Jon woke, to the inexorable knowledge that today was going to be a bad day. Today was the day the King arrived. Usually, the King stayed in his palace in the country, away from the populace in King's Landing, leaving much of the running of the realm to his Small Council. Not this day, however. Because today was the Princess' birthday.

Princess Rhaenys would today turn eighteen years of age and, due to the Queen's late expulsion from court and inability to provide male heirs, would be sworn in as heir to the throne. So long as no male heirs appeared. And that didn't make Jon nervous. Not at all. He tried to keep that thought in mind as he dressed, white shirt under tan waistcoat and jacket, complete with superfluous lace at the cuffs. Tan wasn't his colour, but it was the colour of the Princess' household and Lady Stark wished to honour her as she visited their town house.

So long as Jon stayed out of the way.

Jon was something of an oddity in society. The son of the Late Lady Lyanna Stark, Lord Eddard Stark's only sister, father as yet unknown. A bastard who had his own house (theoretically), a lord's (partial) education and the complete and utter knowledge that he was hated by most of his own family. Lord Stark had died some three years ago now, but Jon's own life had been dictated by the Lady Catelyn Stark for far longer. He had been nearly six when the realm was attacked by the pirates led by Balon Greyjoy and his despicable brother Euron. Both brothers were now dead, Balon falling to Lord Stark, but the man had been wounded and unable to leave his great estate in the north of the country. Since he had turned eleven, Jon's cousin Robb had been slowly learning how to run the estate and later inherit the titles he had been born into. He had inherited earlier than anyone thought, when what had started out as a winter cold turned into pneumonia and, with his weakened constitution, had stolen Eddard Stark from them all. Leaving estate, lordship and all its properties in complete control of Lady Catelyn Stark.

Including one town house inhabited by one, Jon Snow.

Jon could still vaguely remember living downstairs, in an actual bed, rather than the drafty attic. Wylla still seethed at his removal, ten years ago when Lord Stark had returned. Apparently, it was unseemly for a bastard to stay in such luxurious quarters. Slowly, Jon had watched more and more things be stripped away from him. At age ten, his tutors had been removed, leaving only the elderly butler, Halder, to teach him what he could. Jon didn't begrudge the man- he had tried at the very least. His horse had been summarily removed from the stables- a bastard had no need to be seen, so had no need of a horse. Poor Hodor now had nothing to do, except the gardens and help with the food deliveries once a week, not that there was much. Only enough for Jon, Wylla, Hodor, Old Nan, Sophie and Halder. All of them stuffed into the servants' quarters.

Then, two days ago, Master Luwin arrived. Luwin had been Robb's tutor as long as Jon could remember, had visited with his Uncles on several occasions and had been rather nice if a little stiff, all things considered. The last time they had seen each other, was on Jon's thirteenth birthday when his Uncle Benjen had arrived to deliver his birthday gift, a small mute puppy, the runt of the litter of direwolves from the north- no doubt, Lady Stark had thought it would die either in transit or within a few months. Jon had nurtured him carefully, named him Ghost and now needed to walk the two-mile journey with the wolf to reach the city park so the great beast could run around and hunt for a couple of hours. Not that it mattered too much- there was little for Jon to do, except read, play with the wolf and take good care of the small number of objects left behind by Lyanna Stark. It had been Luwin who had informed them that the king would soon be visiting, along with the new uniforms for the staff and Jon.

"You are to help the kitchen staff," Luwin had said, slightly apologetically. Jon had shrugged and taken the jacket. Lady Stark had become more and more strict about what he was allowed to wear- most of his clothes were getting a little threadbare and he had learnt how to fix the holes in his socks a long time ago.

Now, Jon took himself down to the kitchen where Wylla and Sophie were already bustling about. Old Nan, as usual, was sat by the fire, knitting. Dishes had been set to one side, already cleaned and waiting to be sat upon the table. Sophie was fiddling with some laundry, no doubt bedspreads. Hodor was sat in the corner, happily munching on some bread and somehow smelling faintly of horses. Beside him, Ghost was gnawing on a beef joint, no doubt the toughest part of the cut set out for that night's dinner.

