Wooden walls were thinner than stone, though the insulation the builders added in many ways helped muffle sound whereas stone often carried it. The walls of Winterfell were thick and tapestries hung throughout—especially in the family wing and where important meetings were held—helping to keep the castle warm and muffle the sound. In the older parts of the castle the thicker walls held the secrets that Winterfell's Master builders studied for generations to keep the castle warm. A trade that was seldom heralded outside of certain keeps in the North as, unlike Winterfell, most castles were not built upon hot springs.

When Robb was younger he and his siblings used to listen to the tales Old Nan would spin and ponder if there truly was a dragon hidden deep, deep in the crypts. Perhaps in the lowest levels where carefully shaped, carved, and reinforced stone walls gave way to rough rock caverns and steam filled the air with mist and the musty scent of rotten eggs. After all, she would say, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's dragon, Vermax, was said to have worked his way into the crypts, deep and into the lower levels, and laid eggs. Some even said he was behind the collapse of some.

Robb and Jon had tried to explore once, when they were years younger, to find the hidden eggs as perhaps several generations of young Starks before them had, but they never made it very deep. Theon, perhaps wrought with jealousy of Jon being allowed to follow the Stark heir where he could not, had told on them. It had resulted in their father dragging them out and lecturing them on the dangers of the crypts.

If only they had known, they need only go to Aunt Lyanna's crypt to find a dragon egg. Winter wasn't one of Vermax's or so they assumed, for there was no way to know which dragon had laid her egg, but she had been hidden there all the same.

Robb missed the warmth of Winterfell's walls. He missed the rough stone and the familiarity of the aging tapestries that lined the walls. They would only be in Moat Cailin for another sennight, but he almost wished word would arrive by raven or rider advising that Benjen needed to leave for Castle Black so that he, and Jon, could ride for home.

His brother was growing agitated, little by little, he could tell, at being separated from Winter. Robb couldn't help but imagine how he would feel if Grey Wind was made to stay so far away for over a moon. The other night he had sat by Jon's side as his brother warged into her, keeping her from flying south as she had felt his agitation following a run in with Robb's aunt.

Grey Wind whined at his side as they walked through the hall. It was long and rooms lined each side. Most in this section were similar in size and built as chambers for visiting highborns. Robb could feel his direwolf's hunger gnawing at his own stomach and the barely controlled energy zipping through his body. Grey Wind wanted a hunt, but now was not the time. Later, Jon and he were planning to practice warging. Then they would run with their companions into the nearby landscape to explore and track whatever prey animal they could find.

Robb had gotten better recently, with the help of his wildling friend, Breck, who had stayed in Winterfell when the others of his party had gone with a group of loyal Stark men to survey the locations his lord father had in mind for some Free Folk clans to settle south of the New Gift, including the Giants. Breck was patient and a better teacher, arguably, than Jon in warging at least. Much to his mother's concern, Breck spent time with each of the Stark children—save Rickon—to help them learn to control their gifts.

"Are you mad?!" his Aunt Lysa's voice caused him to wince and freeze in his tracks. It carried easily through the hall from a room down the way. His Uncle Edmure's room, if he remembered correctly. "How could you allow such a thing?"

"How could I not?" his mother responded, sounding tired as if she'd already been arguing her point for some time.

He froze as they spoke before his curiosity overrode everything else. Glancing to the side, Robb saw an open doorway just to his right. Motioning for Grey Wind to stay, he stuck his head inside and, after seeing that the room was empty and no personal effects were present, he slipped inside and shut the door behind him. He pressed his back against it and slid down the door until he was sat upon the stained wood of the flooring.

He shut his eyes and reached inside himself for the vibrant connection he shared with his companion, his other half. It took a long moment, but months of practice had made it easier.

The world shifted and suddenly his vision was different. The world was a bit less colorful and bright, or perhaps color just didn't matter as much as the scent of things. His two-legged mother was still speaking, but it took a moment for him to focus on her words. It took a few long moments for him to force his attention away from the sudden explosion of scents and plod forward in the corridor.

His ears were sharper and he was quieter, able to draw in closer to the voices. A door was slightly ajar, the edges of it not shut and perhaps not quite shaped right for it to close properly. He could see familiar people through the small crack. Robb finally was able to catch up on the conversation following a particularly shrill statement from his aunt as it drew his attention to their speech.

"I hardly know the boy and even I can see he would sooner slit his own throat," his great uncle, Brynden said, voice a low grumble, "than turn against Robb or the other boys, Lysa."

"This is a slight against Cat, against our House!" Lysa hissed, he could see her clearer than any other. Her dull, red-brown hair limp in forced curls. She was glaring at each of them in turn, her mouth pressed tight forming deep wrinkles in her skin and what once may have been pretty dimples now made her look worn. She was younger than his mother yet looked much older. "You cannot seriously be considering allowing this atrocity to go forth!"

