IV

Forlorn

Bran Stark

"Don't whimper now, just sit and wait here now." He said to his Direwolf.

Those yellow eyes pleaded at him to not leave him here now. Even after all the months that had passed since his fur friend still was the young pup that he remembered back when he was only the size that his hands could hold. Clingy, babyish, but loyal for all that is worth between them. Now, however, he was grown and will only get even more prominent that he will need to live in another room if what Maester Luwin said was correct.

"Sit boy," Bran commanded.

His Direwolf obeyed.

"Good. You'll stay in this room until I come back. It'll only be a while I promise."

He barked back as he closed the door behind him.

Taking care of an animal has proven to be laborious, taking care of a direwolf at that. In the first days having to take care of him since bringing young wolves back to Winterfell, it was difficult. So much so that he had to learn by mimicking and observe how his older brothers were raising theirs. He realized from them that the only way his Direwolf was ever going to listen is to be stern like Father when they would begin to rebel. If so much as a mistake like a small bit on someone hand were to happen, they could get killed. It won't matter if it was unintentional either.

Bran has yet to give his Direwolf a name. All of his siblings have already given names for theirs. Robb's is Grey Wind; Arya, Nymeria after the Rhoyne Queen; Sansa, Lady for her discipline; little Rickon called his Shaggydog, though he doesn't know how on earth he made that one up.

Jon named his Ghost.

Thinking about him only brought more concern and discomfort. For as long as they have first have found the pups, so did his brother began to change into something...worse. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his face. The first image was that of a black-cloaked figure that blended in the darkness than a night's watchmen cloak.

Bran was worried, afraid even, of him. The first time so was when Jon almost strangled Arya; it almost looks like he was going to kill her. His eyes said it all. The same kind like father had when he first saw him draw Ice to slice the head of that former ranger. It was cold, calculating and ruthless.

Jon carried that same killing intent directly at Arya.

It didn't help in her case either. She was taking this far worse than he did, and sometimes would find her hiding somewhere to cry. She would pull her hair to mask her face, in fear of mother finding out of someone telling her. Bran swore to her and Robb for Jon's sake that he wouldn't know anyone, yet he it didn't sit right with him either.

He wanted Jon back. He misses the brother he remembered helping him in his archery who would whisper every hint and encouragement of how he was getting better at what he was doing. Like the times he remembered wishing to be a knight like Ser Barristan, Jon was the one promise to him so he would see him become a great knight. Now he never sees him, who else aside from Robb can that could help him now?

As he walked outside the wind blew upwards drawing him to look out above. Today the King was said to be arriving here very soon. With him, his whole family, the Kingslayer and Imp, and the stormland soldiers were coming.

Bran latched onto the wall and began climbing up, reaching what stone fitted his hand closet to him. He wanted to get a full clearing sight of the King's arrival.

Quickly, Bran climbs father to his way up the top of the watchtower where he can get a more comprehensive view from afar, an insight of seeing the Baratheon Sigil.

His eyes locked on to the yellow banners with a stag appear out from the forest. Hundreds of bannermen in yellow were moving, staghorn on their helms. From a further distance, he could glimpse red and gold on some of the other men on their horses.

The pure white golden cloaks were what caught his attention the most — the King's royal guardsmen who are said to be the best fighters in Westeros.

"Brandon get down!"

The cry almost caused him to jump in alert and lose balance from his mother's voice, that all too familiar strict but worry tone. She was far back below him with Maester Luwin with her. Bran proceeds to climb down, his head down once he started walking towards her.

He can't stand to look at her in the face like this.

"How many times did I to tell you not to climb Brandon?"

Bran didn't need to look up to know her eyes were burning directly at him. "I saw King coming close mom. He has hundreds of people with him."

"Brandon look at me," He did, Mother's face was soft instead of what he expected. "please promise me that you keep on climbing."

He looks down before looking at her again. "I promise." I can't help myself.

She smiled. "Now I know your lying," She was almost about to laugh, "you always look down at your feet when you lie."

Bran's mother pecker his cheek. "Come now, go find your father, tell him that the King is almost here...and find your half-brother Jon as well."

Brother...it caught him by surprise. "What do you want me to tell him?"

She made a stop, Luwin who remained quiet also looks prone to say something back to her in protest. Mother didn't turn her head back. Bran couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"Your father will want him when King arrives, despite my best effort to give him his space." She finally looks back at him. "Don't mention my name, only ask him yourself. You may have a much better chance of convincing him. For your father's sake, help Jon get out his room."

He rushes without saying another word, hurrying first to find father, then Jon. However, this all felt too wrong going to drag Jon out and very odd to for Mother to have thought on about Jon. Was she pitying, or merely her thinking more for father?

If there was one other person that has to seem to change it was his mother. It wasn't a secret to any of his siblings, even though they kept quiet about it, mother hated Jon. I don't know why. At least that's what Arya personally thought when he asked her. Now though, she's been keeping any rumors about him at home silent, even going far as to tell all of Sansa's friends and instructing Septa Mordane to stay silent about Jon. Her telling them that he isn't to be frowned on when he's nearby

It was off-putting, but a welcoming comfort for Bran, that she would do that for Jon.

Bran found his father talking with a group of guardsmen. He reaches over pulling on his cloak. He caught his attention, "What is it Bran, has the King arrive?"

"Yes father, mother wanted me to tell you that." He holds a moment for what he was to say next. "Mother also wanted me to bring Jon out of his room."

His father didn't reply. He could see his hesitant to say something as well as the guardsmen grim looking faces.

The curse bastard was the new nickname that they have given his brother. All the guardsmen had that opinion about him. Sometimes with mockery and the few that said it was out of fear. It infuriates him to no end when he saw the dismay look about from those who see at Jon that way.

"Very well Bran," Father replied, "be sure though to have him keep his Direwolf away for the time being near the king's company."

Bran gave the nod and bid farewell to his father.

As he walks to Jon's room, up ahead, a big furry cat for its size was hanging by his brother's doorway cracked open. Its hair had many light and dark shades, yet it matched on perfect, and it stood like a statue.

