Chapter Text
It was one of the Riverrun servants who first called him a bastard.
Jon, barely three namedays old, hadn’t known the meaning of the word, but children are perceptive. The tone, the curled lip, the look of contempt—that lodged itself deep in him, a splinter he’d feel for years.
Jon and Robb had been playing some courtyard game—the rules long blurred in Jon’s memory. What remained was the expression on the temporary nanny’s face; their usual nurse had been called away, leaving them with this woman who already looked at Jon like he was something she’d stepped in.
Jon swung his little wooden ‘sword’ against Robb’s. Both boys jumped at the sharp crraack that split the air. Wide purple eyes met wide blue ones before they looked down at the long fracture running up the center of Jon’s sword.
“What did you do?!” the woman snapped. “This is why bastards don’t deserve toys—no respect for your betters’ belongings.” Her lip curled as she ripped the broken sword from Jon’s hands, her nails catching his skin.
Jon burst into tears.
Robb—older by a few turns and already fiercely protective—tightened his grip, raised his own toy sword, and smacked it against the woman’s knee with all the righteous fury a toddler could muster.
Her shriek summoned the guards. One scooped the enraged Little Lord up under one arm, deftly relieving him of the toy, while the other crouched beside Jon, who was sobbing so hard he hiccuped.
“Come now, Snowpup,” the guard murmured, the years had wiped Jon’s recollection of his name, leaving Jon only with a vague impression of kindness “wipe those tears. Any more crying and your nose might fall clean off—oh! Too late.” He plucked Jon’s ‘nose’ from his face, holding his thumb up triumphantly.
Jon’s sobs hitched, “Hic—no—hic—it—hic—won’t!”
The guard widened his eyes in mock horror and hastily pressed the “nose” back onto Jon’s face.
“Look at that—good as new.”
Jon rolled his eyes dramatically, but the tears had stopped. The guard took his small hand and led him toward the kitchens, chatting about the fresh scones Cook had made and how a handsome boy like Jon could surely charm the old woman into giving him two.
Back in the courtyard, it only took a short conversation with the Little Lord Robb for the guards to understand the situation, and lead the infuriated servant towards the Lords Chambers, where an extremely uncomfortable conversation with Lord Stark awaited her.
Jon didn't learn what bastard meant that day, but he also never saw that particular servant again.
Jon had been raised in the nursery with Robb—shared a wet nurse, toys, clothes, lessons. He was a clever child who’d met the Cerwyn twins several times, so naturally he assumed he and Robb were also twins. They were brothers, they were the same age—what else could they be?
Lady Stark corrected him swiftly.
“I am not your mother.” Her cold blue eyes pinned him in place.
Years later, Jon would be able to look back on Lady Stark’s treatment of him with a certain level of understanding. Their relationship could be best characterized by a series of ups and downs, but while she had not treated him kindly, she had also not mistreated him. At times she had even acted cordially with him-especially once she realized Jon had no interest in Robb’s inheritance.
(Unknown to him, but his own destiny awaited him)
Jon had grown up in a unique position, a bastard raised alongside the Lord of Winterfell’s legitimate children. Even in that North, who didn’t view bastardy as sinful, at least on the child’s part, that was just not done. Very few people had known how to react to Jon at first, and for a devout follower of the Seven and highborn Sothron Lady, Jon wasn’t surprised Lady Stark had been less than pleased with Jon’s existence.
A Northern woman might have taken a strip out of their unfaithful husband's hide, but a ‘proper’ Sothron Lady like Lady Stark would never allow herself to be outwardly angry with her husband, which made Jon an easier target.
Despite this, Lady Stark had never hurt him.
Jon’s belly had always been full, his fire wood always stocked, furs and boots as functional as her own children’s, and the only bruises Jon ever had were a product of training or his own ill judgment. Jon had attended lessons with her children, and while she wasn’t pleased when Jon did well, there were never any physical consequences when Jon did better than Robb.
How much of that was her own morals or Lord Stark’s orders, Jon would never know.
But at four namedays old, none of that nuance existed. All he knew was that Lady Stark wanted him gone.
And everything changed the day she forced the matter.
