"You look sad."
Aevyr Snow raised his head from the sword he was sharpening and looked at his cousin with furrowed brows.
The Lord of Winterfell had given them permission to use sharp swords for the first time, and the permission would be extended if the two boys were disciplined and careful in the training yard. Jon had expected Aevyr to be over the moon to finally be able to wield a real sword, but for some strange reason, his bastard cousin had remained silent.
They had isolated themselves near the forge in order to sharpen themselves the swords which had been entrusted to them. The din of the blacksmith's hammer prevented anyone from listening to them.
"Is it Lady Gillianne's pregnancy that's bothering you so much?"
Aevyr's gaze turned dark, Jon knew from then on that he had to choose his next words more carefully.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Aevyr asked.
"Probably." Jon admitted. "My father fucked half the South, I'd be surprised to be an only child."
These words only darkened Aevyr's gaze further, Jon discreetly gritted his teeth.
"I always wanted to have brothers." Aevyr said as he refocused on his sword. "It's always been me against Uncle Bennard's three sons of bitches. I've always envied their brotherhood, even if it's a brotherhood full of assholes."
Jon sighed, Aevyr was still as eloquent as the day they met.
"Do you want to be Lord of Winterfell?"
Aevyr snorted.
"I'd rather be killed and eaten by wildlings than being Father's heir. Lord of Winterfell is a shit job."
Jon burst out laughing, a sad laugh, he thought of Robb and Lord Eddard, of Lord Rickard and his uncle Brandon. He had no arguments to refute his cousin's opinion.
"Do you want to be a Stark?"
The question took Aevyr by surprise, he froze for a few moments, immersed himself in his thoughts, and answered:
"No. Well... I would like to be one but it wouldn't be a good idea. My descendants could attack those of my sibling, especially if it's a girl. It's better that I remain a Snow."
"Gods, we're so alike." Jon thought.
He was about to start talking again but Aevyr cut him off.
"And you? Do you want to be King of Westeros?"
"By the Gods, no!" Jon exclaimed, laughing a little. "It's an even shittier job than Lord of Winterfell."
"Really? What does your royal uncle do with his days?"
"I do not even know." Jon admitted. "He organizes feasts, tournaments, petitions, he solves the problems of the Realm."
"What problems?"
"I don't know." Jon laughed. "My uncle does not like conflict, he prefers to try to please all those who are supposed to please him and he prefers to dress his court with smiles and laughter through balls and feasts than to make order and justice rule. And he gets fatter faster than he ages."
Aevyr snorted in amusement.
"Just like Father, poor old man spends his life sitting in his solar or on the throne of the Kings of Winter, he hates it. I bet he longs to join the Night's Watch to go and crush wildlings' skulls."
Jon laughed and Aevyr followed him, but when their laughter died down, the Prince remarked:
"You still haven't told me what's making you brood."
"Oh, I still have a way to go before I reach your level in this matter, cousin."
"Aevyr…" Jon sighed. "If you don't want to answer, say so, but stop avoiding the question."
The bastard's face went from amused to deadly in the blink of an eye. Jon thought he would make a formidable court politician.
"The next time you imply that I'm a coward, I'll smash your skull in."
"I didn't imply anything, I just want us to be honest with each other." Jon replied in a stiff tone. "If you don't want to talk about it, I'll keep my mouth shut. But I'd still like to understand; you want a brother, you don't want to be Lord of Winterfell or even a Stark, so why does your stepmother's pregnancy concern you so much?"
Aevyr rolled his eyes to clear away his murderous look and looked at the keep for a long moment.
"The last time Lady Gillianne was pregnant, I was overjoyed, but at the same time... I was sad. I was afraid that Father and his wife would live a real family life while I would be exiled in a dark corner like the runt of the litter. I... I wanted to avoid that, so I went to pick a winter rose from the Godswood to give to Lady Gillianne, hoping that she would allow me to... to be part of the family."
Jon felt his own heart breaking, how many times had he wished the same from Lady Catelyn? If she had allowed him to call her 'Mother', if she had been a real mother to him, he might never have wanted to know his real mother, out of fear of breaking the image that Lady Catelyn would have given. him.
"And she refused." It was not a question.
"No, she agreed." Aevyr replied to Jon's surprise. "She smiled at me, and allowed me to touch her belly. A moon later, she lost the child."
Jon's eyes widened in horror when he realized where his cousin was getting at.
"And she holds you responsible."
