Winterfell

290 AC

At seven years old Jon Snow was beginning to realise how deep the hatred Catelyn Stark had for him was. She refused to let her daughters anywhere near him and only let him and Robb play together because Lord Stark expected it. She had all the servants treat him with indifference or outright cruelty and hid the actions from her husband by blaming any bruises or such on a rough day in the yard.

Jon was never allowed anywhere near the family table and had to eat on his own, in the kitchens.

The boys had just begun to learn to fight under Ser Rodrik Cassel the master-at-arms at Winterfell. Both Robb and Jon were eager students and were already beginning to show signs of talent. Lord Stark had praised his sons and called them his little warriors. Catelyn had eased up slightly on the poor bastard because she had Brandon her newest babe to look after.

Jon enjoyed running around the ancient walls of his ancestral home even if he would never be counted as a real member of the family because of his mother. He had asked Eddard Stark who his mother was several times and received no answer, although this did not deter the young boy who was as stubborn as his ancestors.

So, the bastard of Winterfell lived a fairly normal life for the first seven years of his life playing happily and enjoying his childhood.

However, that all changed the day before he was to turn eight.

Sleeping alone in his room the darkness seemed to welcome him as he slept safely in its clutches.

As daylight started to appear and the sun rose from behind the hills three shadows crept into the servant quarters of the castle towards the young boy's room.

Slowly creeping in they grabbed the young child by his arms and after gagging his mouth dragged his terrified body away from the castle.

They tied him up properly binding all his limbs and delivered him to a cart waiting in the town below.

Next, to the cart, a lady waited, one with red hair and hate-filled stare.

"Bastard, I have decided to dispose of you while you are still young, and my children will not miss you. Of course, my family will think you simply ran away but that is for the best. I hope you die in the pits of whatever stink infested city you find yourself in!" Catelyn Stark declared with a sneer before spitting on the now eight-year-old boy and leaving.

Lady Stark was sending him away! Jon could hardly believe it! She was sending him as far away as possible to create her version of a happy family.

His young mind had trouble comprehending what was happening as the cart started trundling along the Kings road headed for White harbour and then Essos.

Days later when they arrived, he was unbound and then clasped in chains before being ushered onto a galley headed to Pentos one of the free cities. Why was he chained? The men who had taken him from Winterfell had been given a pouch of silver and handed him over.

Had they sold him into slavery?

Jon felt scared and confused as he saw all the half-naked men rowing and being whipped by an overseer. Was this his future? To live his life for another man. To be a slave who had no free will.

Jon could only cower in a corner of the cage he was in as the full implications of what had happened set in.

He would never see Winterfell or his family again, Robb would forget about him, his father would move on and Catelyn Stark would ensure he was forgotten for all time.

Then a new emotion reared its ugly head, anger burst forward squashing all other emotions in its all-consuming fury.

He attacked the cage in his haze shaking it as the other slaves tried to stop him.

Suddenly the door of the metal enclosure opened, and he was dragged out by his hair.

"Nobody wants a rabid slave boy! You need to learn a lesson or two about obedience." A gruff unfriendly voice spoke loudly.

Still blinded his anger Jon did not expect the first blow as it struck him across his back.

"Ten more lashes and we'll see if you still want to make noise." The same gruff voice spoke before another streak of pain erupted in the young boy's mind and a red welt began to form.

After five more Jon gave in, no longer able to bring himself to feel anger only resentment and acceptance.

When all ten were done he allowed himself to be thrown back into the cage like a doll limp from the pain.

Inside his mind, the anger burst through again, this time cold and condensed into a sharp blade to be wielded at his enemies' peril as opposed to the previous all-consuming flames that knew no foe nor friend.

This silent rage would stew and grow slowly seeping into the very fabric of Jon Snow's personality and character.

No longer would this once innocent boy smile or laugh, that was for children who were free. Slaves had no emotions except those that were allowed.