"Lysa," his Uncle Edmure spoke then, "while I may not agree that this is right, perhaps you are over reacting? Lord Stark is rebuilding several old holds, including Moat Cailin, and each will need a new lord. Jon appears to care deeply for his siblings and having him as a loyal bannerman holding Queenscrown during this . . . migration of wildlings into the North," he said that bit as if he were simultaneously disgusted and incredulous, "or even Moat Cailin would be a boon. Especially if Jon's heir were to marry one of his brother's children in the future."

"Why are you so trusting of a bastard's word?" his aunt said then, voice a hiss. "You know what they are. It's in their nature to—"

"Lysa!" his mother barked, stepping forward into Grey Wind's line of sight. "I would hope that someone who had lived for years in the snake pit that is King's Landing would understand that not all men are made of the same mold. To lump each man of a kind together is true madness! Would you tout King Robert as being borne from the same mold as the Mad King? Is our Father the same as Lord Tyrell, Tywin, or Stannis? Not all bastards," she still said the word as if it was distasteful to even form the syllables in her mouth, "are alike either. Some may turn on their siblings, yes, but others stood stalwart, staunchly supporting their trueborn siblings even if it meant their death. Did you learn nothing during your history lessons?" Robb was not unaware of the irony of the statement. It was an argument he had oft thought of using against her, though he'd always held his tongue.

Grey Wind and he moved together without thought, pushing the door open and plodding into the room, startling its occupants.

His mother pressed her lips together as she caught sight, eyes narrowing as she studied his form. Sauntering up to her, he pressed his muzzle into her hand and leaned against her leg. She sighed and tangled her hand in the fur at his nape. It was rare for Grey Wind to allow any to touch him other than Robb and Jon, but Grey Wind would make exceptions. He had never done so for his mother, though, Robb knew.

Their eyes met and she raised an eyebrow before glancing up as Uncle Brynden spoke.

"I cannot say my brother will be happy about it," the blackfish murmured. He was sitting in a chair near the window, a cup in his hand, the base resting against his thigh. "Your father was incensed when he first heard of the boy's existence, from what I heard. It would be best if he never lays eyes on the boy."

His mother glanced at his great uncle and pressed her lips together before nodding sharply in agreement.

"Madness," his aunt hissed, shaking her head, "utter madness. You're a fool, Cat, if you believe this will turn out well for you and your children." She turned on her heel and left the room, pulling the door shut with a slam behind her.

There was silence for a few minutes as they heard her heavy footfalls stalk down the hall, likely going off in search of her son.

"By the Seven," his Uncle Edmure said after a while, breaking the silence, "was she always like this and I just missed it somehow?"

"No, she has changed much since our youth," his mother ran her hand over his head, scratching lightly behind his ears. "I fear the years in Kings Landing have not been kind to her."

"Not been kind?" Uncle Brynden snorted. "It seems to have robbed all her kindness away. I daresay, from what I have seen, she lacks heart in her interactions with her own son! I stumbled upon an argument between her and Maester Haburt yesterday as he caught her trying to administer some sort of snake oil remedy to her son! Lord Arryn was not pleased when I sent a servant to retrieve him."

"Something has twisted within her," his mother said softly, "I worry for her and for little Robert."

"Lord Arryn shared with me that he wishes to foster his son with House Stark, should your lord husband agree," Edmure said, moving to walk towards the window.

His mother nodded. "I heard." She sighed, tracing a dark grey spot over his eyes with a finger before continuing. "As much as I hate to take Lysa's son away from her, I do believe it would be in young Robert's best interest to be away from her . . . and King's Landing. For his health if nothing else."

"Do you think . . ." his uncle trailed off as he looked back towards them. His mother glanced away and the Blackfish stared at his cup.

"Perhaps," his great uncle said after a moment and the chugged the remainder of his drink. "I wish I could say it wasn't so, but the accounts given by the maester . . ." he glanced at Edmure. "I think it might be best if you took Lysa home to see her father or at least Riverrun for a time."

"For how long?" his uncle asked, eyes widening and brow raising.

"For long enough for Father to get a good look at what she has become," his mother said, voice dripping with sadness. The scent of the emotion caused him to bury his head into her skirts. She knelt then, wrapping her arms around his body. "I fear it may be best if Lord Arryn were to consider placing her aside. As much as I hate to think it, perhaps it may be best if she were to join the silent sisters."

"Cat, you cannot be serious!"

Her eyes closed for a moment, chin dipping, before she ran her hands through his fur one more time and then stood. "I wish I were not." She looked down at him then, focusing on his eyes. "Off you go, I'm sure your brother will be looking for you." He met her narrowed eyes again before standing on all four paws and plodding to the door; she followed in order to open it for him.

