A Typical Day

I'd thought it would be a typical day of studies with Maester Luwin and training with the gruff but fair Master-of-Arms Ser Rodrik Cassell. I'd bested Robb in practice and was feeling the elation of victory when Theon Greyjoy mocked my look of happiness.

"No matter how well you swing the sword, you'll always be a bastard and never be Robb's better." He smirked at me and walked away, his comment not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

My happiness left me suddenly and I was filled with anger and grief simultaneously. Theon was always going out of his way to throw my bastard status in my face but there was little I could do about it. I did my best to ignore him though he must have seen my face fall. I felt a boiling rage begin to build up and left in a hurry. Any who saw the look on my face left me to to my own devices, for which I was thankful.

I headed towards the Mikken's smith to use the anger I'd built up from Theon's comments and my own tormented thoughts when a man I didn't recognize came up to me and said something I'd craved to hear my entire life.

"I know you wish to know how you came to be born lad. And I can tell you the whole story as best I know it if you come to the Wintertown Inn later this evening. Tell no one I've spoken to you about this less you wish to miss the opportunity to learn about your Mother. Best you say I'm a sellsword or hedgeknight who offered to tell you a few stories of his adventures"

I was staring at this man in shock. He spoke with a southron accent though I couldn't place the region. Before I could ask him any questions he'd walked off as if we'd just chatted about the weather or horses. He looked to be well dressed for a sellsword though I'd heard that some men earned enough gold to live like Lords in the east.

I did my best to conform my features into a look of nonchalance upon entering Mikken's shop, worried that someone might question why I was at once elated, frightened, and angry. I quickly did the maintenance required to keep my practice blade in the best condition possible. Mikken was hard at work on the forge and those that entered paid me no mind.

A million thoughts entered my mind as I left towards my quarters, only stopping to ask one of the servants if a bath might be prepared. Who was this strange man from the South and how was it that he knew my mother? I knew that I had been born in Dorne and that many thought my mother was Ashara Dayne, but that was a name that was never to be spoken in Winterfell. Even when I'd been brave enough to ask my Father who'd birthed me I didn't dare speak that name. The response I'd gotten from him still kept me from asking years later.

"You'll learn who your mother was when I think you're old enough to hear the whole story. Never ask me about this again Jon." Some men shouted or threatened to make their point, but my Lord Father never needed to do so convey his authority. He'd spoke quietly in a tone as a cold as Winter itself, and I hadn't spoken of my mother to him since.

Who was this stranger that risked the wrath of the Warden of the North? I knew that I should speak to my Father about this stranger who offered me the knowledge I'd been craving ever since I'd learned that I was a bastard and not like my other siblings. I was only ten and four and thought myself plenty ready to hear the history of my mother and father. My Father was wrong for withholding the information from me. I was going to go to the Inn in Wintertown and if any asked me why, I'd say that I wanted to hear stories from a sellsword staying there.