Jon Snow sometimes wished he could make himself invisible. If he could slip unseen through the vast sprawl of Winterfell, he might avoid so many awkward moments.
Above the castle flew three great banners. White for House Stark's grey direwolf. Crimson for House Lannister's roaring lion. Gold for House Baratheon's crowned stag.
More banners meant more visitors. Jon could not forget the looks from the southern guests, curious, embarrassed, or openly disdainful. The bolder ones even pointed and whispered.
They speculated about his "mother." Some named Ashara Dayne. Others said Wylla. The more scandalous claimed she had been a fisherwoman. In truth, Jon's very existence reminded them that even a man as stern and reserved as Great Lord Eddard was not immune to desire. It was a failing many nobles shared.
Jon stood along the covered gallery overlooking Winterfell's yard, watching two young men spar below.
The taller one, with dark brown hair, was Theon, a slender and handsome youth of nineteen. His opponent, Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell, had auburn hair, blue eyes, and a sturdy build. They circled and traded blows, their blunted swords ringing sharply in the cold air.
Jon loved Robb as a brother. With Theon, things were different. Theon still fancied himself something of an heir, and saw little reason to befriend a bastard.
"They're not bad to watch, are they?"
Tyrion climbed up beside him, cocking his oversized head and studying Jon with his mismatched eyes.
"They're good," Jon said.
He found himself liking Tyrion without quite knowing why. In a way, they shared the same lot. A bastard and a dwarf, both standing at the edges of noble society.
Jon would never forget what the dwarf had told him after the feast.
"Remember this, boy. All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes, but not all bastards need be dwarfs."
"You're Lord Stark's son as well," Tyrion said now. "Your sword arm must be decent?"
Jon liked the way he said that.
"Robb is stronger with a longspear, but I'm better with a sword. Hullen says my riding is among the best in Winterfell."
"That is no small thing. Knights may rely on their blades. I have only my wits."
"Bastard brother, I hear you spoke with your uncle Benjen for quite some time at the feast," Tyrion added.
"Yes, my lord."
"Let me guess your thoughts," Tyrion said quietly. "Lady Catelyn has never been kind to you. Great Lord Eddard cannot shield you forever. Your uncle is a seasoned man of the Night's Watch, and in the North their duty is still honored. Do you feel you have nowhere else to go? That your road leads to the Wall?"
Jon could not help but admire the dwarf's understanding of people.
"You are a giant among men, my lord. I have thought of it often."
"Have you truly considered what it means?" Tyrion asked. There was a trace of sorrow in his voice. "The Wall is a hard place. The men of the Night's Watch take no wives, father no children. Until you have known a woman, you cannot imagine the cost of giving that up."
"Uncle Benjen told me the same," Jon said. "He said I must think carefully. Once I speak the oath, there is no turning back."
"Your uncle speaks wisely," Tyrion replied. "Do you know what the Night's Watch has become?"
"The Night's Watch are the warriors on the Wall," Jon answered at once. "The steadfast shield that guards the realm."
That was what every child in the North was taught.
Tyrion burst out laughing.
"Seems your dear Uncle Benjen did not explain it clearly. Once, serving at the Wall was a mark of honor, a sign of selfless devotion. Knights, highborn men, even nobles chose to don the black. Now? The crows mostly empty out dungeons. Rapers, bandits, hedge knights turned robber. Those will be your brothers."
Jon faltered for a moment at the bluntness of it. Still, he told himself he was ready to face whatever came, even if it meant standing beside such men.
"Why must you become one of them?" Tyrion went on. "To join the crows means no women, ever again. Only you Northmen and Vale folk cling so tightly to such notions. I have three uncles, more than you, and turning them into crows would wound them worse than death. No women. No wandering as you please."
He paused, then added, "And your uncle did not take the black for honor alone."
"What do you mean?" Jon snapped. He would not have Benjen slighted.
"You should read more, bastard brother. Think back to the She-Wolves of Winterfell. A fascinating chapter. There must have been plenty of howling within these walls in those days."
Jon hesitated. He knew what Tyrion meant. Taking the black had often been a way to settle inheritance disputes. Years ago, when Great Lord Beron Stark was gravely wounded fighting the ironborn, House Stark had nearly torn itself apart. Five widowed she-wolves and a dozen Stark children had contended for Winterfell.
"Even so," Tyrion continued, "I would say your uncle's choice was unwise. Your father's generation has only that one brother left. In matters of blood and loyalty, who is more useful than Benjen? Yet he went to the Wall."
"My uncle values honor above everything," Jon said sharply.
"That much I believe. One look at Great Lord Eddard and I see where he learned it."
"Bastards have honor too," Jon insisted. "I have thought on this long and hard. The Night's Watch is an honorable calling."
"You have choices," Tyrion said lightly. "You are your own man, bastard brother."
He lowered his voice.
"Look across the Narrow Sea. The king's bastard flies the dragon banner and crowns himself king. That is a life as well."
Jon felt his throat tighten. A sellsword's path carried no honor, at least not the kind he had been taught to value. The Wall seemed steadier. Yet a youth his own age was stirring storms across the Narrow Sea. Jon could not deny the flicker of envy.
"Isn't that Gendry your house's enemy?" Jon asked. "The Lannister queen would see him dead."
"Enemy, yes," Tyrion admitted. "But the boy is good steel. Do you not envy him? What future would he have had in King's Landing? My dear sister might have kindly sent him to meet the Stranger. Instead, he commands fleets and banners. At his age, perhaps only the Young Dragon once dared look down on the world like that. And even the Young Dragon's war ended in failure."
Jon's thoughts tangled. The Wall had long seemed the answer to his restless nights, a way to claim honor for himself. Yet could he truly abandon freedom for vows? Could he wander the world blade in hand as a sellsword, nameless and without honor?
"Bastard brother," Tyrion said softly, "there is something else you may not know."
"What?"
"Lord Eddard is going south. A new war is gathering."
Jon stiffened. "You mean war with the bastard king across the Narrow Sea? The mercenary king?"
"Who else?" Tyrion replied. "The traitor bastard our fat king and queen curse daily. We already have a Kingslayer in this realm. We cannot well afford a kinslaying king besides. By right and reason, it will be Lord Eddard who leads the host east."
He gave a crooked smile.
"Imagine it. Three hundred warships crashing together on the Narrow Sea. Splintered hulls, burning sails. A finer spectacle than the fall of King Balon. And in such a time, you would still go north?"
Jon felt a chill seep into his bones. If war came, could he truly ride for the Wall as though nothing else mattered?
"So think carefully," Tyrion urged. "You are young. The world is wide. Better to leap about in it for a while before you cage yourself in black."
"I…" Jon faltered. A man of the Night's Watch had no family. If his father fell in battle, he would not be free to leave the Wall.
"Why tell me all this?" Jon asked at last.
Tyrion shrugged.
"Hard to say. Perhaps I find you tolerable. Lady Catelyn's sour looks remind me too much of my own sister."
He lowered his voice further.
"This is Stark business, I know. But compared to the long faces about this castle, you are not unpleasant company, bastard brother."