"Oh, Jon!" Sophie exclaimed when she spotted him. "Would you mind helping me with the beds? It's just, the Lady Stark only sent a message this morning, deigning to tell us that she would be bringing all the children, and I've only gotten Their Majesties rooms finished!" She was rather red in the face, as if she had been near tears at the thought of having to make six beds, where before she had only needed to make three, in the small amount of time available. Jon gave her a smile and a nod.

The town house was rather inaccurately named. It sat in it's own gardens, holding four stables (with land to graze those horses), not including the ones needed for those to pull three carriages (meaning, in actuality, the stables could house up to ten horses at a time) and the house consisted of six main bedrooms, a dining room, front room, back room, games room, three bathrooms, library, study and a small veranda where one could sit and look over the gardens and paddocks. Ghost loved to roam around them when not in the park. It had been agreed that only four of the rooms would be used- two for the royal family and two for the Starks. Lady Stark would share with her eldest daughter. That had since changed. Now, all of the rooms were needed, with the two daughters to share, the two youngest sons as well, and a room each for Robb, Lady Stark and their Majesties. The guest list had also seemed to double- the entire Small Council was to be here, along with Lady Stark, her Uncle, all the other children as well as her sister and her son, who would be staying in the Tully house next door. Luckily, they didn't need to worry about that one.

Jon spent that morning hauling bedlinens up to the two other rooms, recently repapered and decorated for the four children, and removing the dust sheets from the furniture. Much of the house had been recently re-done, including the room His Majesty the king would be staying in. The room which had formerly been Jon's. He spared a short moment to peek inside. The wolves had been covered, the walls changed from soft blue to red, making it seem smaller than it truly was, and even the mattress replaced. He sighed and shook his head, turning away. There was a stab of pain in his heart at the changes the house had gone through. Before this, he had been able to pretend that none of it mattered. He could still go to his room, could still read in the library and help Halder with the accounts in the study. Now, they had to keep to their own quarters and the house was changed. When they finally finished, Luwin took one look at his dishevelled clothing and frowned.

"What on earth have you been up to this morning?" he asked. "I've been looking for you all over. We need to set the table in the dining room, and I'm hoping we have enough plates!" Jon just nodded. It was easier than saying anything.

"One moment!" Wylla snapped, waving Luwin off. "Jon, you had no breakfast this morning. Here." She handed him a plate of sandwiches and some fruit. "I've let Ghost out into the gardens for now, so as soon as you're done with the table you can take him to Rhaenys' park. Take Luwin's horse." Luwin looked ready to protest that but closed his mouth at her sharp look. Having dealt with the other Stark children's wolves, he was aware how much exercise a direwolf was in need of.

Wylla whipped the plate away as soon as he was finished and, after giving his hands a quick wash to remove any sticky juice, he helped carry the plates and crockery to the dining room. Wylla was almost like a mother to him, but Jon was reminded that she wasn't, truly, by the picture hanging over the fireplace as they set the table. People liked to say he looked like his mother- the same dark eyes, same dark curled hair if one ignored the streak of silver near his left temple. Jon couldn't see it. Lyanna always looked like she was ready to smile. Jon himself had always been more prone to solemn moods.

"No, no, not those ones," Luwin suddenly stated, grabbing plates from Jon. He blinked, ripping his gaze away from his mother's portrait to stare at the small man, as he meticulously placed them at the head of the table. Oh, right. Of course. A bastard can't touch the king's dishware. If it wouldn't cause trouble, he would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he set to readying the rest of the table, ensuring Lady Stark's own silverware was ever so slightly crooked. Not enough to be caught on inspection, but enough to be noticeable.

"If that will be all, sir?" Jon asked politely, allowing his words to lilt just a little, like Wylla's. He might never have been to the North (despite his slightly northern accent picked up from northern servants and visiting uncles, with little other influence), Dorne or elsewhere, he had a good ear for language and accents. So, he sometimes liked to annoy visitors by slipping into Wylla's Dornish lilt, much to the horror of Lady Stark. Apparently, Dornish peoples' accents was too outlandish for a respectable visitor. Luwin frowned as he noticed but said nothing. One small rebellion won.

