Chapter Text
Winterfell was a formidable castle, dark and covered in the shadows of winter’s clouds. Jon Targaryen sat on his black stallion, a gift from his now deceased father The King of the Nine Kingdoms, and stared up at the castle. He felt like it stared back at him, judging him for his southern clothes, southern accent and southern horse. Nothing about him was Northern, he wasn’t born into snow and his face while rarely smiling didn’t hold the deep frown that was so popular amongst the North.
His mother rode upside him, ever the Northerner, her horse a brown Clydesdale fitted into the back drop of winter so well Jon could have sworn she had never left the north. She had wrapped herself in furs and worn leather. She smiled at the castle and took a deep breath of the frozen air.
“Do you know my darling, if something had happened to me during the war this is where you would have grown up.” This was not a surprise to Jon as she had mentioned it numerous times on the trek here but sometimes it’s better to not remind Lyanna Stark of her mistakes.
“Really? I don’t think I would have liked it here.” He mumbled back pushing his stallion forward towards the castle walls.
“You would have loved it Jon! You would have grown up with your cousins, and Ned. You would hero worship your Uncle Ned. I hero worship him and I grew up with him.” Lyanna pushed her horse forward and its longer legs out paced his stallion, who did not like the idea at all and tried to trot ahead but Jon had to pull the reins back and his mother laughed.
“You were never the best rider; I blame the south for that.”
“I blame the south for a lot of things.” Jon muttered causing the smile on his mother’s face to fall and an uncomfortable silence to rise around the two.
Jon couldn’t forget why they were here. His father the King of all Seven Kingdoms was dead, and his mother even after 18 years of happy marriage was forced to run from Kings Landing to her childhood home by her step-son, Jon’s half-brother Aegon.
Aegon had never truly liked both his half-brother and step-mother, after the war of five kings. His mother Elia Martell had died in the war, killed by banners men of the Baratheons. Traitor’s to the crown and who had entered the castle attempting to kidnap Lyanna. They had found instead Elia the first wife of Rheagar Targaryen, they raped and then murdered her. Jon understood completely why Aegon had never gotten over his mother’s death but he still blamed Lyanna every single day.
On the evening of their father’s funeral, while Lyanna sat on the steps by his body praying to the new gods and old for his soul to be at peace, Aegon sent servants to pack their things, called Jon to his solar and told him his plan.
“Brother, I know we have never been close, but with father gone and the seven kingdoms needing peace, I am sending you with your mother back to the North where you belong. From there you will be my eyes and ears, tell me what the north plan to do and when they plan to do it.” When Jon went to interrupt to state that the north had been at peace for some time now, the new king just sighed, “I am your king, you leave at first light. And Jon, you may carry Fathers last name but you will always be a bastard and your mother will be a whore, don’t let yourself forget that.” With a wave of his hand Jon was dismissed and before he could say goodbye to his father or his Aunt, who was truly his only friend, his mother and he found their way onto the king road.
The road North had been long; he had complained and whined the whole time while his mother, ever the perfect Lady had sat in silence most of the way, only to comment on a flower or tree they passed. At every Inn, she was welcomed with open arms as the Queen of both the North and the Seven Kingdoms she was given the best rooms, and the people flocked to see her offering gifts or words of encouragement. Widows far and wide came to give advice to the newly widowed queen.
Jon had stood beside her the whole time, his hand resting on his sword as he took in every farmer, peasant or low ranked lord. His grey eyes never leaving their faces. He couldn’t believe how the people treated his mother, as if she was The Mother incarnate or a Fae from old tales. She had always been just his mother, or in Kings Landing she had been the woman who started a war. The affection and the kindness theses strangers had for her made Jons heart ache because he realised as he stood guard over his lady Mother the people who did not know her loved the Queen more than even he did.
“Mother.” He croaked out, just before the pair rode through the gates of Winterfell.
She turned to stare at him, her own grey eyes looking wide almost into his soul.
“Why do the people here love you, while they spit your name in the South?” he had not dared asking this question in the many day’s travel but at the sight of the Castle looming over him he felt almost brave.
She smiled at the question and rode up side him, taking one of his hands in hers, “Because I am a Stark, before anything else, before being a queen, or a Targaryen or even a mother, I am a Stark of Winterfell and a Stark of Winterfell means a friend to those who normally do not have high born friends. Jon, I was born with a sword in one hand and the lives of my people in the other. The south does not understand; they do not understand the ways of the North. The fact that I dared to go against my father’s wishes and flee with Rheagar, to follow my heart over my duty, is something the Southern Lords and Ladies will never understand. Plus, my fleeing caused a lot of heart break for a lot of people, your brother and sister included, you must never think ill of them.”
Jon stared to weep quietly, his mother had never been so candid in all his days.
“He, Aegon, called you a whore and I a bastard.”
“Yes, I know. But he is hurting, my darling Rheagar never discussed their mother. They were forced to kneel to me, and to call me mother. They are in pain that is over 18 years with no help to heal.”
With that she dug her heels into her steed and rode on, past the front gates of Winterfell and deep into the grounds. Jon followed swiftly, his own horse needing a lot more encouragement, as if understanding its rider’s reluctance.
“You and me both buddy.”
—-
The Grounds of Winterfell was unlike anything Jon had ever seen, people milled around everywhere, carrying their wares or selling them. The people while looking rough and weather worn smiled at each other or sang as they walked around the snow-covered ground. When they took in the two strangers riding up, most stopped their activities and stared openly. It wasn’t till Lyanna looked up and around the grounds did the people realise who they were in the presence of.
They started to cheer and clap and a few who must of know some form of etiquette bowed low to their queen. Lyanna ever the perfect Lady, slide off her horse and walked amongst them, passing her reins to Jon without a second glance. The people gathered around her, wanting to touch Winterfell’s long lost daughter.
“Is this a good idea mother?” Jon called over the crowd and Lyanna looked up her ever-worrying son, “Jon, you need to relax.” And she laughed at a joke someone made before walking with them up to the stairwell of the great castle.
The great door opened and the most beautiful girl- no woman- Jon had ever seen stepped out of the shadows. Her hair was a brilliant red, with porcelain skin and a black fur cloak she looked like something out a dream. Jon transfixed with the beauty before him, slid of his horse, handing the reins to both horses to a random who ran to get them.
Lyanna climbed the stairs two by two, bounding up to the woman and engulfing her in an embrace. Jon followed quietly, his eyes never leaving the red head.
“Jon Targaryen, can I please introduce to you Sansa Stark, your cousin and my darling niece.” Lyanna grabbed both their hands, and Sansa finally looked up at him with large green eyes. She dipped a curtsy low.
“Welcome to Winterfell, your Highness.” Her voice felt like dripping honey on his heart and he bent down low in a bow, his face redder than anything. If Dany could see him no she could have laughed him off the ramparts.
“My father is in the crypt, saying good evening to my mother, he will join us soon.” She led Lyanna by the elbow into the dark castle.
Jon followed behind transfixed.