Bran walked closer, his presence alerted it, and its eye drew upward to him. Bran never notices it till now since the last time he meets it; it's blue gemstone eyes like clear waters peer directly at his. He gulps as he continues to stare back at it. The cat was somewhat eccentric and rather tame for a stray cat. Sansa would have loved this cat if she were here now.

The cat opens its mouth, showing its teeth like it was smirking at him and tip-toe pass him. It's soft tail whip across his leg.

"Maybe Arya would like the cat more than Sansa..."

He came up to Jon's door and knock. "Jon, it's Bran the King is arriving."

There was no reply.

"Jon," Bran spoke again a little louder with worry "don't you want to see the king..."

Slowly he pushes the door slightly as it creaks open. Ghost was not here, but he saw his brother standing in front of a shattered mirror; his hands dripping with blood and his bandages removed. What was alarm though was the dark veil hole piercing his brother's back. It was a whirling aura of darkness swallowing the air.

Bran found himself losing his breath. His vision begins to blur green. In an instant, it faded, replace with black feathers falling around him and Jon. As his brother started to turn, the once deep scar that was there is now a grotesque infection, with veins were spreading like weed at the entire side of his chest. His grey-steel eyes that turn dark have now become devoid of any normal color. The eyes are now darkness with white-flames in his eyes.

Jon reaches his left hand out. It was a corpse-like hand. All the flesh withered and sucked out that his bone was visible. The air turned cold; he could no longer feel his heart beating.

The corner shadows grew larger and crawled to Jon's back. It wore on him as his cape. He was like the legend Night's King of Old. A man whom legends say gave his heart and soul to an Other who in turn transformed into a being of darkness and malice like her.

"Bran."

He stunted, suddenly everything was back to normal. No shatter mirror, the shadows removed. Jon face canceled again under the clothes he always wore, but the eyes, however, were still the same. Underneath they still look down at him.

Dark and cold.

"Brandon is there something you need?"

He avoids his eyes, to his shame he can't talk straight at him. "The king has arrived. Father wanted me to see if you were ready."

Bran didn't look, but he knows that Jon's face was solemn "I'll be down shortly...just finishing wrapping my bandages."

He looks at the hand on his shoulder; His hand wrapped with new bandages.

"Did you smashed a mirror?"

"...No..."

Liar, he knew. "I'll see you down brother."

Once he was away from Jon, he found himself breathing at a pace again. He hearts slowly pounding than when it ready to explode in a few moments in Jon's presence.

What he saw was real, it was not possible of it all to be an illusion.

"I'll have to work on it later."

Putting these thoughts aside, he runs off to the crowd by the gate: his family and all the household of Winterfell awaiting for the King.

His father was at the front with his family by his side, "Is Jon coming out from his room?"

"Jon will be down in a moment he said." He wanted to tell him what happened but it was probably not the best time right now.

"Very well, stand next to your sister Bran."

As he did, he notices that Arya wasn't in sight. His mother is looking everywhere with anxiety. "Sansa where's your sister?"

Her answer came short when Arya appeared. Dress in a blue dress with fur and helmet on her head. Bran giggled, she looked silly in it.

"What are you doing with that on?" Their father took it off her, "Go stand beside your brother."

She frowns as her eye went to look behind him, looking out the crowd for someone. Jon...In disappointment, she made a sigh and cut between him and Sansa.

The gates open and all of his worries and thoughts moments ago were cast once the white-gold kingsguard appeared. Their armor shimmered in the light with the most infamous one Jamie Lannister, more recognizable as he removed his helm once he stopped. There were Westermen soldiers clad in Lannister gold and red that surrounded the Prince, Joffery Baratheon. The prince was looking at Sansa weirdly, but she blushed and smiled back at him.

However, what caught Bran's eye was the giant man with dogs helmet on him. As he pulls the helm up, he could see the burns on his face. He looked more monstrous than he did hiding his face. It was the infamous Hound that protected the Prince.

A carriage rode in and then what would finally be the King turn to a huge disappointment. He was large, his beard grisly, and his horse looked about tired from his rider hanging on his back. The King need a small staircase to get down from his horse. The idea that this man is the same best friend of his father who fought beside him during their rebellion against the Targaryens and both of whom fought in the Greyjoy rebellion was almost unimaginable.

As the King approach, from Arya's eyes, he looks over where Jon was coming from behind all the household. The familiar black hood that was covering his face, beneath it, he pressed his head up. Giving him the silent message to kneel.

"Your grace." Father greeted.

"...You got fat."

Is he the king? Bran was unsure of what to make of this. When his father looks down at the King's belly, they then both laugh, clearing away all of the awkward tension.

"Ahhh how long has it been, nine years, Ned? What have you been doing while I was gone?"

Father chuckled, "Guarding the North for you, your Grace. Winterfell is yours."

"Cat!" King Baratheon then greeted mother in a bear hug; she greeted an old friend of their father. One by one, he welcomed all his sibling till Bran found he was the last.

"Show us your muscles boy!"

With pride, he flexes his arm.

"Ha! You'll make for a fine soldier one day, like your father!" I hope to be the best knight in Westeros. Nonetheless, he felt gratitude. The King recognized him and would one day prove his mettle.

Out of the carriage, the Queen was the next to approach father. She was beautiful. Gold hair that glimmered like the blazing sunlight, as well as her green eyes. Her fair face lacked any warmth but was cold and indifferent. She laid out her hand with a ruby ring, father kissing it in respect of greeting the Queen.

"My my, who do have here behind us? Come on out!"

Robert Baratheon's boomy voice had everyone turn to the person he was calling out. The King taking an interesting at his brother shrouded and concealed. Father was worried; Mother's face, on the other hand, was petrified.

Jon walked over to him, bowing his head. "Your grace."

"Nay boy, if we talk, let it be man to man without that hood hiding your face. Come now, take it off." King Robert spoke at a level, yet not with any anger.

Everything became silence after that. Slowly, Jon removes the hood slowly, revealing his sickly face.

He was drastically different from the last Bran remember seeing his face. The once natural human pink skin color is replaced with an albino, sickly one, as though all the suns' heat absorbed into his skin. His grey eyes were gone, his iris were now black that matches his pupils. Wither hair hangs as threads; the once fair dark born hair lost it's color and was grey.