Jon Snow would be his own master and the only emotion he would allow himself would be his cold sharp anger and the determination and resolve to survive no matter what.

Pentos slave market

291 AC

Jon stood silently as the slave trader introduced each of them to their new master, a magistrate by the name of Illyrio Mopatis.

Slavery was banned in the free cities for all but the most powerful men such as one of the most powerful magisters of Pentos.

Illyrio looked over each new piece of property with disinterest until he felt his eyes rest on the youngest boy of the group.

"Boy, what is your name?" The fat man demanded.

"Jon, master." The small boy replied.

"A bastard then, always eager to prove themselves. You will become a steward. I assume you have been taught to read and write?" The Magister continued.

"Yes, master, the basics," Jon answered.

"You will be taught by the other stewards and be shown how to manage my estate." The man continued before dismissing the boy.

Jon was led to a comfortable room full of scribes deep inside the manse and left there.

"I am Lazarro Vynos, Head Steward of the Mopatis household, and you will be working under me. Your name is not important unless you are practising letters. You will be taught mathematics and will oversee livestock for now. If you do well, you will be promoted." He told the young boy.

The man dragged Jon to a room and left him with an old man.

The old man had been tasked with teaching Jon about economics and mathematics.

The two of them spent the rest of the day together as old man and boy bonded.

Pentos

Magister Illyrio Mopatis Manse

293 AC

At ten years old Jon was of just above average height with a large build for his age. He had spent the last two years being taught basic economics and all the necessary subjects to serve his master to the best of his abilities.

He was a favoured servant and steward of the master because of his quick wit and loyalty.

Jon held the respect of the household and was a well-known figure in the streets of Pentos now.

The Merchants of Pentos knew him by name as he watched Illyrio deal with trade deals all over the city.

Jon had learnt how the city effectively ran in his short time in it at least financially, politics still eluded him.

He had even met the prince once, just after the deflowering of the yearly maidens to offer his congratulations on another year survived.

The prince had taken a liking to him and tried to buy him, only to be turned down as Magister Illyrio had come to see Jon as a rather valuable asset.

Jon had been taught how to speak High Valyrian, Dothraki and the old tongue as well as Westerosi and bastard Valyrian.

Currently, he was preparing for a trip with Lazarro and the magister to the free city of Braavos where they would visit the Iron Bank to deposit the latest earnings of their master. Illyrio was only there as a formality for the bank, he would be greeting friends while his two stewards did all the work.

They set out with Jon riding at the front on a sleek back horse he had picked from the stables while Lazarro and his master travelled in palanquins guarded by unsullied.

The unsullied interested Jon a lot, most of his fascination came from the fact that he was very grateful not to be one.

They didn't show emotion at all and acted as if they were actual tools to be used and discarded.

The Unsullied were a favoured use of bodyguard because they could not be bribed and were incredible fighters.

Jon really wanted to continue learning to wield a sword, but he didn't know how to convince his master it was a good and profitable idea.

That idea would have to wait a while, just as his freedom and anger had been pushed back and hidden so too would the will to learn to fight.

Slaves or free bonds people as they were called were not allowed to have weapons without their master's permission and Illyrio was a slight bit too paranoid to let a slave have a sword who hadn't been conditioned.

The caravan of men stopped that night and settled down for the night.

Jon was walking around the camp when he noticed one of the less favoured stewards sneaking out of the camp. Suspicious Jon followed him as he dodged the Unsullied and disappeared into the adjacent woods.

Being as silent as possible he trod lightly on the brittle leaves and twigs finding cover behind trees.

The older man stopped next to a large rock and was joined by a second man and woman. They were conversing too quietly for Jon to hear but it was soon obvious that their intentions were not amicable as the woman handed the steward a container and Jon read the words Tears of Lys on her lips.

The trio planned to poison his master and kill him, normally Jon would be very pleased but he knew that the stewards would be blamed for his death and be put to death. Including him.

He waited patiently for the traitor to return to camp and for the other two conspirers to leave before sneaking back into his tent.

Jon began contemplating whether he should just run away, but he would just be hunted down and blamed for the crime, no he realised he had to save the Magister before he could be killed.

Sighing in resignation he walked over to the most lavish tent in the camp, where he saw the traitor walking in with a decanter of wine!

Jon began running as fast as his legs would carry him dodging under the Unsullied arms and spears and bursting through the tent flap. The inside of the tent was serene and peaceful as Illyrio and Lazarro reclined on some sofas eating grapes. The traitorous Steward was pouring the wine when he had burst in and almost dropped it in shock.

"Boy! What is the meaning of this!?" Lazarro roared, his face turning red as blood rushed to it.

Jon took a second to catch his breath before bowing to both men.

"Master you must not drink that wine! That steward has poisoned it with the Tears of Lys!" Jon advised urgently.

The Magister immediately dropped his cup and let it shatter on the floor, the sound of the smashed cup spurred the steward into action.

He drew a knife and dived at the fat slave master with the intent to kill when was knocked out of the way as Jon crashed into him.

Both boy and man rolled around on the floor fighting for the knife, with the older man winning using his superior weight.

However, in the time Jon had distracted the attacker Illyrio had called the Unsullied guards in and they proceeded to drag the two away from each other.

"What is going on here?" Illyrio asked, now noticeably more reserved and collected.

Before Jon could say anything, the attacker spoke,

"Bastard! You will die for being a slave owner! Pentos knows no master!"

He then started convulsing before going limp in the arms of the Unsullied.

"Boy, it appears I owe you my life. What would you have of me?" The fat slave owner asked Jon, obviously grateful for his life.

"Master, I would have weapons training so as to better serve you," Jon asked humbly, eager to continue the lessons he had begun at Winterfell.

"A bold wish bastard, but one I will grant as you have saved my life. You will represent me and my family and will be taught by the best teachers alive."

Illyrio Mopatis declared.

"Thank you, master!" Jon exclaimed happily.

He would earn his freedom through the sword and the spear.

Winterfell

293 AC

It had been two years since Lord Eddard Stark had lost his son. He was now certain that Jon had not run away and had instead been kidnapped. On the morning of his disappearance, Eddard had simply assumed he had gone wandering in the Wolfswood and had not been concerned. Then Jon had not turned up to any meals and was still missing from his room.

It was then that Ned Stark started worrying, and after another day he had sent out search parties as far as Tumbledown tower and Cerwyn.

Nobody had found anything even remotely helpful and so the search had quietened down as a depressed atmosphere settled over Winterfell. To his shame, Ned had been happy that at least his wife was now content, even if for a brief moment he considered Jon's disappearance to be her fault, although he quickly disagreed with that notion when he saw her comforting Robb.

It was only earlier that year that a new alley of the investigation had opened itself up to him when he caught Ser Jorah Mormont selling men into slavery.

Could Jon have been kidnapped while wandering and sold into slavery? Ned had interrogated the man thoroughly on whether he had taken or seen his son before the slippery slaver fled.

He had offered up a reward of ten thousand golden dragons for the return of his son, there had been many pretenders but none of them genuine.

Robb had nearly killed one of the more convincing impersonators when the boy had the gall to plead with him.

Ned had nearly let him do it.

Catelyn was elated that his bastard refused to turn up and continued to act as if he had never existed with Bran and Sansa while attempting to poison Robbs mind against Jon. She had succeeded with his daughter, but his sons love for his half-brother held strong and was only increased upon learning Jon had had no say in whether he left.

Ned had considered writing a letter to his friend King Robert and asking him to have the spider his spymaster search for Jon. However, that idea soured very quickly when Robert began sending assassins to hound the Targaryen children.

The Lord of Winterfell could only hope that his son was alive and well, preferably not a slave.

