"I intend to join the Night's Watch," Jon Snow announced brusquely, breaking the silence in the near-empty Great Hall. The other highborns and servants who had broken their fast had already left for their duties. Daylight streamed through the hall's long windows, and the blue sky outside was cloudless. Jon felt cold even in the light of the sun. Across the table, Robb Stark's blue eyes widened, and the ward Theon Greyjoy's eyes rolled.

"You're taking the black?" Robb reiterated, thick eyebrows creasing, "I know you've spoken of it, but so soon?"

"Yes, that's what I said," Jon replied, frowning, "I'll be leaving the same day as the royal host."

His brother looked at him worriedly but simply pressed his lips together. His silence continued as he drank some water. The bastard did not know what he expected of Robb's response, but it was surely not silence. Jon sighed and grabbed his fork to poke around at the food meant to break his fast. Ghost nudged Jon's arm for some meat with his nose, and the boy yielded a bit of ham to the direwolf. Satisfied, the wolf lay calmly down next to his master.

"I will be training in the yard with the prince today," Robb broached, directing his words at Theon. Jon gripped his fork tightly. I see.

"Joffrey?" Theon sneered, "He'll be an easy opponent."

"How do you know?" Jon responded, matching the older boy's snideness. Theon shot him a glare.

"I mean... look at him." The Greyjoy waved his hand in front of his face. At least we can agree that Prince Joffrey is unseemly, Jon thought.

"I don't see how the prince's foul countenance will aid my victory," Robb countered.

"You'll want to beat him with the utmost haste so you don't have to keep looking at him," Theon quipped. The Stark let out a snort of laughter, and Jon repressed his want to laugh. Jon was not a part of this conversation, not really. He was often used to being left out of the jests between Theon and Robb and then, on occasion, the target of said japes. The runt of the litter. The one thing Greyjoy is right about, the bastard remembered, looking at the other boys briefly. His flawless heir of a half-brother and the cocksure ward, who was still of noble birth.

"So, the Night's Watch." To Jon's shock, it was Theon who spoke. Jon met the other boy's eyes, which were full of mischief. As a bastard, he had learned to read the truth in people's eyes. Gods be good. "Are you so sure you want to swear off women, Snow? You have not even known one yourself."

"I don't care about that," Jon snapped back, staring daggers at Theon.

"As you will," the ward replied, standing up from the table. "I'll see you green boys in the yard." He left without a kind word or gesture, even to Robb.

"What's wrong with him?" Jon looked at his brother, whose face had grown solemn.

"I couldn't tell you," Robb grumbled, getting to his feet, "I better get to training." He paused and let out a long sigh. "I will miss you when you go to the Watch, very much."

"And I will miss you," Jon said with an ache in his heart, "But I'll come watch the training, hm?" So, no silence. The Stark smiled at him softly and nodded, then took his leave. It would not be long until Jon watched Robb walk away from him for the last time in years. Despite the pain, Jon knew he was ready to take charge of his life and choices. There is no place for me here. Not anymore.

Jon rose from the hall's table to go to the yard. He knew he could not watch alongside the retinue of the royal family or House Stark, as a bastard too close was improper. Lady Stark likely thinks I soil her sons' reputations with every breath.

Thankfully, Jon knew where to get a superior view of the yard. He made his way down the long, various halls of Winterfell, going up stone spiral staircases and narrow ways to one of the castle's covered bridges. Ghost pattered beside him, soft as mist. Eventually, Jon reached his destination, but to his surprise, it was occupied. But when he recognized the figure leaning out of the bridge's window, a soft smile came to his face.

"Have they begun sparring?" Jon called out to Hilena, who jolted at his voice and then laughed. Why is she here?

"Snow, you scared me!" Ghost pattered up to the girl who knelt down to pet the wolf. She continued, "They have just finished their first bout. Your brother and the crown prince." Jon walked to the window and peered into the yard.

One side of the yard was dominated by the royal party and prince's companions, the other by the Starks and those close to Robb. Prince Joffrey's side had several mailed men and rich velvet banners of Houses Lannister and Baratheon. It is odd how the Queen's family is given equal respect to the royal house. Meanwhile, a singular, simple Stark banner opposed the majesties. The ferocity of House Stark's snarling wolf rivaled the clear intimidation from the Prince. Strength wins a battle, not riches. He had said that to Hilena once during a ponderous debate. She most certainly disagreed.

"How was the first fight?" Jon pushed himself up onto the sill of the window, leaned on the frame, and drew a leg languidly to his chest. He looked to Hilena, who leaned serenely on the opposite wall, running her fingers softly through Ghost's fur. It pleased him that his wolf and friend were agreeable.

"Dreadful," she returned in a clipped tone, "Both of them are too confident to be clever, so they simply whack at each other with those sticks. They could at least entertain, but no. Ah, and here they go again to bore us all."

Jon returned to gaze upon the yard; indeed, the two heirs were opposite each other, ready to clash. He could see Joffrey's smug expression even from up high and the severe concentration on Robb's face. Jon glanced at Hilena, her expression tense and eyes loyal to the scene before them. Hm. The bastard returned his gaze to the yard as Ser Rodrik Cassel gestured to the boys to begin.

Robb charged forward, Joffrey swiftly parrying his blows away.

"Seven hells, you can do better than that," Jon cursed under his breath. There was no end to swipes, adjustments, and curses. Whenever one boy seemed to have an advantage, the other beat his opponent back. The clatter of the wooden swords resounded every time they met, swat after swat. Men on either side shouted and pounded their fists.

Suddenly, Joffrey got caught off guard and knocked back into the dirt. Cheers and clapping erupted from Stark men while the royal party glowered. The southerners had been in Winterfell for a week and appeared nowhere near content with the castle and its people.

"The Others take me," Hilena mumbled. Jon cocked an eyebrow and looked at her. She scoffed, "I made a bet with Harwin that your brother would lose at least once. So far, that hasn't happened, and I'm not about to lose three coppers."

"Only three coppers?"

"Only?" Hilena glared at the boy, her hazel eyes boring into him. The Snow bowed his head in apology. She smiled curtly. "They'll go for another round soon enough." Instead, Ser Rodrick brought forward little Bran and Tommen to go against each other. Both wore an obscene amount of quilted armor and bore padded wooden swords. They began hitting each other, huffing and waddling.

A moment later, Ghost moved away from Hilena. The Snow's eyes tracked the direwolf until a figure came into view. There stood his sister Arya Stark, breathless and hair awry, with her wolf Nymeria at her side. His wonderful, wild sister.

"Shouldn't you be working on your stitches, little sister?" Jon asked, a wry smile on his lips.

Arya made an annoyed face and answered, "I wanted to see them fight." How like her.

"Come on, then," Jon said. The girl ran over with Nymeria and Ghost at her heels, and as she got close, Hilena drew away from her spot against the window.

"Pardon, m'lady," the commoner said with a bowed head. Arya clambered onto the windowsill next to Jon, then regarded Hilena.

"You don't have to call me a lady. Are you Harwin's sister?"

Hilena hesitated. "Yes."

"You're a hunter! And you know how to fight!" Arya exclaimed, her grey eyes sparkling, "Your brother Harwin talks about you, so have Robb and Jon. I wish I could be like you, but Father would never let me." Jon took care to examine his friend's expression.

Hilena, taken aback, responded, "Does your lord father let you shoot with a bow and arrow?"

"No," the Stark answered solemnly, "Why?"

"You should ask him to let you. I pursued archery when I was your age, and Lord Stark approved." Hilena's courtesies were rehearsed, but Jon could sense the true kindness in her words. Arya and her had their similarities.

At the commoner's words, Arya gave her a toothy grin. Jon gave Hilena a surprised glance, his friend's nose scrunching in irritation. The trio began studying the younger boys' drilling, the pair still puffing and hobbling around.

"Fighting is a shade more exhausting than needlework," Jon quipped.

"A shade more fun than needlework," Arya retorted. Jon smiled widely at that, reaching over to his sister and ruffling her brown hair. He had always cared the most for Arya of all the Stark children. She sees me as her brother just as much as her trueborn ones. She did not have her mother's Tully image like her siblings. Arya and Jon both had their father's long face and dark hair. I am still a bastard, Jon thought.

"Why aren't you down in the yard?" Arya asked, innocently looking up at her brother.

"Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes," he said with a thin smile, "Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords." Arya let out a small oh, and Hilena a tsk.

"I could do just as good as Bran," the Stark girl asserted, "He's only ten. I'm eleven."

Jon, six-and-ten going on seven-and-ten, looked over her. "You're too skinny." He grasped her arm and felt the muscle, then sighed and shook his head. "I doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one." Arya snatched her arm away and scowled at Jon. The bastard reached out and messed up her hair again.

"You see Prince Joffrey?" he asked as Bran and Tommen circled. "Look at the arms on his surcoat." On the padded cloth was an ornate shield, the arms divided down the middle. On one side, the crowned Baratheon stag was embroidered; on the other, the roaring Lannister lion. "The Lannisters are proud. You'd think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother's house equal in honor to the king's."

"The woman is important too!" Arya objected, which elicited a chuckle from Hilena.

"Perhaps you should do the same thing," the older girl suggested, "Wed Tully to Stark in your arms."

"A wolf with a fish in its mouth?" Arya laughed at the notion. "That would look silly. Besides, if a girl can't fight, why should she have a coat of arms?"

Hilena shrugged. "Girls get the arms but not the swords."

"Bastards get the swords but not the arms," Jon added, "We did not make the rules, little sister."

Suddenly, a shout came from the courtyard. Prince Tommen lay on the ground, rolling in the dust as he tried to get to his feet. Bran held his wooden sword above the other boy, prepared to strike the prince. All the surrounding men began laughing.

"Enough!" Ser Rodrick yelled, helping Tommen onto his feet. "Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor. Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?" Robb, sweaty from the previous fight, stepped forward eagerly.

"Gladly," he said. In Jon's periphery, Hilena stiffened. Joffrey moved into the light with a bored expression, the sun shining on his golden hair.

"This is a game for children, Ser Rodrick," the prince patronized.

Theon Greyjoy let out a bark of laughter and said, "You are children." Shut up.

"Robb may be a child," Joffrey answered, "I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword." He has a stick up his ass. Same as Theon.

"You got more swats than you gave, Joff," Robb shot back, "Are you afraid?" Prince Joffrey turned to the Stark.

"Oh, terrified. You're so much older." Some Lannister men laughed, and Jon grimaced.

"Joffrey is truly a little shit," the Snow seethed.

Old Rodrick stroked his white beard and asked, "What are you suggesting?"

"Live steel," Joffrey declared. Tension immediately filled the air, men in the yard shifting awkwardly... or longingly.

"They can't!" Hilena blurted out. Jon looked at her, and she swiftly changed her expression from concern to stony. Promptly she mouthed, piss off at him.

"Done," Robb yelled at the prince, "You'll be sorry!"

Rodrick put a hand on the Stark boy's shoulder. "Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords with blunted edges." Then, a tall knight with a terribly burned face pushed his way forward. The Hound, Jon identified, his skin prickling.

The man began speaking, "This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?"

"Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it."

"Are you training women here?"

"I am training knights," Ser Rodrick replied, "They will have steel when they are ready. When they are of an age."

The Hound then turned to Robb. "How old are you, boy?"

"Sixteen," the boy said.

"I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword." That put a foul taste in Jon's mouth. Robb bristled at the comment, his pride wounded.

"Let me do it," he demanded, turning to Ser Rodrick, "I can beat him." What an idiot.

"Beat him with a tourney blade, then," the old Cassel answered.

Joffrey shrugged. "Come and see me when you're older, Stark. If you're not too old." The royal men laughed once again. Robb began cursing furiously, Theon Greyjoy seizing him so he would not lunge at the prince. Joffrey faked a yawn and turned to his younger brother.

"Come, Tommen. The hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolics." The prince's men howled with laughter, and Robb swore even more. Ser Rodrick was red with fury, and Theon kept the Stark boy in an iron grip as the royal party left. After everyone calmed down and took their leave, Jon climbed off the windowsill.

"The show is done," Jon remarked. Ghost had laid down by the window by Nymeria, the boy leaning down to scratch the white wolf's ears. "You had best run back to your room, little sister. Septa Mordane will surely be lurking. The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You'll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers."

"I hate needlework!" Arya declared passionately, in all seriousness, "It's not fair!"