All eyes were directly at Jon, with looks either in disgust or fear or perhaps a bit both. He was in the old tales that Old Nan would tell in his bedtime. Bran, his family, and the Kings almost had the same reaction as the rest. Sansa's gasp, her hand to her mouth. He saw Robb's hand tremble that he needed to squeeze them still. The Queen shunned her children's eyes from staring too long, the youngest Tommen almost about to cry.

Brandon couldn't make out of what has become of him. If it weren't for the familiar shape long face, he knew that Jon always, he would have mistaken him for someone else.

"Dear Gods!" The King was appalled, "Ned is this your base-born son?"

Ned remained calm despite Robert's outcry of his son. "This is Jon Snow, your grace." The young bastard made flinched. "I'm afraid this isn't the best introduction, we, unfortunately, were meet with unfortunate circumstances that lead to his..affliction."

"Affliction, he's sick?"

"Not in the ordinary sense your grace, and this is not something that anyone can easily be affected of." He presses to shut the conversation from delving further.

"What does father know?"

"Then we'll speak privately about it." The King turn towards Jon, "Your dismiss boy, and you also have my sympathies."

Jon made no reply, he merely bows and leaves in a rush without anything more left to say.

King Robert huffed, "Odd son you have there. Bah, no matter. lets us talk more together in the crypts, I would like to pay my respects."

"We've been riding out for a month my love," The queens spoke, her irritation was obvious. "The dead can surely wait."

"Ned," He did not wait for Father, he pushes his way forward to the crypts.

Father turned to the queen, giving a sympathetic look, it was telling that there was no love between the Stag and Lioness.

With his father gone and the King and everyone settling in, Brandon left to get his Direwolf out of the room. He must be feeling cramped up in being stuck in his bedroom.

When he made it to his room, the door was already left open.

Bran began to panic; he remembers keeping to the door lock from anyone opening it.

"Where is he?!"

"I did it for you so that he could run off to his kin. He doesn't like it that he's locked up like the other hounds are. Just a friendly reminder, human, direwolves are never strong on their own." A soft woman's voice spoke with laughter.

In a panic, Bran ran to find his direwolf, the mocking laughter still ringing in his ears.

Eddard Stark

He knew in which direction they were heading. The sound of their footsteps reach to his ears, pulsing, overwhelmed by the number of things going on. There was much he needed to know from Robert. Jon Arryn, his mentor and a second father to him died in the past few months. Right after finding those pup Direwolves, Cat delivered the news to him of his death.

Ned knew what would come next.

Eddard spoke, "Tell me, what had happened to Jon Arryn."

Robert sigh, "A fever took him, most likely, from what Maester Pycelle told me. It burned right through him. It wasn't noticeable before it was too late."

"Ahh Ned, he was a father too us, you did a better job listening to his teachings than I did," He chuckled, "You remembered those days. All I've wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls. But, he taught us what is right."

"Aye, he did," Ned smirked, reminiscing his friend's pastimes.

"Don't give me that, I couldn't help myself."

They both laugh together. For Robert and Ned, the time at the Vale was fondest of memories both shared. Robert may have had his fun with the ladies-in-waiting, but Ned found his pleasure in studying and hiking in the mountains. The scenery of the endless blue skies above and eagles soaring.

Robert turns to stop, a seriousness about him. "All right Ned, I need to know. What has happened to your baseborn son? That's not ordinary, and something went wrong while I was down south."

Ned's face became grimace, "An unknown force attacked my sons. They went out for a hunt out near the old village Crofters. From Robb and men I've sent to investigate, it burned. We found no bodies, but my son told me there were and all the inhabitants died.

"Dear gods," Robert stunted. "Who attack them?"

"We don't know. We only have little information about the assassins from the attack. The only thing to describe them as they wore masks, the faces designed like infants, and they fought inhumanly." That was everything that Theon and Robb could give detail.

"I've sent word to everyone in the North, alerting them to be aware with cautious of anything unusual outside out in the forests. I've received no reports, and I can't do nothing without a lead."

"And Jon, your son?"

He did not speak for a moment. While it was true that he knows Jon is suffering from something, he refused to allow Maester Luwin to inspect him. The last words he spoke since the last time his son has talked to him were 'It's too late for me.' He tried asking on occasion asking him as to what he means, but Jon refused to say anything further.

Ned did all he could do for him. It seems his duty however as well as being his father was now growing on him. In ways, he feels as though that he had all but failed to be a father to Jon.

"I don't know," Robert's eyebrows rose. "I've had given all I could for my son, but sometimes he refuses to approach me and even see Luwin about his affliction. He told that he intends to take the black so that it doesn't become a problem for anyone."

"Ned, do you plan on just letting your son go off and die like that?" Coming from Robert, it surprised even him that would say that.

"It is his choice; I will not force him that would only cause pain. He has suffered enough." His voice was with conviction, but it causes a tremor within him when he said that.

I failed you, I'm sorry.

"I've always known that you can get soft and bold at times Ned, but this..."

"Please," Ned cut him off. "Let us continue what we came here to do. This something that I and I alone must take care of."

His best friend mouth went openly to object but didn't say out loud. A flow of remorse rose from within both of them. They walk further towards their destination.

Lynna's grave was their final stop.

"Promise me." Those were her final words. It still haunts him to this day. Much was their grievances for Eddard and his young brother Benjamin in the death of Brandon, their older brother, and father, Rickon. When the Mad King Aery's II had burned his father in the blazing wildfire, with Brandon in strangling himself, his neck chained and out of reach but desperately trying to save their father.

He and Robert would share in the sorrow in the death of Lyanna, but Ned recovered what he could despite much was lost.

The Stag-King placed a feather in the hand of Lyanna's statue. He caressed the stone yet smooth face gently. "Did you have to bury in a place like this?" Robert said sadly. "She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her..."

"She's my sister, a Stark of Winterfell," Ned replied. "It's here where she belongs."

"She belonged with me." Robert gritted his teeth. The memories while painful, also brew anger and hate. Hate for one man even though he's dead.

"In my dreams, I kill him every night."