"I hold myself responsible." Aevyr admitted sadly. "I've been dreaming about this little brother for months. When Lady Gillianne was kind to me for the first time since she married Father, I honestly thought we were going to be a real pack. I was dreaming of the day where I could train all my little brothers to kick our cousins' asses." He sighed. "This dream has gone up in smoke, Lady Gillianne hates me more than ever and I can only look at her belly from afar, praying that the child will be healthy. The future is quite dark for me."
He leaned back on his sword and continued to sharpen it.
"You don't have to stay here, you know? You can come with me to the South."
"That's why you spend so much time with me." Aevyr said without looking up from his sword. "You want a brother too, one who will be there to watch your back and fight alongside you."
A long moment of awkward silence followed this statement, Aevyr breaking it with a sigh.
"Jon... I would love to follow you into battle, flying with you on your dragon. On the other hand, do you honestly think that your father will never marry and have no children other than you? Trueborn children who will monopolize all your attention. Where will my place be when that happens? You will condemn me to be the bastard cousin that you brought out of the North to fight at your side when the conflicts arise. But what place would I have? What could make me abandon my unborn sibling?"
Jon had no response, a great feeling of shame and sadness had overcome him. As well as perplexity.
"You are hated and despised in Winterfell." He said. "What place will you have when your father passes away?"
"I will be the protector of my siblings." Aevyr said. "The wolf who protects the pack."
"Lady Gillian..."
"...Will not prevent me from fulfilling my duty." Aevyr finished. "She can hate me as much as she wants, she will not kick me out of Winterfell, neither she nor Uncle Bennard will succeed in breaking me."
Jon didn't answer, he just watched his cousin finish sharpening his sword. His words had deeply hurt him, he who had abandoned his family to find his place at the Wall, he felt inferior in front of this cousin who would endure anything and everything to protect an unborn sibling. The Gods were cruel.
"Do not take it badly." Aevyr said as he stood up to test his perfectly sharp blade with a few swings. "You are my first true friend, but I know that if you had to sacrifice me to save a brother or sister of your blood, you would only hesitate for a moment or two, I would do the same."
Jon smiled sadly, he could only agree. For a long time, he had believed that the black brothers had become his new brothers and that his past had not mattered. What a mistake and what a lie that was. Still... he had hoped that the bond he would forge with Aevyr would be strong enough to ignore the fact that they were not blood brothers. How naive of him that had been.
"Jon, I will not stay in your shadow." Aevyr said as he placed his blade on his shoulder. "I will carve my own path, I will become a man who hardly needs his royal cousin to show himself in broad daylight. And when that day comes, you and I will face these formidable enemies that you fear so much."
Once again, Jon smiled, though that one smile was less sad than the others.
"You do realize that, in order for this to happen, you're gonna have to be one of the greatest warriors in Westeros?"
"You're implying that I can't?" Aevyr asked with an amused tone. "Not all of us are born great, mere men have to accomplish greatness."
"I was not born great." Jon refuted, thinking of both his births. "Merely lucky. I inherited assets that I would not have obtained without both my parents' blood and the accomplishments of Aegon the Conqueror and Jaehaerys the Wise. Just like you would not have even dreamed of greatness without your Father being the Lord of Winterfell."
"Meh, you're probably right." Aevyr nodded. "Mark my words though, once we're grown men, you won't be able to do a single thing without me at your side."
Jon laughed at his cousin's confidence.
"Then I got to make sure you start falling behind." He said as he got up with his sword sharp.
"Now, I believe Ser Steffon has been waiting for us long enough, a few more minutes and he will have us run ten miles into the Wolfswood."
"Can't move around without that dragon of yours, my Prince?"
"I'll run fast enough to leave you behind if a pack of wolves falls upon us."
"I'll hunt you alongside the wolves if that happens."
Both boys laughed as they made their way to the training ground, where Ser Steffon had been waiting far too long for their training session to be pleasant.
(-)(-)(-)
Jon and Aevyr fought, spared and trained for hours. Ser Steffon had been so displeased by their tardiness that he had denied them lunch, and had instead send them running around Winterfell for two hours once their sparring was done. When they came back to him, he gave them leave to bath before their lesson with Maester Alim. Both boys decided that it would take too long to take a proper bath, so they went to Winterfell's hot spring to wash away the blood, mud and dirt that had tainted their clothes. A servant brought them clean clothes and boots that they wore when they entered the Maester's solar. As usual, Maester Alim was very pleased to see them and sat them down for their lesson.
Even though Aevyr's reading and writing were still not as good as the Maester wished them to be, he had made more than significant progress, and the fact that his royal cousin was forced to read for him the stories of the Realm had greatly annoyed the bastard. Now Aevyr was working hard to correct his ignorance, even if it was only to free himself from the dependence he might have had on his cousin.
