The Time of the Wolfs: Bastard

      The horse shook its head, spun, and the rider had to pull on the reins. Apparently, empty anger and tired despair were also passed to the steed, there is no other way to explain why a horse could disobey a man who had been sitting on a horse since he was four years old. He should have gotten out of the saddle and rested, but if he had, he would hardly have been able to sit back in.       The wounds, sewn up and treated by the best healers of King's Landing, did not bother him much, but pain throbbed in his head with every movement of the horse. The fate of the last member of the house pressed like a stone on the shoulders of the young man, forcing him to bend harder and harder. In one of the carriages behind his back lay the remains of his family. Father's, elder brother's, sister's. As if that wasn't enough, in Riverrun he was told that his mother was also dead, and his younger brother was gone. In another carriage rode his wife and son, a blue-eyed, laughing boy. He loved his son as soon as he saw him, loved him as much as he loved another boy, gray—eyed and quiet, who was held in the arms of a nursemaid in a cart, but neither his children nor his wife could rid him of the feeling that he was the last of the Starks.       He was afraid of the North. In the Riverlands, everything was unfamiliar and alien, as in any place to the south. No one loved him there and no one was waiting for him. Ghosts were waiting for him in the North.       Even the Trident, the damned river, he could not cross calmly. He fancied blood instead of water, fancied the smells of smoke, sweat and shit. Visions of battle stood before his eyes.       Dozens of mottos sounded over the river. Even through the clanging and screaming, he could hear his friend growling, "Ours Is the Fury!" In response, hundreds of throats screamed about fire and blood, but that day he didn't care about the mottos of high houses. "Lianna!" — that's what Stark shouted in the face of the enemies, mercilessly cutting through the lines.       John Darry, a knight of the King's Guard, one of the best fighters of Westeros, detained Stark only for a few moments and fell into the red water, holding on to the stump of his arm.       The horse under Ned was killed at the beginning of the battle, and he rushed forward on foot, knee-deep in water, bestowing a sword kiss on everyone who got in the way. Then he wanted to save his sister, avenge his father, avenge his brother...       Now, crossing the Trident in the other direction, Ned only wanted to vomit. All his rage remained at the ruins of the Tower of Joy.       All the way from Ruby Ford to home, Ned felt like a living dead man. He spent the day in the saddle, staring at the horizon and remembering everyone he had lost because of the Targaryens, and at night he suffered from nightmares. The closer Winterfell got, the more terrifying the dreams became.       He dreamed of his father's stern face. Rickard Stark stood in the godswood, dressed in black armor, with Ice on his belt. The helmet lay in the snow at his feet, bent as if a giant had stepped on it.       "If you fight, win," Lord Rickard rumbled, disappointment was in his eyes, "Win!" — shouted he and burst into green flames.       His skin was slowly charring; his eyes were leaking out, his hair was burned, but he continued to speak.       "Win..."       A charred hand in melted armor rested on Eddard's shoulder, and the smell, the terrible stench that permeated the throne room of the Red Castle, made him turn away.       Ned saw the heart tree. It was white, blinding white; the names of his dead friends could be heard in the rustle of blood-red leaves, and the face on it was Benjen's baby face, completely drained of blood. Red juice flowed from empty eye sockets, it smelled of iron and blood. Ned couldn't look at it.       He wanted to leave, but when he turned around, he saw Bran right in front of him. His elder brother towered over him like a direwolf over a dog, and his bloodshot eyes looked reproachfully. The gray, ash-covered lips parted.       "Now you are the Lord of Winterfell..." Bran croaked.       The skin on his neck turned black, indicating where was the bloody rope.       Eddard looked down and saw a pond of godswood under his feet. The water in it was as black as night, and the bottom could not be seen. At the surface, he saw his sister's pale, beautiful face. Lianna was dressed in a wedding dress, gray and scarlet, the colors of the Starks and Targaryens. She sank deeper and deeper.       "She's dead," Ned told himself, "it's just a dream."       And jumped after her.       Strangely, when he reached Winterfell, Eddard felt relieved. Jon Arryn may have become a second father to him, but the Eagle's Nest could never become his home. The groom Hodor, if it was possible, grew even more. Govan the father's blacksmith, the same age as Stark, grew a stiff black beard and found a woman — a small red-haired girl with a light face stood next to him. Sir Rodrik Cassel, a middle-aged knight with gray in his brown hair, was smiling broadly. If someone had asked him who he trusted the most, he would have named Jon Arryn, but he thought of sir Rodrik. The knight knew that this was no place for smiles, but he was glad to see Ned—and smiled. Cassel could not lie either with words or with his face.       The castle hasn't changed. The walls were warm, the stones were strong, and the people were honest. Arriving here from the Nest, Eddard settled in his old quarters, but he no longer had the right to be afraid of his dead parents.       And yet he couldn't enter Rickard Stark's chambers. There was only one place in Winterfell he could go now.       The Godswood, as in childhood, greeted him with a soft whisper of leaves. The weirwood was white, but not snow-white as he dreamed, and its face did not look like the face of a younger brother, and the red leaves did not resemble a scattering of blood drops at all. The water in the pond was calm and dark, steam was coming from it, but when he looked into it, he saw only himself.       Stark let out a ragged breath. Here he should to pray to the Old gods, not to look for family's ghosts.