He continues, not turn away from Lyanna's face. "It's still present in my mind, at the Trident. The swords' clashing at one another, the shouts and screams, the water beneath my feet...and he's there in front of me." He growled. "I cursed at him, used every name of insults that would piss of that winged-demon. I didn't get a single word out of him; he said nothing to me. Not a damn thing. I couldn't see what he was thinking under that helmet when I smashed his chest and the rubs flying. Those accursed Targaryen eyes always seemed to found a way to piss me off. He didn't even scream when he died...nothing."

He didn't not how to reply to that. Robert never mentions anything about what transpired between the two of them. It appears then that the stories of Rhaegar's enigmatic personality were true.

"It's done, your Grace. Rhaegar is dead. The Targaryens are all dead, their allies gone." He decided to put away the subject of the last Dragon Prince.

"...Not all of them." This time his tone was dark and carried malice. Ned decided not to reply. The last Targaryens fled to Essos. They escape with their lives, but they had no support. Rhaegar's wife and children lie dead. Slaughtered by the Mountain, the children wrap in Lannister cloth banners, as a gift to Robert. His hatred remained after all these years, and it still caused Ned even now, to be put on edge.

Neither spoke for a while, allowing the crept echoing sounds filled the hall. Finally, Robert turns to him. "There will be another time to speak of this later. Come."

The two walking back to the entrance. "I have another reason why I wanted to come down here." Here it was, the moment Eddard was worried about that Robert would offer. What Cat has been dreading of what Robert would do, since the raven's arrival delivering the news of Jon Arryns' death. "I need you down at King's Landing."

They stopped walking. "My home is horsed with too many Lannisters. Many of whom I can't trust, the rest are either serpents to my queen or someone else. I could sit on the Iron Throne all day with my as sweating, while all Lord and Ladies are complaining about money or lands, or some wild cry for justice. Most are a bunch of lies...I need someone that I know that I can trust down there. Ned." He directed all his attention to him. "We are meant to rule together. Lord Eddard Stark, my friend, I would name you the Hand of the King."

Ned kneels and bows his head. "I'm unworthy of the honor."

"I'm not trying to honor you." Robert grinned. "I want you to run my damn kingdom, while I drink and whore my way to an early grave. Dammit, Ned, stand up."

Eddard stood. "In another lifetime Ned, we could've been brothers bound by blood. But, it's still not too late for our join houses to join together. I have a son, and you have a daughter; let us both join our houses."

Ned received only a nod, with reluctance. "We'll talk more like you say later. Right now, we have a feast prepared for your arrival."

"Ah yes! Delicious Northern ale and meat to fill the belly!" Robert roared with joy. "Let's go, Ned!

Ned smiled. Perhaps tonight, he can allow himself to enjoy this himself as well from all the hardships. If only for a moment.

Yet, he could believe to convince himself. All around, he felt as though the Kings of Winter stone figures looked at him, a silent chill, shivering beneath his skin. He became filled with a sense of terrible foreboding. The assassins, Crofters' downfall, and the Direwolf mother stab by a Staghorn.

Jon's affliction or silently, his hollowing.

The dark shadows of the crypts grew, it reminded him all too well his family's motto.

Winter is coming.

He remembered back the book Jon read in that one passage.

The Flames will fade, and only Dark will remain.

Tonight everyone was gathered in the feast. The sounding of laughter and roaring blocked everything of any calmness.

In the great hall, he could smell the filled delicious of the roasted meat and baked-bread. The banners of Stark, Baratheon, and Lannister hanged on the walls, where all the respected men who served the houses sat near their flags; Many, however, were dancing, many that are drunk losing grip holding their cups. A singer with a lute play, reciting the legendary tales of heroes of old. Many ears were drawn to his voice; powerful with matching pitch from the strings he strung.

The Lord Stark's children were sitting with the royal children. Robb held the young Princess Myrella's arm, the young girl taken away by his son. Her small glance when he wasn't looking, and smiles gave it away. Aya was next to Prince Tommon but was looking away. She had a very solemn look, her attention to something else. Sansa was around her friends and the Crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon. She was already immediately in love with the prince, as naive it may be.

Edward was unsure about Robert's proposal to have them both married. It was too soon, and it didn't give him much a chance in talking about his son. Preferably, he pushes away from the topic altogether. He saw the queen next to him remains silent out of boredom. She did not speak Catelyn next to her who was growing as uncomfortable as he was.

He looked across all the tables. Robert was greeting all of them in their drinks and would flirt and grope a wretch passing by. It was somewhat unsettling to see not because of his best friend's acts, but how his wife seemed utterly apathetic when it's right in front of her. He felt sympathy for Cersei.

He turned away his sights from Robert; he was welcome with the view of seeing Jon sitting alone at the end of a table.

Just him alone with his Direwolf he named Ghost.

While the young boy's eyes were down, eating his small plate of chicken while reading a book. The white wolf's on the other hand, watched everyone. He observes while others who were curious about the direwolf would turn away immediately when coming in contact with his daunting red eyes. None would make a step towards him and his master.

A familiar figure was approaching his son, however. Benjamin, his brother, wasn't afraid and also wanting to greet his nephew.

"Lord Stark." a voice called out. Jamie Lannister, Kingslayer. Immediately, he proceeded to leave his seat out towards where the Lion is standing. "I've heard that you'll be the new King's Hand." The Lannister's gesture with a hint that it was no compliment.

"Aye, the King offered me the honor."

"Then it'll surely be a greater honor, once the King who will no doubt start a tourney, celebrate your position. The tourney can use some good fighters on the field; it's rather been dull as of late."

He knew what he meant. Ned will not give him such. "I don't find tournaments to be enjoyable."

"No," Jamie smiled. "too dull and boring for something that's trivial?"

"I don't fight in tournaments. I much prefer a real battle. That's when men can fight; there I can reckon on what I can do-"

"I'll never father a bastard! You hear me, never!" A venomous voice spooked out. Part of the side of the feats went quiet of the lout spat. Ned knew who it was that spoke.

Jon unceremoniously bolted out of the hall room with Ghost following slamming to door shut marking his presence.

"Excuse me," Edward said passing Jamie as he chases after Jon.

He follows close to reaching him, but also stay at a distance to give space. His son made his stop when he stood alone nearby the gate leading outside. Ghost paddle away into the shadows, the lack of candle lights allowed the shadows to hide his light fur.

"Father," Jon called out. "I know you're following me."

Ned was unsure of what he should say. He remained where he is standing, gazing outwards as the hollow moonlight glow shines down at them.

"Uncle Benjamin said something that made you upset?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Jon chuckled, he removed his hood, letting his dead grey hair lose to fall. "He protested in my decision to join the Night's Watch." He shook his head. "But that wasn't it; he angered me when he suggested that I father a few thrice-dammed children of my own."

The older wolf can tell there was anger behind the young wolf's calm words. However, it was in his hands. He was squeezing them. The pale hands were digging the nails into the bandages. Ned knew his brother was only trying to advise Jon, but even for him, a Stark, that was a slightly too harsh thing to say.

"Father, I've been thinking." His void like eyes was directed at him now. "I am your son aren't I?"

What is it that your thinking about, Jon? Ned pressed his lips. That was a question he did not wish to hear; it felt a sting at how he spoke it. Filled with uncertainty and resentment."You are my blood."

"Yes we share the same blood...but that's not the same as family is it?" his brows narrowed. "I'm a bastard. I should be considered even by Northern standards, an unwanted child. Despite that, you've kept me..."

"Jon," Ned ordered his attention. "You are my son. I've love you with all my heart. You are a Stark, even if you feel doubtful."

"Doubt is that what's left of me." He spat on the ground. "Look at me, I don't look the same anymore!" he roughly rips off the bandages, the wounds bear to see, weren't healing. "My body has degraded to a much worse state. There's is nothing left for me now."

"We will find a way son. I've been looking for every possible way that Maester Luwin has advised me, even though you refused to let him look at you." Couldn't he see that he was to do everything he can?

He couldn't take another moment to see him suffer anymore. At some level, he felt that he was at fault that Jon was in a predicament. He couldn't afford to lose him...he made a promise...

"I've told you, there's nothing that you can do for me. It is only something that I can fix." He returned speaking formal but held the tone of indifference. "Even if mean giving up on my duty as a Stark."

"What are you talking about?"

"Justice, honor, all of those things are meaningless in the face of your own life. It does not affirm your life than devoting to a higher cause. It's a weakness."

"Don't say that. I've taught you better than to give up on your values. What then, would you be left with if you give up on honesty; traded your honor for your life?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing!

"That's what I thought as well." Jon's face was expressionless. "I contemplated on what It means to have honor, and what it applies to...but I finally now understand after I saw the crowd at the feast."

"And what's that?"

"What we call honor, has been twisted into a lie." Eddard's eyes widen at his proclaim statement. "What we call 'good,' the 'honorable man,' is subservient to those who would take advantage of him. That honorable man would passively accept it, whether for the sake of his people, his lord, kingdom, or god. Never is the reward made for the honorable man to heighten his willpower."

"The southerners aren't any better. Much so, they are worse than the honorable man. They cling to power for the sake of it. Shackled by falsehoods, under an illusion that grants them peace. I see that now when the King greeted me, and his display at the party. A once great man, now fat and pathetic-"

"Enough!" Lord Stark ordered loudly. "I didn't teach you to be like this. Just what have been reading in that library?" Ever since he read that black book, he would look further anything relatable to it.

Jon did not speak; instead, he made a step approaching him. His eye for a moment, seem to flash what could be in terms as them being his once grey-stark eyes.

"It was someone by the name of Aldia that lectured about values."

So that was it. He would have to look more into this Aldia figure. It is a name he never heard of, and it indeed wasn't Westerosi.

"It makes no difference, the only true value is yourself and what you chose your life to be." There was a firmness in his words. "Tell me, between the duty out of love and the love for duty, what would you chose?"

Ned spoke without hesitance. "My duty and love for you and our family are the same. To give up on either would mean disgracing you and myself. I must defend my home and as a father, to care and love for my family. "

Jon glare, unsatisfied with his answer. "...Then tell me my mother's name."

"Promise me." No, he couldn't. "Jon this is-"

"I want to know the truth." He demanded. "Who is my mother? Is she still alive? Does she love me? Does she even care if I'm alive, or is she dead?"

"I..."

His hands were quivering.

He could not hold any longer.

"TELL ME!"

His voice struck to the core of his heart. It echoes throughout the yard, yet no one heard him. Alone the two stood, and the bubbling memories of his past return to haunt him.

Jon could not know about his mother. He had sworn that he would protect him. Ned understood what Jon was feeling, and knew what it's like to choose between duty and life. He decided to save his life because his mother begged him so.

His mother would never forgive him if he told Jon the truth, it could lead to his death.

"I can't."

Instead of yelling, Jon spoke with calmness. "Why..."

"You mother made a promise to me that I would keep you safe. That is all you need to know. When the time comes that it is safe, then I will tell you everything you want to know." That was almost a lie, and he'd never tell him unless he knew that Jon wouldn't do something rash, or if he had taken the black. However, now wasn't a good time either.

"Protect me?! From Lady Stark or me from my sibling?"

"Jon," Ned thought. "I would never think that you would hurt your siblings."

"Neither would I shun them from they want to know, or the let my wife mutter spiteful words behind my bastards," Jon stated before walking away from Ned. Ghost emerge out of the shadows, his feet paddling along without a sound.

"Jon," Ned called out. "your mother does love you, always."

He made a stop when Ned spoke.

"If she does then why isn't she here?"

Again, Eddard could not answer, afraid to say more then what he already let on.

"I thought so."

So he left. Leaving Eddard, alone, in the dark, with nothing left but to lament over his guilt.

Catelyn Stark

Cat let out a breath of relief. "Thank the gods it was over." She worried that it would have to stay there till the until the sun would rise.

The feast for all it's joyous laughter, excellent music, and her children being happy. Has taken a toll on her energy. However, it was overhaul uncomfortable and unpleasant. Albeit, Arya was brought to bed early when she threw a piece of food that caught onto Sansa's face. Robb with Theon joined together with every man and squire at every table. The poor boys will soon wake up with headaches no doubt.

Her husband, however, left her kept company with the Queen Cersei Lannister, as he ran off after Jon. She hopes that it'll never happen again.

Not after receiving a recent letter this late from Lysa.

"Jon Arryn was murdered." Her sister's coded writings said as much. Nevertheless, the murders were what caused her to be worry even more. Lisa said it was the Lannisters that did it, but didn't confirm as to who it was. She knew her husband's dislike for the Kingslayer did, and worse also when Tywin presented Robert, the children, wrapped in Lannister banner cloth. He never forgot what they've done and would have them both hanged if he could.

Catelyn grip began crushing the paper. Things were already troubling as it is. Now with the plausibility that the King's life is on the verge of being threatened. Ned's best friend, he will then defend Robert and find out clues behind Jon Arryn.

A knock came at her door. "I'm afraid it is late to speak right now, who is it."

"Lady Stark."

Catelyn could hear the familiar voice from the door, Ned's son. He opened it and stood there. He did not speak, and it was hard to tell what his expression was under the hood that shrouded his pale, sickly face. She decided to talk. "What are you doing here this late?" Her voice was emotionless, but she held back her underline tone of venom. For she was too tired and there was much more at stake.

"I've come to say thank you," Jon said.

"Thank me?"

"You helped me when I was unconscious. I was too afraid to return my gratitude."

She hid her surprised expression. She pulled her hair back, appearing her best like she always presented herself. "I merely did what was needed. It would be unsuitable if I left you."

"All the same, I thank you...but you could have left me. I know that you hate me."

Hate? No, resented your presence. Neither spoke and remained in their awkward silence. Jon was looking over the fireplace, his attention away of her and directed at the warmth of the fire.

He walks over to it, removing his bandages on his hands to reach over. It almost was like he was to burn his hands. He did not scream, his hands hovering over the flame, hesitant to clutch it into his fists.

Cat observed with caution. The bastard-boy hands were wounded, unhealed. He lifted them over the flames. He did not quiver with pain in doing so, his face remaining still. She can acknowledge after everything thrown at him and transpire since the village raid; he continued to stand tall.

"Do you not feel your hands burning?" She asked.

"I feel nothing," Jon replied. "Everything from touch to sense. I've lost the taste of mead and salt. My eyes can see better in the dark, but the feeling of the sunlight does not grant me any comfort. I have nearly forgotten almost everything what it likes to feel anything, and I can't even comprehend why I even think sometimes. It seems little thinking about it."

Jon removed his hands away from the flame, turning back to Catelyn. "The only thing I have left now is my memories, but that is beginning to fade...Sometimes I think this is all a dream, that you all are figments of my imagination. That you never existed at all. However, when it comes back to me, I recognize that what is true is whatever I perceive."

Cat grew afraid. Jon was coming closer in her personal space, with his arms open. His words emphasized with uncontrollable emotions, and she didn't know what he would do.

"You are not well, stay back." She warned Jon.

"I think about my mother," Her words did not reach Jon. "I've always wondered if she was beautiful. Did she have dark hair like mine? Was her face gentle and soft? What was it that made my father drawn to her? I wanted to think that she was a noble lady, that she was kind and caring who'd love me regardless of whether or not my father was married to her or didn't love her anymore." He lifted his head, his eyes devoid of any color, looking down at her.

"Then it reminded me of the time when I saw you, father, and my siblings together, when I wasn't in your company. When I would look from afar, seeing them, seeing you sitting with them with that sweet smile, the encouragement you gave to Robb and Brandon. Telling Sansa how proud you were of her, promising her that she will fall for a man that will respect her. Ayra, for all her fiber and defiance, you still love her all the same. You may reprimand her, but you give her your love."

She tried to push him, but he grabbed her arms. She could find in herself to cry for help, fear that of what he would do to her. He wept, releasing his emotions. "Then it hit me. I've wanted you to love me. I wanted to be like I was your son, that I am your son. Even though we didn't share the blood, some part of me felt empty and broken because of you. You couldn't stand me being around the people I love. You thought I would take away from Robb's birthright."

"Maybe sometimes I did dream myself as the lord of Winterfell. Ice in my hands, with the North at my helm and I, would fight against anyone that stood in my way. I dreamed that I was unlike the Kings of Old, that I could be a true lord of men." He smiled with sadness. "I could only dream. I would never take away what is Robb's. I would do everything I can to help him." Then he turned angry, wrathful. "Yet, you thought all the same."

"I hated you for it. I wish that I can curse at you for the silent treatment you gave me. I so wish that I could...but you also gave me Robb, Arya, and all my siblings. I wouldn't have them if it weren't for you."

Catalyn was shocked at his exclamation. Speechless of what to say, unsure of what she should feel. Reply with the same amount of anger? Give her reasons?

He interrupted her thoughts. "I must know if me dying if I somehow were to die soon will bring you any measure of satisfaction. If seeing me dead will you silence the feelings that you have for me within you. Tell me, do you want me to die?!"

No, I don't.

"Yes." She said without emotion, and without hesitance.

Cat thought that he would do something right then, but to her surprise, he then hugs her, letting out a soft sigh. "Thank you..." he whispered.

He turns and left, but she could hold it in any longer. "Why?" For life of her, even she would understand if he hated her back, the feeling would only be mutual. Jon thanked her all the same. "Why would you thank me after everything you said?"

"Because I can finally forget everything. I'll have no regrets."

Arya Stark

Arya was sent to her bed early. Sansa had it coming if she didn't see what was going to hit her. It wasn't like it she did any harm either. The smear food on her cheek was easy to wipe off. Robb carried her off away, their mother displeased.

She couldn't sleep, instead lied down with Nymira, talking with her. "It's not fun having to sit, while all the other guys get to scream and throw at each other."

Her direwolf yelp in agreement with her, It made Arya smile. "Of course you understand. You, Bran, Robb, and Jon." She then stares out at her window, eyeing at the surrounding aura of the full pale moon.

She ponders back at how things were. Her home wasn't the same anymore. When it was easy once for her to go out and join with her brothers in their training, she would slip pass from her lessons without notice. Now every guard is to keep a watch on everyone, within and outside of Winterfell.

It was different more so with her family. The Direwolves helped in healing some of the wounds in her own heart, and also her siblings own struggles after the assassins. Namyria became her second closet companion. Aya would care for her, to be raised just as any fierce Direwolf of the North.

Of course, Sansa would be the opposite. She treats her's like it was cute puppy still. She would give her sister credit though; she did manage to make Lady obedient.

Grey Wind, Robb's direwolf was much like Namyria. Both knew how their masters think and follow through without having to give out any direct orders. Shaggydog was patient and outgrew Rickon in age, much to the Starks amusement. Bran has yet to name his. Last time she saw Bran's, he was when her brother was in a rush worried about something may have happened to him. He never did say exactly what.

Ghost...was something different altogether, Aya did thought he was beautiful, but he was too much like Jon in his worse state. Both shared that cold and calculating stare. During the small hunts no too far from home, Ghost would bring back an animal without anyone notice and leave out the raw bone remains of his prey.

It disheartens her when she thinks about Ghost. Jon would come to mind. His illness has gotten much worse. He doesn't smile like he uses to, stay longer away in isolation, where she and Robb had to bring him out in whatever corner he hides himself in.

Still, though, Arya will always love her brother no matter what. Jon, in turn, still loves her as well, even though he has chosen to push himself away from everyone else. She can come to him, and he would welcome her.

Arya was pulled from her thoughts when the sound of footsteps came close to her door. There was no knocking on her door handle. The only sign was a person's shadow passing under the door. She pulls open the door, her pacing fast as he stood before her. "Jon."

He said nothing, looking around to see if anyone was nearby. "You look tuck in for bed then you usually are this late," Jon said. For the first in time in a long while, it almost looks like he had a teasing smile behind that cloak.

She took that as a sign he was in a good mood right now. She huffs with pride. "I manage to aim with performance and caught Sansa by surprise."

"So you were put to bed much sooner then I see."

"Yup!" Arya said with a smile then frown, "You would have seen it if you didn't go so quickly from your talk with Uncle Ben."

She felt bad after saying, his face became gloomy. "Yes...I'm sorry that I left you behind again."

Arya could tell that something was bothering him. He came here for a reason. It was all readable just by looking at him. "Do you want to talk about it?" she spoke softly. Arya grabbed him by the hand, telling him to come in.

He replies squeezing her hand. Arya guided him to her bed, and both sat. Namyria laid behind them with her head down, leaving them to speak with each other alone.

Both remind silent. Looking away at each other in thought which now should start. Arya gazes back at the moon. The mysterious moonlight's glow was outshining the stars from afar.

They return to glance at each other again. Jon took off his hood. To her shame, she almost yelp at seeing him this close. Gone was all the share features they had together save for the familiar long face. He still seems young and fair, but it had an illness to it. She couldn't put when his degradation began.

"It's all right," Jon lay his hands together, his head down. "I know it must be hard to stare at me. I look monstrous."

It troubled her to hear that. "Your not a monster, you're my brother. That's never going to change."

"No," He agreed with a sad smile. "No that won't ever change. Even at the worse time, we could have together."

"Arya, there is something that I need to tell you."

"What is it, Jon?" She questioned.

"Everything."

[Merry Christmas - Ryuichi Sakamoto (Piano)]

Jon first talked about when he remembered seeing Arya born. Her skin was white as the snow, her eyes before they grey steel, were hazel like colors. Mixed with many colors. The first time he saw her when he held her in his arms, and she gazed at him, hand-holding his pinky, Jon swore that day he would keep her safe, and watch her grow up to become a lady. Imagining her in a blue dress, the lady of her castle and children, they both laughed at that. He knew later on that she wanted to be a warrior, not a damsel in distress.

They talk about all the things they did together. The first time Arya picked up a sword and how he was proud of her using it. Her first hunt with him, her first shot at a deer. When they would climb with Bran, and all they sat together to watch the sunset and pick out the star constellations.

"I remember the time when you bested the other boys in a race with the horses. The look on those farm boys' faces when they found out it was the willful Arya Stark that defeated them." The memory made Arya laugh. How their faces were burning red like they were about breath dragon fire.

Her laughter dimmed as it was suddenly coming to her. "Jon, why are you telling me this? What is it that you are going to do?"

"I guess I was pretty obvious."

"Jon, you may think you know things. But, you know nothing."

He sighs, "At the face of life, yes I don't know anything. However, that's probably a part that makes us human, which is why we crave for understanding."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"Arya," He tone turn serious. "I want you to know that whatever happens. Nothing will change for us...there is something I must do."

"Something..." She felt usual inside her. That something wasn't right.

She began to realize. Is he leaving?!

"Jon," Arya said. "Please to don't tell me you're going to leave. You promise me that you wouldn't!"

She made him promise. He can't turn his back on her!

"We can make this work." She clutches him by his tunic. "Everyone wants you here." Your family wants you here. "Father will find a way to heal you!"

"Arya," Jon's voice was demanding. "Look at me." she did as he told her. "Father cannot help me. It is something that I alone can fix. I am not leaving you and breaking my promise to you."

She tightens her grip on him. Not wanting to her go of him. Arya tried to believe him; she wishes she could. None of this sits well with her though.

"Are you going with Uncle Ben to join the Night's Watch? Is that where your heading?"

"Yes." Jon nodded.

Arya felt a painful bad feeling what Jon said. It was unlike the times when he did talk about taking the black like it was an honor. Now, it was insensitive. "Do you have to go, can't you find it here, with us?"

Jon propped her hands off of him and stood. He went over to the table and drew something out of his coat. It was small concealed in a sheath.

"I'm sorry Arya," He pulled out the blade and presented it to her. "But its something that I have to do. Before I leave, I wanted to give you something that you would remember me by."

Gesturing that he was giving it to her, she took it in her hands. It was a light blade, thin, but with a sharp end that could stab through. Styled like the famous Braavosi style swords for fencing. Its steel was a smokey dark.

She tested her grip on the sword. There was only a faint amount of weight to her sword. It was a long as her arm.

She marveled at the blade. "It's beautiful Jon."

Jon smiled his dark eyes almost like they were twinkling. "I had it commissioned for your size so you can wield it until you tall enough to hold a much bigger sword."

She pout. "I'm not that small! I'm growing fast."

"It'll take a while still when you can slice a man's head off," Jon explained. "Your hight is a perfect fit for speed, and your sword will be fast enough for you to poke enough holes in if your quick."

Arya gave him a smile looking up at him. "I'm quick enough."