"That will be all, Jon," Luwin sighed, dismissing him. "Be sure to be back before four." It wouldn't have been possible without the horse and Jon wondered how close to four he could get without getting into trouble.

He ensured he wore his old boots. He would change into the new ones later, when Lady Stark and the others would arrive. He also swapped the awful tan jacket with his own shabby black one. At least it was comfortable. Then, whistling for Ghost, he mounted the horse and, for the first time in months, charged out of the gates.

Riding had always been one thing Jon missed. That and fencing. It ached, like a missing limb, to not be able to practice his two favourite hobbies. This would be the only good thing about today- being able to charge through the streets of King's Landing, weaving through the traffic consisting of gentlemen on their horses, carriages of noble ladies and the smallfolk going about their business. All of which jumped out of the way of one boy riding bareback behind the loping form of a direwolf. A small boy with large ears perked up when Jon reached the gates to Rhaenys' Park, grinning as he juggled two oranges.

"Took you long enough, Snow," Pyp said, eyeing the horse. "Where'd you get the 'orse?"

"The Lady is coming to visit," Jon said, watching as Ghost disappeared off into the woods of the park. King's Landing had once been far smaller in the medieval era- over the years, as it expanded, later kings and queens had decided to give more greenery to the city, especially for the nobility who came to visit. So, the parks were formed of the once Kingswood, and the surrounding farms into houses like the one Jon lived within. The Red Keep and the windy isle of Dragonstone rarely housed the royal family nowadays- it was said that both the King and Princess preferred the comfortable estate further out than the suburbs, hidden on the ancient site of Summerhall. Pyp and Grenn had lived their lives in the old sector known as Flea Bottom, busking certain skills for money and occasionally stealing when that didn't work. Jon had always tried to give them what he could, including small scraps of food they might have leftover that Wylla sent out with him once she heard of his two friends at the park. "I have to be back for four."

"Plenty o' time then!" Pyp stated, mischief gleaming in his eyes. Jon grinned with him, leading the horse further into the park with his friend at his side. He was aware they made an odd pair- a grubby street urchin and a supposed stableboy of a noble house, wandering along. There was a squeak to one side as they turned into the remnants of the woods, to find Ghost licking the face of a large boy, puffy face scrunched up to ensure the wolf's tongue stayed out of any unwanted areas.

"Ghost," Jon called with a smile. "Leave Sam alone. He's all out of cake!" It was true- there were only crumbs left around Sam's mouth.

Samwell Tarly had supposedly been sent north to the ancient Wall. His men had 'lost' him in King's Landing and Jon had found him, terrified and alone, on the edge of the park. Pyp and Green had taken him in until his brother, who had been visiting the city, had found him. Least said about where his brother had been the better. Nonetheless, Sam had agreed to take on a Masters' training in return to staying in the Tarly house and caring for his brother's syphilis in secret. Unbeknownst to their father, Sam met up with his old friends every day in the park, when Jon took Ghost for a walk. Usually, he brought lunch with him.

"You're late today," Sam commented. "We saved you an orange, but Pyp said he needed it for juggling."

"Well I did! An' Grenn di'n't want 'is!" Pyp denied.

"Where is Grenn?" Jon asked, settling down as Ghost ran off once again and leaving the horse to graze.

"'e got a job tending 'orses," Pyp said, settling down himself and returning to juggling. "At the Stark place. Some sort o' party goin' on down there tonight." Jon blinked, making every effort not to react. Sam knew where he lived- Jon had offered to take him in quietly, sad he couldn't help the other boy out- but he had never told the others. 'Jon Snow' wasn't a name known to the people and he liked to keep it that way. When they had all met, Pyp failing to steal food from him three years ago, Jon had just stated he lived in a lord's house. He didn't remember seeing Grenn as he left, but that didn't mean the other boy hadn't seen him. He hadn't really paid too much attention to the extra stableboy Lady Stark had employed for the next few days.