***

      Catelyn Stark doesn't like the North. The North didn't like Catelyn Stark. In winter, snow always fell in the Riverlands, but here it could go even in summer. On the way, they stopped at another one inn — and when Caitlin got out of the carriage, carrying a baby in her arms, small snowflakes were falling from the sky. They melted, barely touched the ground. Several of them fell on little Robb's face — and he began to cry. Walking quickly under the roof, Catelyn turned around — the nurse was carrying the bastard as if he was made of gold, and the boy was laughing and trying to catch snowflakes with his hands. How could her husband humiliate her like that?       She didn't like Eddard Stark. The sullen and cold man was polite to her, but no more, and did not even try to get closer to his wife. On the way, she had heard enough of the chatter of soldiers and maids. The soldiers argued about who was the best fighter — the king or the Warden of the North, and recalled the battles.       "He is as fierce as a wolf," they said, "He personally killed three king's guards shouting his sister's name."       Few maids said that Stark almost drew his sword when he saw dead children in the throne room, and shouted at the king and Tywin Lannister in rage. But Catelyn couldn't imagine any of that. The person she saw day after day couldn't show any emotion. Icy, calm, silent, he could not be either fierce or furious. In Winterfell, many flag bearers praised his honor, but Catelyn did not understand this. What honor could have a man who brought a bastard to his wife?       She really didn't like Eddard Stark.       Some part of Catelyn wanted to go back to the castle on two rivers to hug her little brother and continue helping her failing father. Lord Hoster was only forty-five years old, but he was already completely gray-haired, headaches were coming more and more often, and the only person next to whom he did not try to be... a lord was his daughter Kat. Who will manage the castle now? Edmure is the same age as Caitlin was when their mother died, but the boy fought, fished and threw stones — he will grow up only when it will be impossible to remain a child. The only time Edmure was serious was when he was carving wood. Uncle Brynden taught him, but he left with Lisa and Jon Arryn, and only the boy and the old man remained in Riverrun.       When she first saw Winterfell, she almost called it the Black Castle — the walls of a hundred feet of black stone threatened the sky with sharp towers, and the gates seemed to her like the mouth of a monster. She got out of the carriage — if you're being taken into the mouth of a monster, it's much scarier than if you go there yourself — but she still lacked courage.       Robb in her arms looked at the walls in surprise and smiled, and Catelyn felt much better.       Her husband dismounted beside her.       "He wants to see his castle," Stark's stern face brightened as he looked at his son, but Catelyn never saw her husband's smile.       In the first days after her arrival, she asked sir Rodrik, the only knight in Winterfell, why her husband was so gloomy, barely spoke to her and preferred not to see her at all.       "He lost his whole family in two years, my lady," Cassel replied, "All his friends died at the Tower of Joy. If he wasn't gloomy now, I wouldn't call him a man."       Caitlin felt ashamed, although she was not to blame for anything. No one talked about her husband's losses, and she forgot about them.       Brandon Stark, tall, gallant and cheerful — he was supposed to be her husband, but the gods decided otherwise, and Brandon died in the halls of the Red Castle.       Catelyn couldn't understand her husband's grief, couldn't even imagine, but she missed her family too.       But sir Rodrik was wrong.       "He still has a family, sir."       So have I.       She spoke softly, but firmly.       The knight smiled, and it seemed to be the first real smile she had seen in Winterfell.       "Don't let him forget about it."       She found her husband in the godswood. No wonder Catelyn rarely met him—weirwoods frightened her with their faces and bloody tears, and faith in the Old Gods was strange to her. After greeting her, she had no idea what to say next, but she didn't have to. Eddard spoke up.       "Forgive me, my Lady. I didn't thank you for my son," his voice was different from the icy tone he used all the time. "Robb is a wonderful boy."       Catelyn wanted to ask if he thanked the woman that gave him a bastard, but she said something completely different:       — It is the duty of a good wife to give her husband children.       Eddard grimaced.       "My mother used to say that politeness is a woman's shield," he smiled sadly. "But if a wife needs a shield from her husband, that's a bad husband."       Catelyn smiled too.