On the other hand, the maester wondered if Prince Jaehaeron was not also, if not more, dependent on Aevyr. The two young boys were always shoved together, which had greatly annoyed Lord Bennard's sons as well as Bennard himself, increasing the friction between Rickon's family and that of his brother.
Lord Bennard had not spoken a single word to Prince Jaehaeron, he was content to look at him from afar, and with a look that had nothing paternal or friendly. It was the same for Lady Gillianne, who had retreated into her apartments, only coming out to have supper or to get some fresh air for an hour. Only Lord Rickon seemed to appreciate the friendship between the 'purple twins', a nickname given to them by the common people of Wintertown when Aevyr showed Prince Jaehaeron around the town, and which had become even more popular when they were seen flying on the back of a dragon.
As a Maester, Alim was not supposed to take sides or even attach himself to the inhabitants of the castle to which he had been assigned. But he was human before he was a Maester, and if he were honest with himself, he would admit that he hoped that Lady Gillianne's unborn child would become more attached to his bastard brother and his royal cousin than to his Stark cousins. The latters had not taken the news of Lady Gillianne's pregnancy with all the joy that such news should have caused.
And Lord Rickon, if he had refrained from making a comment, had noticed it.
Maester Alim grimaced, he had discovered in the journal of the previous Maester of Winterfell that the animosity between Rickon and Bennard went back to their childhood. Bennard having always been the less discreet of the two; Proud of his Stark strength and the prestige of his lineage, the youngest brother had always argued that the northerners were stagnating in the shadow of a South which was gaining power over the decades.
Many times he had petitioned his brother so that he would introduce laws which would improve - according to him - the prosperity of the country, and form regiments of soldiers dedicated solely to the art of war and the protection of the Realm. If in itself the ideas were not bad, Bennard had the ambition to send men to the South in order to show off Northern strength. Which was hardly to Rickon's taste, who found his brother's projects ambitious but unrealizable. Bennard wanted to invest too much gold for too many prestigious profits and too limited good harvests, and contrary to what the Lords who were the most attached to ancient traditions believed, the North needed to improve its economy to prosper. An insoluble problem for the inhabitants of the largest kingdom in Westeros.
Additionally, Bennard was unable to understand that Southerners would not respect Northerners simply for their strength. The South already saw northerners as barbarians, a strong barbarian remained a barbarian in their eyes. Southerners would surely consider Northerners more if they dressed or behaved more like them. The cultural differences between the North and the South prevented the Northerners from being anything other than a barbaric people whose country was too poor and large to change its customs. If they had the ability, the South would have long ago uprooted the weirwood trees and converted Northerners to chivalry and the importance of opulence in the demonstration of power.
Likewise, the northerners were not exempt from all reproaches, not content to consider the southerners as weaklings who were more interested in their clothes than in their preparations for the next winter. They had a contempt very similar to that which the southerners had for them, whether it was their religion, their cultures, their arts, their men or even their women, the northerners loathed the southerners. And it wasn't an armed force with the sole purpose of serving the potential common interests between the two halves of Westeros that was going to change that.
The Maester's eyes then rested on Prince Jaehaeron, the child born from not two, but three different cultures; Northern, Southern and Valyrian.
Maester Alim liked this boy, who not only had a sharp mind, but kept it open to all the customs and cultures that he knew nothing about, and which he sought to understand rather than despise. Perhaps this boy would succeed in creating a bridge between the North and the South, which would allow prosperity and understanding among the peoples of his uncles, this, the maester could only hope. A more united people guaranteed prosperity for all.
He was brought out of his thoughts by a phrase Aevyr spoke in High Valyrian, he scratched his chin thoughtfully as he watched the bastard repeat, 'I am the sword in the darkness' in the language of the ancient dragonlords.
While he still struggled with reading and writing, Aevyr's progress in High Valyrian was absolutely astonishing. His accent was strong, but his pronunciation surprisingly correct. Aevyr had a keen ear, repeating his cousin's words with a precision worthy of a lethal swordsman.
Alim had always known that the child was intelligent, he was capable of many intellectual feats if the subject he was introduced to interested him. What the Maester had not anticipated was the bastard's interest in High Valyrian.
Why was Aevyr so invested in learning the native language of House Targaryen? Was it for practical reasons? Did he want to converse in secret with his cousin? Or was it for the prestige it brought? After all, who would expect a Snow to speak the language of old Valyria?
Alim Celtigar shook his head, smiling, these children intrigued him as much as they amused him and made him proud. Soon, he would have to expand the field of knowledge he wanted to pass on to them. If only out of curiosity about what they would do with it.