***
Jon crouched outside the nursery door as voices rose inside, his left eye positioned in the crack of the door as he watched his Papa and Lady Stark fight.
"-not have that bastard learning at the foot of my son-your heir!" Lady Stark's cold blue eyes had flashed with anger as she argued with his papa, her tone clipped and short, her arms wrapped around baby Sansa protectively.
"Both my sons will receive the best education I can provide as Lord of Winterfell" papa's face had been stone cold, as cold and immovable as the mountains, and Lady Stark's expression went distant and placid.
“You told me Winterfell would be my new home, yet I have endured insult after insult since you brought your bastard here!” she cried. “Your people sneer at my faith. They parade their daughters at you. They call me Lady Stark but none accept me!”
“I warned your father—” Ned began.
“And you do nothing to stop them!” she snapped.
“I’ve done what I can. But you make it harder by pushing the Seven on those who follow the Old Gods. You replaced servants without consulting me. I cannot alienate my bannermen.”
“They call Robb Andal-born. They question my fidelity!” Tears streamed down her face. “They say the same of Sansa now that she’s fire-touched!”
Ned’s silence was heavy.
"I have provided for the child, when many other Sothron Ladies would have ensured the little beast had an ‘unfortunate accident’, offered him food, shelter and protection, but this is too far. I will not have my son raised in the shadow of some baseborn whelp!”
“You will not touch Jon.” papa's voice wasn't raised, but it reverberated through the room all the same, dripping menace and Lady Catelyn's face turned the color of milk, and Jon flinched from where he was crouched outside the door.
"I'm wroth with you, my lord, but I would not harm a child, and the fact you think me capable of-" more tears dripped from her eyes, and the tension bled from papa's shoulders.
“I know. I only—” Ned hesitated, “I promised his mother I would protect him.”
Silence. Jon held his breath.
“What woman,” Catelyn whispered, “commands such devotion from you that you’d threaten your Lady Wife, who holds such a tight grip upon your heart that you would bring your bastard into your home, offer him a seat at your table, a Lord's education, and raise him along your trueborn children?”
“It is not relevant.”
“It is entirely relevant!”
Ned didn’t answer.
"Regardless, I am the Lord of Winterfell and I'm telling you that Jon will be raised as a son of House Stark" papa's voice was low and even, with an icy edge that Jon had never heard at that point in his young life.
"If that is your final decision, my Lord, I have no choice but to accept your judgment. However, I believe we are at a crossroads," Lady Catelyn's lips quivered, and she pulled a folded letter from her skirts, and handed it to his papa. "Either you compromise with me right now, or I shall be returning to the seat of my Lord Father, I’ll start preparing for the separation of my Household in the morn” Lady Catelyn’s face was a cold mask as she looked at her husband, unflinching and uncompromising.
Jon wouldn't learn what the letter said for many years, wouldn't know what had been said to create such a look of rage and loathing on his normally gentle papa's face that even Lady Catelyn, sure of her ensuing victory, took an instinctive step back.
"Are you certain you want to take this step?" Lord Stark asked, not a drop of warmth in his face, and Lady Catelyn's hands fisted in her skirts, and more tears fell from her eyes.
"You think I want any of this? Nothing about this situation is what I want, but I can't live like this, Ned" Lady's Catelyn's voice cracked like ice snapping, and papa didn't respond, his eyes glued to the pages.
"Robb is the Heir of Winterfell, taking him from Winterfell without my blessing would be a declaration of war. Your father knows this, he would turn you away at the gates of Riverrun" papa's words were certain, but his expression was grim and sad.
"Sansa isn't" Lady Catelyn stated, and papa's eyes closed briefly as if she'd struck him.
"I could take it to Robert" Ned acknowledged back, and it would only be once Jon met the Stag King as a man that Jon would understand the undercurrent of threat those words carried.
(Robert would kill Catelyn for 'stealing' his 'brothers' child, but especially a Stark daughter. It wasn't a question. It would mean war, the Seven Kingdoms vs the Riverlands. The Riverlands would lose. Badly. And every life lost would weigh on his Father's shoulders. They both knew he couldn't do it)
"You won't" Catelyn stated, and papa didn't respond.
