Needless to say I own none of this. This is an A/U Game of Thrones where Brandon Stark has a bastard son with Lady Barbrey Ryswell before he dies trying to retrieve Lyanna. Enjoy.

The wind roared throught the forests of the north, whipping amongst trees and stones as it swept west. Any of the handful foolish or unlucky enough to be outside at night shivered as it passed over them and pulled furs and cloaks tighter before carrying on with whatever task they where about. Onward the gale carried, over the brooks and streams that littered the plains of the Rills until it reached Ryder's Rest, the seat of house Ryswell, lords of the Rills. A seat which they had taken from the Ryder's, the first men kings who had once ruled the western part of the north.

Inside, at the heart of the humble stone castle, a woman cried out in pain. Barbrey Ryswell screamed with a voice that only the pain of bringing a life into the world could bring. Beside her, her father Rodrik stared on, face cold and disspasionate, while her brother Rickard held tightly to her hand, urging her on. Suddenly another cry filled the air, the cry of a child. The midwife held the child gingerly as she cleaned it off, then looked up into the cold eyes of Lord Ryswell, "It's a boy m'lord, healthy too"

As if to support her claim the baby gave a mighty wail, crying out in hunger. Rodrik nodded, mouth twisting in a grimace as he regarded the child. Taking it as permission the midwife handed the baby carefully to Barbery. The young lady stared at her newborn son lovingly, ignoring the ugly truth that hung in the room. The boy was a bastard, a Snow, and as much as his mother might wish it he would never hold the lands of his father, of Brandon Stark, the man who had taken Barbrey's maidenhead. The action that had cost her much, and then Brandon had been bethrothed, not to her but to some soft southron lady from the Riverlands, a Tully. Then Brandon's sister, Lyanna had been taken by Rhaegar Targaryen, like a fool Brandon had ridden south and in his attempt to retrieve his sister had not only gotten himself killed but his father as well, and started a war. Even now Brandon's brother Eddard was calling the banners of the north to war to bring down the mad king Aerys Targaryen for his part in the death's of his family. Barbery's pregnancy had been for not, and despite her father's demands she refused to end it. In desperation Lord Rickard had sought a new match for her, he'd found one in Lord Willam Dustin of Barrowton. But Lord Dustin had made one demand in regards to the marriage, Barbery was to be allowed to have her child, his friend Brandon's child, in honor of the young man's memory.

But Willam was gone now, ridden for Winterfell with the men of Barrowton and the Rills, riding to avenge his friend. He had made Barbrey a promise before he left, promised her he would marry her when he returned. Barbrey looked down lovingly at her son, silently praying as she did so. Praying for a chance for him to make a place in the world, praying Willam would return unharmed, but most of fall praying for the death of every Targaryen alive, their deaths as vengeance for the death of Brandon Stark the man she had loved and who she would never have.

Her brother looked on proudly at his sister, she was never a beuty to fight wars over but she looked every bit the lady now, holding her son in her arms. Behind him their lord father finally spoke, breaking the silence that had taken the room. "Bastard needs a name." Four words, they came out in the tight dissaproving voice that was all Lord Rickard had used with his daughter in the months since her admission that she was with child, and that it was Brandon Stark's.

Rickard shot his father a glare, which the older man ignored staring imperiously at his daughter. She looked up at him, anger plain in her eyes at her father's usage of the word bastard. She looked down at the baby, anger melting away as she leaned down and kissed his brow. Looking into the babe's eyes smiled slightly as she noticed they where the same hard grey as his father's. Barbrey raiesed her head and looked into her father's eyes. "Torrhen. His name will be Torrhen."

Lord Rodrik snorted, "The king who knelt? A fitting name for the bastard." He placed special emphasis on the word this time. Then without another word he turned and left, leaving Barbrey to stare at his back as he walked away.

Ten years later...

Torrhen

Torrhen ducked underneath the sword and stepped close to his foe, growling fiercely he brought his own sword around towards his foes leg, only to find his arm held up by his opponent's hand on his wrist. Growing angry Torrhen brought his free hand up and around, belting his enemy across the face with his fist. With a grunt his opponent went down, then found Torrhen's blade at his throat as the boy panted heavily. From off to his left Torrhen heard a deep voice, "Not bad Torr, you're getting better with the blade."