"Really? I heard the King was in the city," Sam said, eyes flicking quickly to Jon and back. "For the Princess' birthday."

"Oh yeah, ev'ryone knows that!" Pyp exclaimed, shaking his head. One orange bounced off the ground. "Returned the other day, di'n't 'e? Load of excitement up at the Red Keep. No, this is something else. Green said they were takin' on new stableboys, 'cos there weren't 'nough, see? You know, since Lord Stark died all them years ago." Jon covered a wince by shifting slightly.

"I think the town house has been neglected for a while," he said carefully. "The Starks live in the North."

"Well, not at the moment," Pyp groused as he dropped the same orange again. This time it landed with a wet splat, bursting open. Apparently, the juggling wasn't going so well. "They say the king 'imself is goin' to be there tonight!" He looked up at them expectantly, waiting for them to be impressed. Both he and Sam gave him gratified looks without looking at each other. Pyp wouldn't know that they were both well aware of this. That in a few hours, Jon would be kept out of sight for that very reason.

"Where'd you hear that?" Jon asked, curious despite himself. Lady Stark had been adamant no one else was to know.

"Elsa," Pyp stated. "'Parently, old Pycelle 'as been askin' for 'er services again. Told 'er 'e was goin' to be in the Stark 'ouse tonight, so 'e couldn't see 'er." Elsa was one of the prostitutes who lived down the same street as Pyp and Grenn. Her mother was the one who took in odd orphans off the streets, running a rather profitable business of buskers, thieves and whores. That two of those were supposedly outlawed made no difference to her.

"And Master Marwyn has been talking about the court visiting the Starks. Something about the King's heir," Sam fumbled, adding his own knowledge to the mix.

"What?" Jon asked, his startled response covered by Pyp's own "Wot?"

"Well," Sam started awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably, "You've both heard that Princess Rhaenys is supposed to be declared heir in three days' time?" They both nodded. "There's been rumours among the nobility that the King shouldn't have to stoop to allowing a woman to lead." Jon resisted the urge to snort. No doubt, Princess Daenerys hadn't heard these rumours, otherwise the city might have been on fire. "That the King actually does have a male heir. Except, no one knows who." Jon swallowed at that thought. A male heir. Why does having a cock matter as to who leads the country? Rhaenys has been trained for it her whole life, whether she wants it or not. Sam shrugged at Pyp's intrigued look. "It is just a rumour."

"But someone had to start it," Pyp insisted, leaning forwards, oranges forgotten. "Any idea who?"

"No," Sam said shortly. "Master Marwyn heard it in the palace and he said we weren't supposed to speak of it." Meaning, he wants everyone to know at once. Jon had difficulty keeping up with who exactly Marwyn favoured. Certainly not Viserys, and he always seemed somewhat iffy about Daenerys. What his thoughts on the King were, ought not to be said in proper company. He had been under the impression Marwyn liked Rhaenys, as much as the man was able to like anyone, but perhaps he had been wrong.

"So why was he speaking of it to you?" Jon asked quietly, wary. Sam was smart, far better at academics than Jon had ever been, but sometimes he needed prodding for when common sense told you something was wrong. Sam blinked at him, startled.

"I… don't know," he said quietly, troubled. As was Jon. Supposedly, Sam didn't know anyone in the city except his family and the guards. Who did Marwyn want him to tell? Randyll Tarly? Sam and his father hadn't spoken in years. Dickon? No, he was a little too interested in swords and the new types of musket that were emerging. The guards? But if he wanted the information to slip, he could have just told them himself. Which left only one bone-chilling conclusion. Marwyn knew that Sam went out to meet someone every day- whether he knew exactly who he was meeting would wait to be seen.

They did little the next hour or so until Jon was forced to call Ghost back. It was with a heavy heart that he led the horse away. Despite the slightly dire news they had, Jon always had a good time with his friends. After tonight, who was to say if they would ever see each other again? Lady Stark might decide he had lived off her generosity enough should the King not catch wind of him first. For a moment, he wondered if he should say something: a goodbye of some sort. Except… what if nothing happened? All that would happen would be that Pyp and Grenn discovered he was the rumoured 'Bastard of Winterfell', who had never even seen Winterfell except as a babe. Hopefully.

Luwin was less pleased to see him when he returned.

"Look at your trousers!" he exclaimed, frowning at the dust stains on them. "Go upstairs and change at once! The Lady will be arriving any minuet. And ensure Ghost stays up there too. There won't be room for him in the kennels along with the others." Jon shrugged. Except for the past three days, Ghost stayed up there with him anyway.

He arrived back downstairs after changing, just as the Stark carriage clattered into the courtyard. Robb rode alongside the guards and Brynden Tully. For a brief moment, Jon wondered if he remembered him. It had been ten years after all. He was reassured as a wolf that could only be Grey Wind ran up to give his face excited licks, along with another, female wolf who might be Nymeria from the descriptions in Robb's letters. The other three either ran or, in one's case, sat in the courtyard. Out of the carriage descended two girls and two boys, all bar the youngest girl with the same red hair and Tully blue eyes. Then, came the lady herself, who curled her lips the moment her gaze fell upon him. Gathered in the courtyard were the small household (minus Old Nan, no doubt still knitting in the kitchen), plus the five others she had had hired to help them. Grenn was still pulling at his collar, uncomfortable, the only to have turned up before Jon left.

"Well, I suppose you are all presentable," she sniffed, eyeing them all. "You, stop pulling at that collar!" she snapped at Grenn, bustling the children into the house. "Robb, come along!" Robb, who had just dismounted and handed the reins to Hodor- who had ambled up to him, all smiles- waved her off.

"One moment, Mother!" he called. "I need to see the wolves settled."

"Can I go too?" the youngest girl, no doubt Arya, asked. Jon could see mud was already accumulating along the bottom of her dress and that, underneath her skirts, she was wearing dirty riding boots. Lady Stark looked about to say no, but then was distracted by the youngest, a boy of about four, shrieking that he was hungry. Wylla was quickly instructed to give him a snack and ensure he had a short nap before His Majesty arrived and Arya's request was forgotten. The girl seemed to take this as permission, wriggling away from her mother and stumbling down the steps towards her eldest brother. Jon ruffled the fur on Grey Wind's head with a smile as Robb and Arya approached him, pretending not to see Grenn's raised eyebrows and curious glance. The other boy rounded the corner before he could see Robb pull him into a hug.

"Jon, it's so good to see you!" Robb's northern burr was far stronger than Jon's and he smiled to hear it again. His cousin's voice had deepened over the years and he now sounded far more like Uncle Ned than ever.

"It's good to see you too," Jon said, reluctant to let go. He then grinned. "I see your mother has yet to remember you are now Lord Stark." Robb pulled a face.

"Don't remind me. We'll be having words before the king arrives about appropriate language again. She seems to forget that I'm no longer a child." Lady Stark had been running the Stark estate and political seat since they were eleven and Eddard Stark had truly had to bow out of his duties in the south of the country. Robb had fully taken over on his sixteenth birthday, not two months ago. By the sounds of it, Lady Stark had yet to get used to that fact. "Why are you dressed like a servant?" Jon winced, stepping backwards. Robb also had a tendency to forget that, where he might be welcome, Jon most certainly was not.

"Lady Stark thought it would anger the King for a bastard to be seen. I'm to be working in the kitchens tonight." Robb frowned but he was elbowed away by the small intruding figure of Arya Stark.

"You're Jon, aren't you?" she asked abruptly, ignoring her brother's protests. "I wasn't born yet, last time Father was in the city to see you, and Mother would never let me come meet you." Jon blinked as this was all said in one long, rushed breath.

"Um, yes. It's nice to meet you," he said, unsure what else to say. She beamed.