As he slipped out she moved to shut the door, but kept it open for a moment, staring at him. He glanced back over his shoulder at her.

"I trust that what we spoke of will be kept silent for the time being?" she asked, standing still. "It would be unkind to get the boy's hopes up if circumstances were to change."

Uncle Brynden snorted. "Of course, that was the first thing you asked of us when you dragged us in here earlier, was it not?"

The door shut behind him muffling his mother's response, but Robb didn't need to hear anymore.

What he had heard made him smile as he came back to himself, suddenly exhausted. He didn't even care that this meant he may not be able to run tonight as Grey Wind with Ghost and the other wolves.

They had been talking about Jon being legitimized as a Stark. No matter what Jon might have said, Robb was fully aware that being Stark in name had long been a dream of his brother's. No matter that he was actually a trueborn Targaryen, Robb had no doubt his brother still dreamed of bearing the Stark name.

Pushing himself up, using the door to support his weight as he readjusted to having only two legs, he pondered sharing the news for a moment and then dismissed it. His mother's words had clearly been meant for him as she'd somehow known that he has been sharing his direwolf's skin. He did agree with her, this was something that would better serve as being a surprise to his brother and Robb didn't want to get his hopes up if something changed between now and when his father planned to announce it.

When he felt strong enough he opened the door to find Grey Wind sitting calmly outside, waiting for him. He smiled down at his companion. Grey Wind's jaw dropped and lips drew back, tongue lolling out in an approximation of a grin as his tail swept across the floor. His guard, Wildem, stood behind the direwolf and across the hall, an eyebrow raised as he eyed Robb.

Robb smiled sheepishly at him. He had forgotten the man was there.

Inside Winterfell's warm stone walls, Robb was able to relax. Winterfell was different than anywhere else he had ever been, it had an aura that sunk into his bones and told him he was home. It was comforting, though at the moment he couldn't help but feel the emptiness as members of his family were not currently present.

Grey Wind stood, nails clicking against stone as he looked up at Robb. The last petitioner for the day had just left and the members of the household that had sat in on the day's ordeal were beginning to trail out, with the exception of his sworn sword, Wildem, standing behind him and Maester Luwin who sat to his left.

"Thank you Maester Luwin," Robb smiled as he stood, "I appreciate all of your assistance today. I'm not sure what I would do without you."

"You would do the right and honorable thing," the old maester said as he stood, hands disappearing into his long sleeves and he folded them in front of him, "just as your lord father would."

"Still," Robb continued as they made their way towards the doors, "your wisdom helped settle several disputes that I was at a loss on how to even begin to resolve."

"I only helped you find the right path," the maester smiled, reaching out to settle a hand on Robb's shoulder. "You made the decisions on your own."

And he had, as he had been making decisions for over a sennight now regarding Winterfell. Every word he spoke and every decision he made left his fingers quaking when he was alone, worrying over if he had made the right choices. His parents had left him in charge of Winterfell for the first time; Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik and Vayon Poole left behind to advise him. Vayon was currently checking on the status of the harvest that had stalled much of the construction on the new wall as the men were drafted to bring in the crops as quickly as possible. Aside from him, Bran, Rickon, Theon, and his cousin Robert Arryn, whom everyone had taken to calling Robin in the past several moons, had stayed behind.

While unsurprised after hearing the conversation between his mother and her family, he had been a bit surprised by how different his cousin seemed now from when they had first met. It was a very good difference from what Jon told him; he'd spared an evening to tell Robb of the sickly, foolish, and easily manipulated young man Robin became in most lives.

The boy's new maester, Haburt, had come North with them as well, at least for the time being, to keep a steady eye on the boy's supposed fragile health. The northern air seemed to be good for him, along with meeting new faces. While Robin had cried a bit at his separation from his mother he had quickly gotten over it, being distracted by every new thing he saw on their trip to Winterfell. His reaction had been nothing like Lysa Arryn's wails as her brother and uncle had left with her to visit Lord Tully in Riverrun. From what Robb understood she would be staying there for quite some time.

Lord Arryn had left several days prior in order to speak privately with Robb's Grandfather before his wife arrived. He wondered if he'd also be gone from Riverrun before her arrival. Considering what Jon had told him, he supposed that would likely be a very good idea.

Robb was glad his cousin was here, his closeness in age with Bran had allowed the two boys to form a friendship that he hoped might someday be akin to what he had with Jon. Robin could near always be found running about with Bran, oft getting into trouble by following his cousins attempts to climb various buildings in Winterfell. Both of the younger boys were also beginning their training with small, wooden practice swords under Ser Rodrik and the boy's personal guard—a man highly trusted by Lord Arryn—a Ser Lenhard from the Vale.

Maester Luwin made his excuses after a few more moments of conversation as they exited the hall and hurried off to take care of other duties, passing Theon who was waiting a short distance away, eyes hard and lips pressed together.