He would find the men responsible and he would have his revenge after all the Wolfs fury stops for no one.

Pentos

297 AC

Jon parried the first blade that came at him while swinging his second sword at his opponents' gut. He was met with a shield that blocked his second attack and a shove to force him away.

Next, the young bastard aimed for the head of his enemy while sweeping for his legs at the same time. He was again blocked this time by his opponent standing on his second blade causing him to lose his grip on it and both shield and sword brought up to protect against his other sword.

"A poor attempt at subterfuge Bastard!" cried Ser Laswell Peake.

While the man gloated Jon snuck closer and grabbing hold of the other man's shield pulled it down and headbutted him.

Out of all his teachers over the past four years, Ser Laswell was by far the most arrogant, which made it a lot easier to defeat him.

As Jon nursed his forehead, he looked down at the unconscious knight with a smile he had always been hard-headed, why not put it to good use.

He had learned how to use a spear from the unsullied instructors themselves after travelling to Astapor for a year and had survived reasonably unscathed except for a few whippings. The axe and polearm had been pretty simple once he had learnt the basics, but it was the sword with which he excelled. Trained from his tender young age perfection had been demanded of him by each and every one of his teachers, be it the masters of the water dance to increase his movement and agility, Dothraki screamers to increase his fear factor or good old Westerosi fighting techniques.

Jon had come to favour effective moves over pretty ones and knew that in a matter of life and death it didn't matter what you looked like so long as you survived.

The worst time of his life in the past four years had been when he had turned twelve and Magister Illyrio had sent him to serve the faceless men for a time. He had learnt about the poisons of Essos and beyond from them and had come to suspect they had been behind the attempt on his master's life. However, he refused to become no one and kept his name proudly never giving in, eventually, he was sent away when it became clear it would take too long to break him.

He had returned proud of himself and his loyalty, only for his master to shrug and send him away again this time to Braavos to learn the water dance from Syrio Florel and his academy of water dancers. He would never be as good as even the best of the man's students, but Jon had managed to incorporate the style into his own using the grace and perception taught to him.

The sword style he practised was a bastardized form of the northern Westeroes form designed for combat, not pretty performances.

He had fought to the death with two men already, both convicts from the dungeons of the city to see how his style was improving. The first time he nearly died. That had been four years ago. The second time he killed his opponent quickly, drawing on his simmering rage at Catelyn Stark and his slavery to empower himself even more.

His master had been very pleased by the fight.

At fourteen he stood at 5"10 well fed and on a healthy diet, spending most of his day training for the last few years had put some muscle on his sinewy arms, and he was very fast. He fought only for his master's enjoyment at the moment, but he knew that this would change with time.

He remained unbranded as a technically free bondsman, a slave in all but name but he the gods had favoured him when he was chosen by Illyrio as his life had been reasonably comfortable and people rarely judged him for his bastardry, not really caring as he was unknown in this part of the world.

He still had to do some of his steward duties as he was a good translator and organiser.

Which was why he was washed and in clean clothes making his way to greet their latest guests, the Targaryen children. Apparently, his master was a loyalist, even if he did not seem like it.

Standing in front of the gates to the manse he awaited their arrival, it did not take long. They arrived in palanquins which were quite the contrast to the scruffy clothes they both wore. Viserys the beggar king got down from his ride and stared with derision at his surroundings.

'Great! An entitled prat.' Thought Jon with fake happiness, making sure to keep his face neutral.

"King Viserys, Magister Illyrio is delighted to extend you his hospitality and hopes your stay will be long and peaceful," Jon said in his snobbiest voice.

"Of course, he is, it is an honour for him to feast myself and my sister. Take us to your master bonds person." The condescending voice of the beggar king declared.

As Viserys spoke his sister appeared herself, a beautiful girl of thirteen, Princess Daenerys Stormborn of House Targareyan.