She paid her attention to the blade as an idea came to her. "..needle."

Jon raises his brows. He nodded with approval. "That's a fitting name, stick it in where the point ends."

That was the first lesson she learned from Jon when he taught how to sword fight. "Where the point ends..." she repeated back, the cheerful excitement of her present began to fade.

Arya put Needle back into her sheath, and place it on her bed. She took a breath and looked up at Jon. Peering into his eyes, seeing her full reflection from his pupils. Changing to look at his face, away was the sickly face, and in its place, the from moonlights ray shining, his skin place of as milk. His appearance was almost otherworldly.

She could not pull herself away. Arya found that was feeling drawn to him. Her heart was aching as she cups his cheek, telling him to sit with her again, almost in pleading way.

Arya did not let go of him and neither did he pull away either. Time had felt it had slow down between them, as they continue to stare at each other silently. Their souls communicating to each silently, two halves of a whole.

Daring, she slowly moves closer to Jon. His face was doing the same, with uncertainty. Unsure of what he was doing, but felt obligated to do so.

"Arya..."

"Jon," she said softly, as he did.

"I promise that I will come back to you. After I am free of this accursed sickness, I won't leave ever again."

She did not know which it was, but in an instant she found her lips press onto his. Their arms around one another more tightly than before. She breathed in the cold air, her blood rushing with an unsettled flow of excitement, and her cheeks burning. Her body shivered, and she grabs the back of his head. Feeling his grey hair that still attains its softness.

They pulled back, the intake of rough breathing from the jolt of rapture that overwhelmed them. Arya found herself coveting those lips. The touch feeling of warmth that presses on hers. She made her move and opened hers to take his. The second time it was more force, both moaned in response to each other.

Wh-what am I doing...She did not know what it was. For a long while in these past months without Jon near her. Without his touch, an emptiness began festering inside her.

She was pushing boundaries between the two of them, but she couldn't hold back.

Arya moved away from his lips and pressed her head to his chest. She could his heart was racing. "Stay with me. I don't want you to leave me alone right now."

Jon complied. He reaches over the blankets underneath them and warps each other close.

She closed her eyes, shutting her thoughts out and let herself slip into the darkness of her sleep.

Jon Snow

He remained awake, waiting with all the patients within him for Arya to fall asleep in his arms.

Her face was expressionless, but her stillness and the moon illuminating on her skin made him recognize how beautiful she was and that when she grows, she'll be like their aunt Lyanna. He swallowed in shamed of the thought, however; he let himself to get too carried away, allowing his conflicting feelings for Arya and his fate to have him act to get closer than what siblings would do.

Jon gently pulls away from Arya. She tried to grab him again, and he swiftly put a pillow in the place where he laid. She snuggled into it. He chuckled in his mind when he heard her groan.

He checks over to see if Namyria was sleeping. He felt relief when he did. Jon wasn't sure what could happen if she were awake. The worse case is Namyria's howls will awake Arya and alert everyone in the hold of his departure.

Jon with calm sureness, walk in silence, tip-toeing when passing over parts that the made creaky noise. He reaches over the door and closes it. He then examines the area to see anyone nearby. With the coast clear, he made his way to the great hall for where Ghost awaited outside.

The hall room was empty and unclean. Spilled remains of leftovers and drinks stench the place, it all felt gloomy here. Jon chose to distance himself from all the rest. Seeing other people absorbed in their greed, whispering behind the lords and the royalty, it was a loathsome sight to bear witness, knowing that there are forces in the grand scheme of things.

Jon gasp when the feeling of intense burning appeared from his chest. He grew tolerant of the pain over time, to the point he felt numb where he would be. It would sting sometimes, and he could feel a part of himself again, in the worst sensation imaginable. The Darksign's power was growing stronger, feeding on his soul until the last bit of Jon Snow was all gone and in his place, the undead would rise.

He turns to the sound of batter noise from a plate. A cat was eating off the remains of chicken, nibbling on the pieces off from the bone. The queer-looking cat became aware of Jon staring at it. Its blueish eyes glowed in the dark like sapphires.

"Enjoying your meal?" Jon ask.

"Meow."

The cat turns to eat it's meal, ignoring his presence.

Jon said his goodbye to the cat, though unsure why he did so. "Enjoy your meal and goodbye."

With nothing left here, he went outside to the horse stables. One last time, he looks out all around Winterfell. Possibly forever. Never again will he soon remember the tranquil presence of the Weriwoods, the Olds Gods Whispers. The scenery of his home covered in snow, House Stark itself.

A final farewell to all his memories of a past life.

In the stable, one horse, a black steed, Jon wide awake and a snort in front of him. "Would you like to go out for a riding friend?" He asked.

He received another snore replay. Jon took that as a 'yes,' and place a saddle on him. His sword attaches behind it. It was the only thing needed for his journey.

Ghost was by the gate, sitting sit and turn his attention to him. "I'm all set, are you ready Ghost?"

The White Wolf merely stare at him, his red eyes were what he use to reply.

He padded on Ghost's head, and that they were ready to go. As Jon was about to leave, Ghost began growling. He follows the sound to what it was.

To his surprise, the strange cat right next to them ignoring the threat and hight presence of the Direwolf.

"What are you doing here, go back inside." He told off the cat. However, it did not leave, tilting its head at him.

Ghost cautiously came closer to the cat. He growled when the cat lifted one paw showing its claws, ready to stand on the defense. As Ghost went to snipe at him, the little furry creature hit him by the nose, and he pushes back. It hisses at him, daring to try again.

Jon thought for a moment that Ghost would have his teeth on the cat's throat. However, to his surprise, he shifts away from the cat. Indeed, this was by far second strangest encounter he has seen so far.

The cat came up to Jon and rub its head on his lead. Looking up at him to be picked up.

"You don't know what you are getting yourself into." He told it. Jon lifted the cat, petting its chin and it purred in reply. "But I won't stop you if that's your wish."

Carrying the cat with up the saddle, Jon kicked and they rode off. Ride out to what he can see what was foreseeable.

A journey.

A forlorn hope.

Hello, just leaving an update. Writing may be slow, but I hope you've enjoyed this. Leave a review, and if you want further help out, I'm looking for a beta or editor to make some corrections in writing.