Torrhen withdrew his blade and offered his opponent, the son of one of the guardsmen, a hand to his feet, a hand which the other boy accepted gratefully as he nursed a swollen lip where Torrhen's gauntlet had struck. Looking to the left Torrhen grinned at the man who had spoken, his uncle Rickard. Rickard smiled slightly as he approached, his long legs gracefully carrying him across the few paces from where he'd been leaning against the curtain wall that made up the training yard's west wall. Rickard rustled Torrhen's shaggy brown hair as he reached him, "You're growing to be a fine little swordsman, just like your da."His uncle winked, "Even if you do fight dirty."

Torr puffed out his chest with pride at the praise. Even at ten years old he was getting tall, a gift from his father his mother said. Add that to his grey eyes, black hair, and the stubborn set to his jaw and there was no doubt who his father was. There appeared to be little of his mother's house in him, except for the spark of intelligence in his eyes and his love for horses. Torrhen grinned up at his uncle, "Maddock taught me that, said fighting dirty and coming out alive is better than fighting with honour and winding up with a sword in your belly"

Rickard raised his eyebrow at that, "Oh? Maybe I should have words with Maddock" Torrhen's eyes widened slightly and his smile vanished as his uncle said that. The castle's master at arms was a tough man and a good fighter, but he had been born a common inn keepers son and some in the castle thought him unfit for teaching the blade to the young highborns of the Rills. Not that they included Torrhen in that group when they said it, but then again most fok ignored Torrhen when they could, except his mother, Rickard and a handful of others that was. Suddenly Rickard's grin widened, "I'll have to tell him to give you more advice"

Torrhen giggled in relief at his uncle's words. The older man chuckled again and looked to the young guardsman's son whom Torrhen had been sparring with, "Ban was it?" The boy nodded and Rickard continued, "You did good as well lad, just remember to keep your guard up, even when you think he's out of reach, a good lunge could get you and the fight would be over before it started. Torr, you need to watch your backswing, put more speed in it or you'll be open to a counter." As both the boy's nodded with wide eyes he paused. They continued to stare at him, "Well? Get to it." Jumping the two boys squared up to spar again, wooden practice swords at the ready.

Barbrey

Barbrey smiled as she watched her son spar in the courtyard below from her window. Torrhen was a good lad, handsome, clever, strong, everything a mother could want. Her smile faded when she looked back to the two letters on her desk across the room. One had come in by raven not hours ago, the other was nearly a week old and both letters chilled her to the bone. The older message came from her father, off to the east on a visit to White Harbor and Lord Manderly, she didn't have to open it to remember what it had said, her father wanted her to marry Lord Manderly's second son, Wendell. She sighed at the thought, she had met Wendell several years ago, a kind man if somewhat boisterous, not that all of that bothered her, the worst part was that he was not merely fat but immense, and he valued his honor so highly that there would be no chance of her bringing Torrhen with her to White Harbor when she left in a fortnight. Barbrey wished she had heard of some rumor of her father's intention before she received the letter

Sighing once more she crossed to room and sat at her desk. Staring at the second letter she wished how things had gone differently during the war they where now calling Robert's Rebellion. The man she was supposed to marry, Willam Dustin, had died in that war killed by one of the Mad King's kingsguard, or so Ned Stark had claimed.. With Willam dead House Dustin was ended, Ned Stark had been forced to raise a new lord of Barrowton. He'd chosen some minor noble family without any lands, the Cassels. Word had it that one of them had died alongside Willam against the kingsguard, and now his son some young lad named Jory, ruled one of the largest town's in the north. That had never bothered Barbrey much though, she'd barely known Willam despite being betrothed to him.

Meanwhile Lord Stark had returned from the south with his sister's bones, telling the world that she'd been killed by Rhaegar. He'd gone south to fight a war wound up putting a man on the Iron Throne and all he had to show for it in the north was a sack of bones. Ned had also returned with a bastard, a babe a few months older than her Torrhen. He'd wed that Tully bitch while he was in the south and word had it he had three brats off her now, a son and two daughters which he was raising alongside his bastard boy.