Robb's relationship with the ironborn had once been better than now, but over the past few years the older boy had begun chaffing against the restrictions that had been placed upon him. Each year he petitioned to return home upon his nameday, which had only recently passed. As a man grown, Theon was longing more and more for the home he could scarce remember and he had also begun feeling the few restrictions Lord Stark had placed upon him. Since his mother's change in attitude towards Jon, along with much of the household's, his resentment of Robb's relationship with his brother had grown.

When Theon had found out the truth . . . his displeasure had become greater. Especially as now, like all the Starks, he had a guard that followed him everywhere. His guard, however, was not sworn to him but to House Stark. The guard that tailed Theon was there to mind him. Theon was unable to spend the time he used to at the brothel, either, though that perhaps had more to do with the brothel he used to frequent having shut down a couple years ago; his favorite whores had left Winter Town for the most part. The remaining whore house didn't appreciate Theon's attitude, though accepted his coin, and the owner was loyal to the Starks. He often complained that the girls weren't as pretty—Robb knew he meant exotic—as the girls he used to lay with.

"I have a letter I wish to send," Theon said, thrusting the pieces of parchment towards him. The muscle in his jaw jumped as glanced over Robb's shoulder towards a tapestry depicting Bran the builder.

Robb took it carefully, opening it to read over the words. He hated having to do this, but Theon wasn't blood family and he wasn't sworn to the Starks. He was, as his father had taken to reminding him time and time again, a hostage from an enemy house that could not fully be trusted no matter how much they may want to. The tales that Jon had to tell of Theon's actions—even when Jon tried to prevent the darker ones—were testament to that. Still, he did consider Theon a friend and, while they may not be as close as they were once, they still got along well. It was just moments like there where both were reminded of the truth of things

Theon was generally well behaved and a good man, but he always acted harshly when faced with the more open reminders of his station as ward. Such as having the lord or lady of Winterfell review any letters he sent home. This had been part of the process even before Theon had found out about Winter. Now it was a necessary evil. Balon Greyjoy couldn't find out about Winter, or Jon, before they were ready. No one could.

"That is a dragon." Theon's face was blank, eyes wide as he stared at the little creature on the floor between Robb and Jon. She was half the size of the direwolf pups, but seemed larger when she spread her wings. Ghost and Greywind had shifted into a sitting position when the young man had pushed his way into the room, calling for Robb, eyes glaring in his direction.

Robb stared at his friend, shocked. Theon shouldn't have been in the family quarters at this hour, let alone without permission or an escort. The guard should never have let him pass.

"It is," Jon said as he stood, stepping in front of Winter who had flared her wings, tail shifting warily behind her.

"How the fuck is there a dragon here?" Theon asked, eyes flitting between Jon and Robb. "Where did you get it?"

They glanced at each other, grey eyes meeting blue, each filled with an edge of panic and worry. His brother was the first to recover, face steeling into an icy mask.

"She hatched," Jon said simply, voice void of emotion.

Robb glanced at his brother, noticing the minute shaking of his hands, the line of worry creasing his forehead for all he was attempting to keep his face an icy mask. Jon and Theon's relationship had always generally been frosty, but since the pups had been found . . . since Jon had gained all those memories . . .

"Theon," Robb said, clearing his throat, as he stood as well. He stared at the older boy, now a man grown, until he met his gaze. Attempting to imitate his father's demeanor, he asked, voice cool, "What are you doing here?"

"It's well past your birthday," Theon answered, voice hollow and still filled with shock, after a moment. His eyes were still locked on Winter. "You're four and ten, more than old enough to become a man. I had already visited the brothel thrice by the time I was four and ten." Usually those words would have been thick with pride, but now they just sounded empty.

Robb had heard the tales time and again, of Theon's escapades in Winter Town. If it hadn't been for his father's lectures, and his mother's hard eyes at the sight of Jon when they were younger, Robb might have ventured down to find out what all the fuss was about regarding the embrace of a woman himself by now.

But that was neither here nor there. Theon's presence in the family wing was a serious break in protocol. He should never have been allowed here. He was a ward, yes, but unlike Jon he carried not an ounce of Stark blood and had sworn no oaths to keep his foster family's secrets. The only time he should have been able to come here was in an emergency and even then one would hope that others would arrive first.

"Who let you in the family wing, Theon," Robb said, anger simmering beneath the calm tone of his voice. "I want a name."

Theon just stared at him for a long moment and then back down at the dragon.

"Now, Theon," he barked as Grey Wind began to growl.

"I will give this to Maester Luwin before dinner," Robb said, pocketing it. "Are you interested in a spar? There's some time before dinner."

Glancing away, Theon nodded sharply, "Of course Lord Stark."

"Robb," he said sighing. "We are still friends, are we not?"

Theon didn't answer for a long moment, but turned to meet his eyes. