Lord of Winterfell

For as long as he could remember, Jon had wanted to be Stark. 'I took a vow, Sam, same as you. I can't break it.'

Samwell Tarly was his dearest friend but he could never understand any of Jon's qualms when it came to his family. When Robb went to war, it was Sam who talked him out of deserting south. Now he was the one trying to convince him to go.

'You could be Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, just like your father. It's all you've ever wanted.'

The thought sent chills of guilt up his spine. A bastard could never rise to what Robb had been born for…and died for. And what of Bran? His true brother. He was now the true lord of Winterfell. Jon couldn't just usurp his way into his father's chair, knowing Bran was out there, alive.

Sam continued opening the messages that had arrived late in the day. The candle was snub and its fire dim. Jon noticed Sam squinting through the darkness, trying to make sense of the words. A hearth sat roaring in the corner, soothing the bitter autumn night.

The library rarely had visitors, since Maester Aemon had passed, so Sam had leave to make a mess of the place. Messages sprawled across every corner, accompanied by towers of dusty, unread books. Jon studied some of the titles but recognized none.

'Only if Stannis wins. The Lannisters still hold Kings Landing and I don't think they'll simply give it away. Stannis had tried before and he failed. What's to stop him losing again?'

'Tywin Lannister is dead, don't forget. That leaves Roose Bolton without his biggest ally. Stannis may never take the Iron Throne, but he can get you to Winterfell at least. From there, you can rally your banners, retake the north and live as Jon Stark! You may be a bastard, but you are still the son of Eddard Stark, and the north remembers.'

'And what of this place? I am Lord Commander now; The Watch needs me, now more than ever.' With Mance Raider dead, The Wildlings were scattered and weak, but they were no longer the enemy. The White Walkers still lurked north of The Wall, and winter was coming. 'What use am I at Winterfell if the Whites come? Titles mean nothing if you're dead. Lord Commander, Lord of Winterfell, it means nothing if we lose.'

'Don't you see Jon? You and the North have the blood of the first men running through your veins. The books will tell you. In the Watch's time of need, it was always The North who came. We need a Warden of the North who will fight for us…with us. Once you've won back the North, you can march them here to fight…' Sam trembled. The words sat stuck in his throat. '…them.'

Jon hadn't considered that. He wouldn't be abandoning his brothers, he would be saving them. He could bring half the country to Castle Black and finally bring Westeros into the fold. Stannis so far had been the only king to come to their aid, but he wasn't planning to stay long. Winterfell was to be his next stop and he'd invited Jon to join him, along with the mass army of Wildlings, if Mance had bent the knee.

'No, Stannis and the rest would expect me to go south and avenge my brother and father. They'd never support a war at The Wall. It just wouldn't happen, nor could it. No matter which title I hold, I will always be a bastard.'

Sam seemed sad for him. Then he went nervous again.

'What is it? Tell me Sam.'

'I didn't want it to change your mind so I thought it best not to tell you.'

Jon had grown instantly impatient. 'What is it, Sam,' he said once again more sternly this time.

'Your brother, Rickon. A raven arrived yesterday. He's at East Watch by-the-sea. And his wolf. It says a wildling women took him there.'

Jon's heart blasted, then sunk. 'Any news of Bran?'

Sam hesitated. 'There is no mention of him,' he said as he handed Jon the parchment. Jon snatched it up and skimmed the words.

Gods be good, Rickon is safe at least.

'You should have told me, Sam.'

'I know, but I couldn't. Not at the time. You needed to think clearly.'

He couldn't be angry with Sam, he was right. Now he knew he had Rickon at least, his purpose became clear. With Rickon at The Wall, Roose Bolton couldn't touch him, or Bran, if he had truly gone north. All that was at stake now was his own life. And there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

'I'll do it. On the morrow, I'll tell Stannis I will march with him and root the Boltons out of my home.' And I will not stop until I put a knife in that traitors heart.