***

      A little over a month has passed since his arrival in Winterfell. Catelyn was nice to him, and Ned tried to respond in kind, but Jon Snow stood between them like a wall. So did his mother. Stark understood that Catelyn wanted to talk about him, but she was afraid that it would destroy that fragile peace, the shadow affection between them. Ned should to start this conversation himself — that was the only way — but he couldn't, really couldn't make himself to talk about her.       A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. The guard reported that a mounted detachment of fifty swords was approaching the castle, and their banner was the sun pierced by a spear. Martells.       The newcomer was Prince Oberyn Martell, the younger brother of the ruler of Dorne. Stark didn't know much about this man—they had only met once, at the gods-cursed tournament in Harrenhal. Bran broke two spears before knocking Martell out of the saddle. Oberyn's stay in Winterfell was torture for the Starks. Martell drank a lot, though less than Robert, seduced maids, though not as openly as Robert, and loved to fight — much less honestly than Robert.       When at the welcome dinner — they simply did not have time to arrange a feast — sir Rodrick asked Oberyn about the purpose of his visit, he contemptuously threw that he had come to see the honor of the Starks. Cassel did not draw his sword only because there was no sword, and Catelyn prevented the combat.       "Then look at the sun, Prince Oberyn. Believe me, you won't notice the difference." Martell spent three weeks in Winterfell trying to provoke Eddard's anger. He talked about Arthur Dayne, about Leven Martell, about Tywin Lannister... at last, he succeeded. At one of the dinners, he loudly announced that he had brought a word from Jon Snow's mother. Catelyn, who was holding Ned's hand, released him and clenched her jaw. The prince seemed to enjoy the position he had put Stark in. Not for long.       "Maybe you brought more news from the world of the dead?" Ned didn't let the rage get into his voice, but the last person he looked at like that was Arthur Dayne, blocking the way to his sister.       Caitlin shuddered. Almost everyone in the hall shuddered.       "In a way..." Martell drawled mockingly; for a moment his gaze became serious, and he continued in a different tone, "Eshara Dane is dead. Obviously, you know that."       Eddard felt as if he had been hit in the chest. His left hand gripped the edge of the table, and the cup that Stark was holding in his right burst with a nasty crack.       "Leave us," he managed, regaining control of his emotions and voice.       Ned was lucky that of all the bannerman, only Hawal Tolhart, who fought next to him on the Trident, stayed in Winterfell - he was one of the first to come out.       "You can stay, Catelyn."       He touched his wife's shoulder with the gentlest touch he was capable of right now. She shuddered and nodded slowly, as if afraid to move, and Ned turned his gaze to Martell.       "Dear Eshara fell from the tower, could not survive the murder of her brother," the Dornish's tone was again mocking. "But I'm here because of another sister's death." Oberyn looked at Stark for a long time, but Ned refused to continue, and then the Red Serpent spoke again.       "My sister, Lord Stark. You know, a long time ago, Elia and I traveled for a long time, choosing a suitable husband for her, and a wife for me. However, we never visited the North... I returned from Essos only two months ago — and it took me all that time to get here. My elder brother told me that our sister, Princess Elia, is dead, as are her children. You know, my lord...       Stark's fists clenched, his face white with anger, and he stood up.       "Do you like the sound of your own voice so much, Prince?" Ned was almost growling.       "You're waving your loss like a standard, I don't think Elia would like that."       The damned Dornish didn't seem to realize that he was talking to a man who had lost far more than Oberyn.       "My sister is dead!" The prince barked. "Butchered!"       "What about my sister, Prince Oberyn? My?" Stark began to speak in a low, angry whisper and raised his voice with every word, "Don't think you've lost the most. Your father is alive, your mother is alive, your brother is alive. Do you know what happened to my family? My father is burned. My elder brother is strangled and burned. My sister bled to death. My mother drowned herself from grief, and my younger brother, who pulled her body out of the lake, went to the Night Watch!" Stark was already shouting.       He was breathing like an angry wolf, leaning on the table and frowning at Martell.       The warm hand of his wife squeezed his palm, and Stark was able to control his anger.       "I do understand your loss and put up with your arrogance, but if you cross the line again, you'll regret it."