She picked up the letter, which bore the Stark seal, a running direwolf. Barbrey's heart hammered in her chest. When the letter had come from her father she'd panicked, unsure what to do with Torrhen. She'd known that her father would never allow him to stay here in the Rills, he despised the boy, and Lord Wendell would never allow such a stain on his honor as the bastard son of his new wife in White Harbor. So in her panic Barbrey had sent a letter by raven to Winterfell. She'd begged Lord Stark to take her son as a ward, telling him of her plight and asking that the lad be raised with his father's family instead of sent off by her father. Afterwards Barbrey had fretted endlessly over whether or not it was the right choice, and now on her desk was the reply. Cursing her cowardice Barbrey lifted the tiny scroll and opened it, eyes scanning.

Lady Barbrey,

I would be honored to accept guardianship of your son Torrhen, and would willingly take the boy on as a ward. Both for the love that I bore my brother and for the love that I know he bore for you.

Eddard Stark

Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North

Barbrey's heart skipped a beat, they would take him. For the first time in a week she laughed as she read the letter a second time. After the sounds of her joy subsided she stood and marched to her door, opening it quickly. The guard outside looked at her in confusion, unused to the usaully reserved lady that now laughed loudly. She looked at the man and still smiling spoke to him, "Send for my son, for Torrhen Snow. Tell him that once he has finished sparring he is to come to see me here. After that send for the Maester, tell him to prepare a raven, I wish to send a message to Winterfell."

Nodding the guardsman, turned on his heel and marched off quickly. Barbrey closed her door and went back to her desk, sitting to write a reply. Her son would not be turned out by her father. The Stark's would take him. Then the thought struck her that she would very likely never see her son again. Her smile disappeared as tears began to roll down her face. Nonetheless she wrote her reply to Lord Stark, giving it to the guard to deliver to the maester when he returned. Then she sat at her desk and wept, trying to justify her actions to herself, and trying to imagine how she would tell her son.

Torrhen

Torrhen stared excitedly ahead, eyes focused down the Kingsroad with the hopes of seeing Winterfell in the distance. Fenric, the man-at-arms in command of his escort, had told him that they'd be there not long after midday and had sent one of the men ahead to warn of their approach. The journey so far had been a grand adventure. Passing through the Barrow Lands and visiting Barrowton with his mother. Torr's excitement slackened somewhat at the thought of his mother. His mind drifted back to when she'd called him to his chambers, to the sadness in her eyes when she told him of her approaching marriage, and the way she cried when she told him he couldn't come with her.

Torr's hands tightened around the reins of his gelding. He remembered begging to go with her, and then her telling him that he was to live at Winterfell. That had dulled the pain a little, but he'd still cried like a babe. They'd left not long after, him his mother and Uncle Rickard, along with near to forty guardsmen from Ryder's Rest. The journey had been wonderful until they reached the kingsroad, there his mother and uncle had kept going west, while a group of a dozen men and Torr had turned north towards Winterfell. He'd cried again when they parted and his mother had as well, uncle Rickard had promised to visit though and given him a sword, a real one, a big hand and a half sword like a grown man would use. Mother hadn't been happy about that, but uncle had just laughed and said something about a bastard sword for a bastard, which had made mother even more mad. Torr smiled at the memory.

Suddenly one of the guardsmen, a lanky man with greying hair named Kant, leaned over and nudged him. Torr snapped out of his memory as the man spoke, "There tis m'lord. Winterfell, home of the Starks." Torr's mouth almost fell open as they crested a low rise and saw the castle, It was so much bigger than Ryder's Rest, with huge stone walls and towers. Flying from nearly every tower was the Stark banner, a grey direwolf running on a field of white. It looked beautiful