"My lady please allow me to escort you and your brother to my master," Jon said with a bow before leading them through the gardens and into the main house.

"Master Illyrio, your honoured guests. I will take my leave." Jon introduced them.

"Of course! Welcome Viserys, Daenerys!" The man greeted both of them, and they began to talk as Jon took his leave.

He had his training to get back to and an arrogant knight to beat down.

Whatever they wanted to talk about was no business of his and it was of no interest to him unless his master told him it was.

He walked back to the training yard without a care in the world.

Two weeks later...

Jon was once again practising in the yard when Daenerys came out of his master's manse for the first time since she had arrived.

Ser Laswell Peak seemed to grow more skilled by the second as Daenerys watched them spar.

Perhaps this was why the Magister had chosen Ser Laswell as an instructor, in normal spars he was definitely skilled but when fighting with an audience he was superb.

"Do pretty girls make you fight better Ser?" Teased Jon as he attempted to sweep his opponent off his feet. Ser Laswell jumped out of the way of Jon's leg and smacked his leg with the flat of his blade.

"Oww!"

"Pretty ladies are everyone's weakness but mine! They are my strength!" Laswell cried in as he brought his shield to bear and charged forward.

'What a ridiculous thing to say!' The boy thought.

Knowing he could not match the older man's strength he bent his knees slightly into a crouch and launched himself at the shield using his own to meet it while simultaneously swinging his blunted sword in a long arc at the man's head.

Upon colliding, Jon was sent flying as he lost to the other man's superior momentum but managed to rattle Ser Laswell's helmet.

Slightly concussed the knight was sluggish in his movements for a few seconds before he recovered.

In those few seconds, Jon swept the man off his feet and using the pommel of his sword created a new dent in the back of his head.

"Oh Laswell, you never were the brightest of my tutors." The young warrior said with a sigh.

The exiled Princess was clapping her hands in delight, having never had the chance to witness people fighting before for entertainment.

"I am glad Ser Laswell and I were able to provide amusement for you Princess Daenerys." He said with a bow.

As if reminded by her title she stopped clapping and gave a simple nod in a failed attempt to seem regal.

"Indeed, I will be sure to tell Viserys of this! What fun it is to watch you fight." She said with a large smile.

Daenerys didn't seem to smile enough; he was glad to see her happy.

He watched after her as she left eyes glued to the back of her head.

"Keep dreaming green boy! She's a fucking princess and you're a slave! Never going to happen." Ser Laswell told him solemnly as he lifted himself off the floor.

Jon merely nodded and continued to watch her until the doors to the manse closed behind her,

"Ser Laswell, what do you know of the North?" Jon asked suddenly, feeling a longing for his home.

Inside the manse

Three months later...

"Do you know why I have invited Prince Viserys and his sister into my home, boy?" The magister asked.

They were sitting in the man's private sitting room where he often had meetings, he had that he wanted kept secret.

"No master. It is not my place to question your actions." Jon said hating every word. In truth, he couldn't give less of a fuck after all the two Targaryen's were irritating to the extreme, Viserys with his snobbiness and Daenerys with her constant personality crisis.

"I plan to place Viserys on the Iron Throne, my boy! And in doing so gain power and favour beyond anything ever achieved by cheese merchants before." Illyrio declared with a grand arm gesture that caused his double chin to wobble.

"Of course, master." Oh, how true the phrase 'my boy' was. He had been content with his life for the last few years because he had a place to eat and sleep and train just like at Winterfell. That had begun to change when Viserys had insisted on joining his sessions and thrown a fit whenever he lost. Jon had been forced, literally to let the prince beat him physically so as not to 'anger the dragon' and in doing so Jon had needed to quash the growing beast that represented his anger more than ever.

His silent anger continued to remain like a sword ready to wield at his command, but now it was more like a raging inferno compared to its previous bonfire size.

As Jon grew more and more incontinent, he started to notice how little freedom he actually had. He was only allowed into the city with guards, which he no longer needed but was still forced to bring as they were to ensure he did not escape.

The beginnings of a plan to escape began to form in the deepest depths of his mind, now more than ever he had made sure to observe the timings of guard patrols regular visits and more.

So, when Magister Illyrio spoke his next few words Jon realised he had found his chance.

"To help with that plan I have arranged for Daenerys to marry Khal Drogo, a horse lord in control of over 40,000 men and horses. I plan to send you with Viserys and the girl to ensure her safety. I will free you of any debts you owe me so long as you swear an oath of fealty and loyalty."

That put a hole in his plans and fanned the flames of anger inside him. Was he simply property to be passed between people? No, he would not suffer this. He would kill any who dared to enslave him or try to control him once he was free.

'Winter is coming' were his ancestor's words, perhaps 'Death is inevitable' should be his. Death would come for all who dared to try their hand at making decisions for him.

"Of course, master, I live to serve you and I will die if need be for my new master and mistress." HIs face a cold emotionless mask as the flames threatened to leave the confines of his body.

"Good. You are dismissed."

Jon stood, bowed and left quickly.

The good magister was very pleased with the investment he had made in the young bastard, very pleased indeed.

298 AC

Winterfell

Lord Eddard Stark watched his brother in all but blood ride through the gates of Winterfell followed by his entire procession which contained nearly half his court if the rumours were to be believed.

Jumping down from his horse in a feat of athletics many would have thought impossible for the fat king Robert Baratheon first of his name strode over to his best friend.

"My Lord, Winterfell is yours."

Robert looked Ned up and down before saying,

"You've gotten fat!"

Both men stared at each other before they both started laughing releasing the tension that they had unknowingly created.

"Where have you been all these years Ned?" Robert asked with a sigh already knowing the answer.

"Searching for my son and protecting the North for you, your Grace," Ned replied.

Robert frowned at that.

"Never did find the boy then. A pity, Jon was sad to learn his namesake had disappeared."

"So was I Robert, so was I." Lord Stark answered.

Robert proceeded to look over each of the Stark children complimenting them before moving on.

"Enough of this! Take me to the crypts I wish to see her!" Robert roared.

Queen Cersei looked as if she might object but a stern look from the King silenced her.

Ned knew he was going to have to become Hand, if not for the fact he would be able to use the influence to widen the search for his lost son.

Catelyn Stark secretly seethed as her husband once again brought up his bastard in public, even after she had disposed of the boy he would not leave her alone! Calming herself she began to chat with the Queen about the latest fashions in the south.

Robb watched depressed as people moved about, seven years later he still missed Jon, and knew he likely would for seven more. What made it easier to remember him was the constant reminders by his Father in their chats and the fact he refused to give his mother the pleasure of forgetting about his brother.

He had even told Bran and Rickon all he knew about Jon and embellished it a little until his mother had banned him from speaking of Jon when Rickon had asked her where the boy was.

In his darkest moments, Robb wondered if perhaps his mother had gotten rid of Jon, but pushed them to the side for fear of what would happen if that was the truth and it came to light.

Kicking a rock, he turned to help the closest visitors unpack and settle in.

Pentos

A month later...

Jon watched in despair as the Dothraki arrived if he followed them, he would end up further from Westeroes than ever before!

"Respect to one that is respectful, great Khal! May I present my honoured guests, Viserys of House Targaryen, the Third of His Name, the rightful King of the Andals and the First Men; and his sister, Daenerys of House Targaryen." Illyrio cried out.

Khal Drogo rode gracefully up to the steps of the manse before motioning for Daenerys to come closer.

He proceeded to ride around her inspecting her as if she were cattle or property.

Jon wasn't sure if he felt pity or happiness that she was learning how he felt. At least both of them would be sold together.

The Khal left just as quickly as he had come, not bothering to even say a few words. Jon felt the itch to kill the man for his disrespect, even if it was a ridiculous idea.

"Well? Did he like her?" Viserys almost shouted at Illyrio.

"Yes, your grace, he liked her very much. The wedding is set." The merchant said happily.

That night the magister freed Jon of all his debts and had him swear his oath along with another knight from the north, a Ser Jorah.

"I, Jon Snow, Bastard of the North, do hereby swear to serve House Targaryen in the name of the Seven till I am released of my oath or die."

Viserys, Daenerys and Illyrio seemed happy with his oath and for the first time in years, Jon was a free man.

Fuck his oath, the seven weren't real! No god was real in this world that condoned slavery or allowed its followers to do such a thing. If Viserys was the protector of the faith, then Jon would have nothing to do with it.

The moment he got the chance he was going to disappear, permanently. Maybe he would fake his death? He would decide later.

He could not wait for the wedding after all a Dothraki wedding without a few deaths was considered a dull affair, and he planned to kill as many Dothraki as possible.

The day could not come quick enough.

Pentos

Two weeks later...

A Dothraki wedding was always a violent event so it was no surprise when by the end of it twelve men were dead. It was, however, unusual for seven of those men to be killed by one man who wasn't even of Dothraki origin.

Jon had celebrated his newfound freedom by systematically challenging and killing seven men he saw with slaves and setting them free.

Happy with himself he had retired to his room and slept in it for the last time finally content for the first time in months.

His flames had been calmed by the seven deaths and he had felt lighter than a feather the next morning as he packed all the property he owned in the world.

He mounted his new stallion, a final gift from his old master with a falchion, two longswords, a spear, a short sword and three daggers. Other than these eight weapons he had nothing but the clothes on his back.

He looked rather out of place surrounded by the dark-skinned Dothraki, even if his skin was darker than the typical northerner due to the constant sun.

At fifteen years old he was on the verge of adulthood with hair tied in a knot at the back of his head and the baby fat starting to disappear. He stood at 5"11 with a swimmer build, trained for endurance and agility but not too much muscle.

Years of doing nothing but learning had ensured his childhood had died a quick death and taught him the dangers of the world.

When the horde eventually stopped at the river Rhoyne Jon began his escape. They camped down that night and everyone set up their tents, everyone except Jon who after checking in on Daenerys and Viserys, and by that he meant listening to the grunts coming from her tent and avoiding the irritating brat that called himself King.

At least that was what he meant to do.

Jon had everything ready and had managed to avoid the rest of the camp until he was outside of sight. Just as he was about to ride off into the sunset, he heard a horse galloping to catch up with him.

"Where do you think you are going?" The arrogant voice of the Beggar King called.

"Away," Jon replied.

"You are nothing more than a glorified ex-slave! Return to the camp immediately and I will not have you whipped! You are no better than my bed slave." Viserys said looking at him in disgust.

"Wrong choice of words you incestuous bastard. I wonder if Kings squeal?" Jon said with a sneer of his own as he called upon his anger and picking up his spear swung it into the would-be king's side wounding him deeply.

Dropping his spear, he drew his short sword and advanced.

"Please! Don't kill me! Illyrio will pay for my wellbeing!" Viserys begged as he held a hand to his sucking chest wound.

"That old pig can't help you now!" Jon said with a laugh before he brought his sword down.

Blood spurted from Viserys neck, as all life left the exiled Kings body.

With that done, Jon didn't bother to hide the body, instead, he picked up his weapons, sheathed them and still covered in blood rode out into the night.

Hello Guys, just to clear some things up, Jon is not a financial genius he just understands how everything works after years of observation. He never specifically mentioned he was Jon SNOW when he met Illyrio and they are on another continent that is why so far no one has recognised him. For the sake of the story Catelyn Stark hates Jon a lot more than in the books or the Tv series although she doesn't deliberately sell him into slavery she assumes that is what will happen.