"This is Nymeria," Arya introduced the direwolf tugging at her skirts, aiming to play, affirming his suspicions. "I named her after the Rhoynish queen with the ships!"

"I heard," Jon said with a smile, liking her already. "Robb described her well in his letters." She beamed, grabbing his arm.

"You have to show us around before Mother remembers where I've gone!" she exclaimed, already dragging him off in the wrong direction. Jon laughed and tugged her the right way, listening as she continued to talk, sharing bemused looks with Robb, who just shrugged.

"She's really wanted to meet you," Robb said quietly. "I think she thinks you're a brother or something." Jon just gave him a smile. He would have liked that, he thought.

"This one's Lady," Arya continued, pointing to the wolf still daintily sat by the carriage. She gave him a sorrowful look, as if wondering where she was meant to be. She was also the only one with a collar, made out of ribbon and embroidered flowers. "She belongs to Sansa." Arya made a face. "I don't know why she makes her wear a collar; it looks stupid. That one over there is Summer. He belongs to Bran, who wants to meet you too! Except Mother keeps hold of him all the time right now so he doesn't go climbing. She doesn't want us to get dirty." This was said with emphasis, ignoring that she had already dirtied her dress, her wolf's teeth having ripped into the delicate material. "And that's Shaggydog, which is a stupid name, but Rickon's only a baby. I told him it should be Shadow or Storm, but he just kept shouting Shaggy." Jon indulged her with an agreeing smile as they made it to the kennels, which should have fit an entire pack of hunting dogs. It was only just big enough for the five wolves, Shaggydog being the most resistant to get into the stall. Jon managed to convince him with a bone and one of Ghost's treats sat in a jar on the shelf. Lady wandered in meekly and Jon, feeling a little sorry for her, released her from the collar, to which he was promptly given a thankful lick.

"I don't think she likes the collar either," he commented in a gap in the tirade. Arya, who was standing on a small stool to look over the door, shook her head.

"She never fights it, but Sansa says she has to be a good girl, else Mother won't let us keep them. She keeps threatening to release them into the wild, ever since Father died." She sounded sad at that. "I told Sansa Mother could never. She tried once, with Shaggydog because he kept coming into the nursery to see Rickon but he never left. She even threw stones to get hm away from the cradle but that just made him mad. He'll bite her now if he can get close enough." There was something a little strange about hearing Arya sound satisfied with that result. "I thought you had one too?"

"Yes, Ghost," Jon agreed. "He's up in my room since there isn't any left in here." Robb frowned.

"I was wondering about that. Where are you sleeping? I know Bran and Rickon are sharing along with the girls," this garnered another face from Arya, "but I'm supposedly on my own and with my mother plus the King and the Princess, there's no other rooms. We haven't kicked you out have we?"

"No," Jon said levelly. "I've had rooms upstairs now for years."

"Upstairs?" Robb couldn't seem to comprehend that. "But they're all upstairs." Arya, however, had caught on.

"He means with the servants, stupid," she said, aiming a kick at Robb's shins.

"The servants?" Robb asked, jumping nimbly away. This was obviously a common occurrence.

"Can I see him?" Arya said, ignoring the issue completely. Jon blinked and nodded, thankful for the distraction.

"If you want. So long as Lady Stark doesn't find out I took you up there." He couldn't imagine what she would say about her daughter wandering around the servants' quarters. Arya grinned, mischief alight in both eyes.

"Course I won't tell her. You won't either, will you Robb?" She eyed up his shins as she said this, and Robb sighed dramatically.

"Only if I get to come too," he said firmly, grinning. His eyes spoke a different story, however.

Jon tried not to squirm as Robb's eyes roamed his small room, shared with Halder, bed shoved as close to the fire as possible without setting fire to it. Halder didn't like the warmth of King's Landing, despite having lived there so long, and Jon seemed mostly immune to the heat. In fact, the warmer the place the better. Ghost liked to sleep on top of him too, so he had gotten used to sleeping in a furnace. At the present time, the direwolf was quite happily lying sprawled out as Arya rubbed his belly enthusiastically. Robb seemed more preoccupied in tallying up his meagre things.

"When was the last time you got new clothes?" Robb asked quietly, voice low. Jon now regretted leaving his old dusty jacket on the bed after changing earlier.

"Three days ago," Jan replied evasively. Robb raised an eyebrow, glancing at the tan jacket with the ridiculous lace ruffles and shiny black buttons.

"Uh huh. And before the vile jacket and waistcoat?" Jon shrugged, trying to ignore his cousin's sceptical tone.

"Not sure. We usually buy cheaper fabrics that are durable so as not to be a burden on your strained finances." That was a lie and they both knew it. Considering the silk of Sansa and Arya's dresses, both of which were new (one now ruined), the Stark finances were fine. It was that Lady Stark refused to pay out for anything more expensive for a bastard.

"Hmph." Arya let out a giggle as Ghost paddled the air as she found the best spot.

"He's the best!" she exclaimed, glancing up at them out of hair rapidly coming out of its complicated style. She seemed to notice and frowned, face falling. "Oh no, Mother's going to kill me!"

"Here," Jon said quickly, kneeling down. Wylla had taught him how to braid when he was small, showing him how to do so for his own hair. Not that Jon ever wore it that way. His curls were currently tied back with a small golden ribbon that supposedly went with his jacket. It didn't but Jon wondered if that was the point. He quickly pulled the ribbons and pins out of her hair and twisted it into a simpler braid, far more northern in style. He had seen a picture of his mother with this hairstyle and it suited Arya just as well as it did her. Working out how to pin the shorter, baby hairs was the tricky part. "How's that?" She gently patted her hair, eyes wide.

"It's… it's brilliant! I could ride with this too!" She beamed up at him, eyes wide. "How did you do that without trying to pull half my hair out?"

"Because braids aren't supposed to do that?" Jon replied questioningly. Wylla had always been gentle with his hair, no matter how difficult it could be.

"How do you know how to braid?" Robb asked, wide-eyed. Then shook his head. "Ah, silly question." He was grinning now. "You and your hair." Jon rolled his eyes. Even ten years later, and Robb still made such similar jokes.

There was a soft knock on the door and Halder stuck his head around the door. The man was practically bald now, only faint white wisps of hair left on his head, made all the paler by his own tan jacket.

"The Lady is looking for her daughter," he half-whispered, fiddling with a loose thread on his own lace cuffs. "I will say I found her in the library."

"Make it the stables," Robb said quickly, picking her up before she could protest. "It'll be more believable." Halder nodded and bustled Arya away. She sent him a wide-eyed look and Jon just gave her a sympathetic grimace. It was the best he could do for her for now.

"She seems… energetic," Jon said quietly, rubbing between Ghost's ears as the wolf looked up to see where his new friend had gone.

"That's not the issue here," Robb said tightly. "I remember that your room was blue. And not in the attic." Jon cringed inwardly.

"I believe the King will be arriving soon," he said, attempting to leave the room. Robb grabbed his shoulder, stopping him.

"Jon," he said shortly, eyes narrowed. "The truth. Now." He gulped, sitting on the bed.

"It's been years since you came. Since… Uncle was able to come. As soon as we heard he would never be able to make the journey, we were also given orders for me to… move out. It wasn't right that a bastard be given such generous rooms, the same as trueborn children. It was made clear I ought to be lucky I wasn't being thrown out on the street." He didn't mention that that order had come through, a year or so ago, and they lived on the vague promise that Robb would never see him thrown out with nothing more than the clothes on his back. Pyp had mentioned that he would be welcome at their home- a man who could read was always a boon in Flea Bottom. No doubt, Lady Stark was planning just that once this night was done. Robb was frowning heavily.

"When this is all over, I promise you, we'll sort this out," Robb promised, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I have to go. Before Mother decides I need a search party too." Jon watched him leave with sad eyes.

"When this is all over…" he echoed slowly, fingers carding through thick fur. "And when is that?" From the snuffling of Ghost's nose, he didn't know either.