Torr looked down at his attire self consciously, praying he'd make a good impression on his hosts, he wore a finely made red doublet without any sigils under a stout fur cloak. The rest of his clothing was plain, mostly leathers and furs. His gelding was tall and thick chested, black with white socks, and hanging from his saddle was the sword uncle Rickard had given him, with its plain hilt and the bronze horse head pommel. Torr looked nervously at the men around him, most of them didn't notice, talking among themselves about how they couldn't wait for a hot meal and a bed. Old Kant saw his gaze and gave him a wink though, and Oswin, his friend Ban's da, gave him a reassuring smile. Torr knew these men would be heading home after reaching Winterfell, he'd miss them their jokes about women that they told when they thought he wasn't listening, their arguing and laughter. Mostly he'd just miss the fact that they where the last people from home he would see in a long time.

As they neared the castle he saw the town outside it's gate, it bustled with people going about their business, a few stopped to watch his party pass for a moment before continuing on. The castle was even bigger up close, and as Torr realized just how big he gulped. A handful of guardsmen stood watch on the walls and Torr couldn't help but notice how much better their armor and surcoats looked compared to the Ryswell men with him. The Stark men-at-arms merely watched as they rode through the gate. In the broad courtyard beyond though more people waited, four standing awaiting him it seemed. In front stood a man with a greying beard and the same grey eyes as Torrhen. Standing behind him where three children, a pair of boys, one lean with dark hair and a grim look on his face and the other stockier with shaggy auburn locks. The girl was younger pretty, with the same auburn hair as the stocky boy, and beautiful blue eyes. From what mother had told him the girl and the auburn haired boy must be Robb and Sansa, Lord Stark's children. Which made the grey eyed man Lord Eddard Stark, his uncle.

Dismounting carefully Torrhen approached and bowed to Lord Stark, then knelt on the, thankfully dry, dirt of the courtyard. Trying to keep his voice steady he managed to speak, "Lord Stark"

The man watched him for a moment before speaking, "Rise lad, let me have a look at you." Torrhen stood, raising his eyes to look at Lord Eddard, nervous but defiant. After another brief pause the man nodded, "You look like him, you have his eyes, same jaw, bloody tall like him." Eddard smiled slightly, his own grey eyes softening a bit, "And you have that same look in your eyes like you're out to fight the entire kingdom. Torrhen Snow I welcome you to Winterfell, may your time here serve you well." He clapped Torrhen on the shoulder, "Come meet your cousins lad. Unfortunately my lady wife is watching over our newest daughter, Arya, isn't here to greet you." Torrhen caught the slight hint of disapproval in his voice, almost as if his wife should be here despite the baby. Lord Stark continued on however, "This is my eldest daughter, Sansa." he gestured to the girl, who curtsied and whispered a polite greeting, "My son Rob, he's your age, I pray you will come to value each other as brothers." The auburn haired boy grinned and offered a hand to shake. Lord Eddard stopped at the grim looking boy. "And this is my other son, Jon Snow."

Torrhen and Jon eyed each other curiously, Torrhen unsure of how to greet another bastard like himself and Jon obviously in the same position. Finally Jon stuck out his hand and gave a hesitant smile, "Torrhen was it?"

Torrhen took the hand and gave his own grin, "After the king of winter aye. But most of my friend's just call me Torr" Jon nodded thoughtfully at the words as his father looked on, obviously encouraged by the two lads seeming to get along. Then Rob broke the silence.

"Well then come on Torr, me and Jon will show you the keep, maybe later father will even let us spar in the yard, Ser Rodrick is letting us try with tourney swords now." The smile twitched back onto Lord Stark's face as Robb grabbed their new ward by the arm and dragged him off, happily chattering as Jon followed behind solemly, adding a word every now and then.

Author's Note: This is my first fanfic on the site, hope everyone enjoys it. Feedback is greatly appreciated as I'm still a little hesitant on where to go with this story. This chapter is just to establish Torrhen's arrival with the Starks and his origins. I've adjusted the timeline a little as well as some character ages in this, Barbrey Ryswell is younger than in the books in this. Also the Greyjoy Rebellion has been pushed back a little and the ages of the Stark children and Jon fiddled with slightly. Thanks for reading this and I hope I get to publish many more after this.