She was right. They knew it. And one day Jon would understand, but at almost 4 years old, he only saw his papa refuse to fight for him. The first of many, and the beginning of papa becoming Father (and Lord Stark when he was particularly cross) to Jon.
"I won't send him away" papa stated, and Lady Catelyn's face tightened.
"Even now?" she demanded, and papa gave a single nod.
"Even now" papa confirmed, and Lady Catelyn's expression shuttered.
"Either remove him from Robb's lessons in perpetuum or remove him from the Family Wing, including all the privileges that come with being housed alongside our children" Lady Catelyn demanded, and papa was silent as he wrestled with that.
"He'll stay in the guest quarters. He will continue to eat at our table. He will not be separated from our children" papa surrendered, and Lady Catelyn's face lightened as Jon's heart dropped into his stomach.
"I can live with that" she acquiesced, but papa's face did not soften.
Jon runs away, leaving the conversation to continue behind him.
"You worked to undermine me in my own castle, Wife, conspired with another Lord Paramount, weaponized the care I hold for my child, and threatened the Realms with war all to appease your wounded pride. This will not come without consequences," papa's voice unsettled Lady Catelyn, "All Riverlanders with the exception of your personal household attendants shall return to Riverrun. I will allow our children to be taught by a septa, as was agreed in our betrothal contract, but they will be allowed to choose which Faith they follow, and you will not protest. Maester Luwin must approve all proposed educational material. You will not be permitted to arrange terms on behalf of House Stark in perpetuum. Lastly, Jon shall answer to me, he will be forced to obey you as Lady of Winterfell, but all punishments will be meted out by me, and if I find you have enacted any Sothron punishment upon him, you will face Northern Justice, regardless of what your Lord Father threatens" Lady Catelyn's face paled once more.
"I understand, My Lord" she said timidly, and didn't speak another word as her husband left the nursery.
Papa found him hiding under his bed shortly after.
"I thought I heard little feet lurking" Papa sighed, his shoulders slumped as he sat on the floor beside the opening under the bed.
"... Are you sending me away?" Jon's voice warbled, and papa's large calloused hand reached under the bed, palm up, and Jon shyly slid his small hand into his, gripping his papa's thumb tightly.
"Never," papa vowed "you might be leaving this room, but you will always have a place in this family. You might not have the Stark name, but you have our blood, and that means something" Papa promised, and Jon was quiet while he rolled the conundrum around his head.
"... I have your blood, but not your name... Does that mean you're not my papa?" Jon asked, tears burning in his eyes, and papa's hand gently pulled on Jon's arm, encouraging him to come out of hiding. Jon scrambled out, throwing himself into his maybe-papa's arms, who pulled him close, placing him on his lap.
"You are my son" papa stated, and Jon buried his face in his papa's beard.
"... But Robb's mama isn't my mama?" Jon asked quietly, and papa sighed tiredly.
"No, she's not. Your mama was someone... Very important to me, Jon, and one day I'll tell you all about her, but not today" papa promised.
For years, Jon would question if Ned had been lying about telling him the truth, if he'd changed his mind as Jon grew, or if he really did intend to tell Jon who his parents were... He would never know the answer, since Jon hadn't heard the truth from Ned, and never could bring himself to believe his words in the aftermath...
"... What does that make me?" Jon asked sadly, and papa ran gentle fingers through Jon's messy raven curls.
"The world will call you a bastard because I wasn't married to your mother, some might mistreat you over it, but Stark blood runs true. You are exactly where you are meant to be" papa promised, and Jon, still only 4 namedays old and holding a childlike love and trust for his papa, accepted this easily, laying his head on his papa's shoulder.
"... Do I really have to move now?" Jon asked sadly, and papa sighed.
"Not tonight" his papa promised, and Jon accepted that, letting his papa tuck him into bed, even though he was getting much too old to be tucked in.
"I love you" Jon whispered as papa pressed a kiss to Jon's forehead.
"I love you, too" Papa whispered against his forehead, leaning across Jon to blow out the candles, drenching the room in darkness as his papa left him to sleep his last night in the Family Rooms.
Tomorrow everything would change... But for tonight Jon Snow, known to exactly 3 people as Vaegon Targaryen, slept peacefully.