"Nothing is fair," Jon said gravely. Once again, he mussed up his little sister's hair. Arya let out a heavy breath and departed with her wolf. You'll understand one day. Jon turned to Hilena, who was still leaning against the window. "It seems you owe your brother."

"Yes, it seems so," she replied, her eyes still lingering on the courtyard, "If you can even say he lost in the face of that humiliation. Joffrey is horrible." Jon walked over to her and examined the yard. Most people had dispersed except for Robb, Theon, and Rodrick Cassel. The Greyjoy and master-at-arms appeared to be lecturing the Stark.

"He is. You were very against the prissy prince and my brother using live steel," Jon remarked, "Why would that be?"

"Does it matter?" Hilena said and stepped away from the window. "It would have been much too dangerous. It is that simple." Jon conceded at that, but in his heart, he knew there was more to the whole affair than that. There was a fragility to those happenings, and he would leave them in peace. The pair walked towards the Great Keep, Ghost between them. Silence hung thickly. Wait, Jon remembered, I need to tell her.

"Hilena," Jon stopped to regard his friend, grabbing her arm lightly, "I must tell you something."

"What is it?" She returned his gaze attentively, none the wiser. Ghost between them sat on his haunches, panting.

"I'm going to—" Jon paused and swallowed thickly, "I am joining the Night's Watch."

Hilena's eyes widened in shock. "Are you serious?"

Jon had thought about taking the black for a long time, usually confessing his aspiration to do so to Hilena. He joked about it, sometimes, quipping about living his entire life as a frozen celibate stuck in black. It's the life I've chosen for myself, and I won't be able to return once I've sworn my vows. I hope I'll mean them.

"I've talked with my uncle Benjen and my father. I'll leave for the Wall the same day the royal host departs."

"So soon?" Hilena wrinkled her nose. "Will it make you happy?"

Will it? Nobody's asked that. Jon studied his friend's face and realized she was sincerely worried about his future. She and Arya are the only ones who truly care, perhaps Robb. Not Father, not Benjen Stark, not anyone else. Jon had been sure he wanted to join the black brothers when he spoke with his uncle. He had been ready to take the oath, but Benjen only listed drawbacks. Why deter me?

No families. No sons. No wives or lovers. None of that mattered to Jon. What don't I understand because I've never known a woman? Then Benjen had told Jon to see how he felt after he bore a couple of bastards. I will never father a bastard, the boy affirmed in his mind, fury filling him at the memory. Never! My uncle is wrong. Never.

But if I don't join the Watch, what place could I hope to earn otherwise? Robb would one day inherit Winterfell, be its lord and Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be their older brother's bannermen and rule holdfasts. Sansa and Arya would marry lordlings of other great houses and be mistresses of southern castles. Hilena may settle and live contently without worry. I have no place. Not among the highborn or the low.

"There is nothing for me in Winterfell except for more of the same, "Jon finally said, folding his arms across his chest. "And besides, I'm sure I can visit often, and you and the others can visit me. It is not like I will be in Dorne or Essos."

"Will Arya take it well?" Hilena glanced back to where they had stood. "She'll miss you more terribly if you go to the Wall than if you stayed in Winterfell."

"She'll be fine." Jon felt a spark of joy at the thought of his sister. "Arya's a fierce thing. And I'll give her something to remember me by."

Hilena's eyebrows raised. "A gift?"

"A sword," Jon revealed, "I've started discussing it with Mikken."

"She will love that!" Hilena said and then grew solemn."Winterfell will be lonely without you." Her words brought Jon great pain, but knowing she cared for him eased it. He wanted to thank her.

Jon mustered a joke instead, "There are always the horses!" The two laughed ruefully, but for him, it was spurious. Serious conversation does not suit us.

"You must send letters," Hilena continued, "Tell me about the Wall, your black brothers, wildlings, and what other grumkins and snarks lie to the far North."

"Then you must write about what it's like here without me. It will thrill, I'm sure," Jon said, "But we have time. Shall we walk in the Winter Town?"

"That would be most pleasing." Hilena grinned and took off down the hallway with Ghost on her heels. With a laugh, Jon chased after her and his wolf, throwing all thoughts of the future ahead of him aside.