***

      Oberyn was leaving Winterfell, leaving the best dornish stallions as a gift, and Catelyn squeezed her husband's cold palm and smiled. She knew who Jon Snow's mother was, and that made her feel inexplicably better. Eddard asked to let the children grow up together, and she could do it. And when the boy grows up and inevitably shows his inclinations, perhaps it will be possible to persuade her husband to send the bastard to Starfall. Eshara Dayne's beauty was as legendary as her brother's skill; her son should be well received in Dorne, where bastards are treated differently.       But the smile on her face wasn't from that. Ned Stark, gloomy and withdrawn, confided in her when he drove everyone else away. Perhaps the gods gave them a chance to love each other, as a husband and wife should. He is noble and honest, and she will be able to trust him, become a friend, colleague and support.       As soon as Eddard realized how devout she was, he had a sept built and a septon invited—without asking her or waiting for her request—just to make Catelyn's life better. They shared the same bed, but Ned touched her only after the blushing girl said she wanted it—and she realized it only a few months later.       She was really happy when their son uttered the first word.       "Mom," he mumbled, looking into her blue eyes and clutching her dress with his hands. Robb was just over a year old. By the age of one and a half, he already called his mother, father, sir "Rodik" and knew the name of his half-brother.       The maester expressed concern about Jon Snow. Bastard learned to walk at eight months—incredibly early—but didn't speak until he was two years old. Septa Mordane said it was the punishment of the gods, but Catelyn knew that Snow simply had no one to call mom. Nurses changed too often, and Lady Stark did not approach the bastard. She felt sorry for the boy who would have to grow up without a mother, and she was afraid of what he would grow up to be.       And she was also angry. She was angry when this boy started walking earlier than her son. She was angry when Jon Snow looked up at her with his gray eyes. The Stark eyes. She was angry when Ned took the bastard in his arms.       Catelyn was alone with him only once. The baby was terribly teething, and he was crying for the whole castle. The maid ran to wake the maester in the middle of the night, and Catelyn, thinking that Robb was crying, went to them. Robb was not in the room, he was taken to a place where his brother would not wake him up. Jon Snow was crying in his crib.       The maester and the maid came only an hour later, all this time she was rocking the baby and singing "Winter Girl" to him.       The next day, the maester said that Caitlin was going to have another child.       Carrying a child under her heart, she began to communicate more with the servants. The visit of Oberyn Martell, as it turned out, gave rise to many rumors — the maids again whispered about the Daynes, and the men again praised Eddard, "who stepped on the tail of the Red Viper." And more and more they talked about the quiet wolf-cub who looked exactly like Ned Stark.       The boy spoke shortly before his second birthday. The maid was walking with him in the yard, autumn snow was falling. Heavy flakes tried to cover everything around — walls, ground, clothes. The boy looked up and said softly, not childishly thoughtfully:       — Winter.

***

      Bastards grow up faster than other children—that's what maester Luwin said, and it was exactly about Jon Snow. It's hard to be a child when you don't have a mother, and your father is the Warden of the North. When he still didn't understand much, he held out his hands to Lady Catelyn — she was Robb's mother, and Robb was his brother. He once repeated his brother, but in response he received only a confused look from a red-haired woman and a sympathetic whisper from the maids.       Jon has no mother.       He was always given less attention than his brother, and he quickly got used to it, but almost all the time the brothers spent together. They listened to Old Nan's stories, ran through the corridors of the castle and fought with sticks.       Snow was four when they first quarreled. It would have been better if it had been about some stupid toy or a rivalry, but it was about Jon.       Lady Catelyn was going to give birth soon and could not look after her son. She did not leave her chambers at all — the winter was too harsh for a woman with child. The water in the moat was covered with a thick crust of ice, and there were snowdrifts in the yard.       Climbing the wall and playing there was Snow's idea. They tried to shout over each other, waving sticks and shouting the names of heroes of the past. Jon was smaller than his brother and got caned much more often.       "I am Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell!" he shouted.       "You can't be the Lord of Winterfell. You're a bastard, Jon," Robb said in an instructive tone, as if it wasn't him who was standing in front of John, but his mother.       Something fired in the bastard's chest, something that didn't look like tears at all. Anger.       Jon wanted to punch Robb in the eye, but his foot slipped on a stone, and he fell awkwardly, hitting his knee. The pain flashed from the knee to the back, and tears welled up in his eyes.       Robb laughed.       Jon jumped up, grabbed a stick and hit his brother. He beat it off without stopping laughing. Jon hit again and again, hit his fingers, causing a cry of displeasure. Robb dropped the stick, and John hit him again—in the face. He wanted to hit again, but froze, looking at his brother.       The red-haired boy sobbed, and blood flowed from an abrasion on his cheek. Robb pushed him with all his might.       Jon stepped back, awkwardly shuffling his feet, but stepped on the same spot and slipped again. He stepped back, trying to keep his balance, but his foot found only air.       And he fell.       From the wall.