(-)(-)(-)
Rickon Stark was... happier than he had been in a long time when the maester reported to him on his son and nephew's lessons.
Jaehaeron had an excellent influence on Aevyr, his son was finally obtaining the maturity that he had so lacked until now. In return, Aevyr seemed to be the only person in all of Winterfell in whom his cousin confided, and according to Ser Steffon Darklyn - who did not appreciate the way the bastard beat up his Prince, but who had to comply with the latter's wishes - Jaehaeron was making impressive progress as a swordsman. And Aevyr prevented him by all means from granting him a number of victories greater than his own, their rivalry mixed with their friendship made them strong, Rickon would have liked to get along as well with Bennard, but his brother was too proud and jealous of his position as heir, blood would be the only bond between them.
Rickon sighed and felt a shiver of terror run down his spine. The same fear that had haunted him since his wife had announced her pregnancy to him. The loss of his second son had torn his heart, it had been worse than Daella's death, and Rickon had almost believed that he would never share a woman's bed again, not even his wife's. The result of his couplings was always bloody. How could the Gods curse him so much? Was it a crime to have loved a woman he could not marry? Was it a crime to have married a woman he could not love? Why had the Gods taken his son? Why had they spared Aevyr but taken his mother? Were they going to take this child growing in Gillianne's womb? Or were they going to take Gillianne herself? Rickon didn't know, Rickon didn't want to know. Rickon prayed to the Old Gods not to force him to make a choice, because he knew on who his choice would fall. He had no feeling for Gillianne except respect, he could not consent to sacrifice a child of his blood to save her. Nothing had been more important to him since the birth of Aevyr and the loss of his second son.
He hoped that the unborn child would be a boy, as childish as his reason was, he refused to let Bennard and his three idiot sons inherit Winterfell, his 'plans' would lead the North to its doom, and Aevyr would be released into the wild without any form of support from his family. His daughter, if it was one, would be married to the Lord who would best help Bennard in his ambitions, Rickon refused to allow his blood to be sacrificed for his brother's ambition, it was intolerable.
The good mood that the Maester's report had put him in having now left him, Rickon shook his head and set out to clear his mind in the Godswood, where no one but the Old Gods would discover his condition.
However, as he walked towards the weirwood tree, he heard metallic clanking and children's voices. He frowned, the Sun was almost down and supper time was approaching, only two children would be... hard enough to train at this time of day.
Aevyr and Jon exchanged blow for blow with, fortunately, dull blades. However the Lord of Winterfell realized that the blades used by his nephew and son were larger than them, making their blows more clumsy and their movements much slower.
"The beating I gave you should have been enough for you." Aevyr shouted with a clumsy thrust. "Training with these things must be torture for a runt like you."
"I admit my arms are hurting." Jon nodded, taking two steps back to avoid another attack from his cousin. "But your hits are particularly lousy, cousin, your arms are too weak to wield such a weapon."
Aevyr rolled his eyes.
"Do you really think training us this way will make us stronger?"
"Yes, we must not only improve our skill with weapons, but also our strength and our endurance. A battle can last a long time, we must be ready to fight for hours if necessary."
"You won't be fighting for hours." Aevyr sneered, pushing him back further. "You've already died six times since we started."
"And you died twice!" Jon replied. "In a real battle you would be as dead as me."
"Point taken." Aevyr nodded. "I guess I'll have to kill you ten more times to ensure my survival."
Jon laughed, dodged the bastard's attack and hit him in the hip, thus guaranteeing himself a third victory which enraged Aevyr. The bastard then dropped his heavy sword and began to run after his cousin with his fists out. Jon ran away laughing while his cousin showered him with insults.
Rickon couldn't help but chuckle quietly as he saw the boys rolling in the dust. They hardly exchanged blows, instead they struggled to immobilize the other in what looked like a crude game of wrestling.
Rickon looked at them and found himself imagining a little boy of about three years old who looked exactly like Aevyr, but with gray eyes. The little boy was happily jumping around his brother and cousin while encouraging them. Then he jumped into the fray, forcing his elders to interrupt their duel and grant him victory by submitting to his laughter and cries of joy.
Rickon gritted his teeth as he came out of his dream, his fear had suddenly returned, and as Jon and Aevyr continued to struggle in the dust, he closed his eyes, and prayed.
"Gods of my ancestors, I beg you, spare my child. Spare him, let him live, I will do anything, I will make any sacrifice, pity, spare my child. Let him grow up with his brother and his cousin, allow him to know the joys of childhood, make him strong like his brother and smart like his cousin. I beg you, spare him."