipped and maimed, to wipe that insufferable smirk of his face for good. However the words he spoke were true. Joff was her eldest and she loved him dearly. She would kill anyone who wished him harm, burn cities to the ground and destroy whole kingdoms. She had not contemplated the possibility that in order for her boy to grow strong, he must be subject to some harm. To be shown what it feels to hurt, to be defeated.

Cersei sighed restlessly. She was growing tired of talking with the whelp. He had stirred her emotions and rustled her neatly packed pride. Nonetheless, she had begrudgingly accepted that the mutt's actions had done Joff more good than harm.

"You, are an insolent, obnoxious mutt and one day you will be put down." She started with a calm heat to her voice, "Today however, is not that day." Cersei finalised and turned swiftly to exit the Godswood with a pace to her step. She did bother to listen to the boy's response and internally she hoped he never crossed her or her family again.

Jon watched in a curious bewilderment as the Queen left the Godswood, her single braid swaying gently with each step, her long silvery dress flowing behind her.

His ears twitched and he heard what sounded like a soft voice that was carried into the wind and abruptly lost. Jon smiled to himself, for the words sounded an awful lot like, "Thank you."

Thanks for readin! Again, if you got any Qs or just wanna voice your opinion im all up for constructive criticism but please be specific and dont just say 'its shit' cause that doesnt really help anyone and dont forget to fave or follow if ya feel like it.

Ciao.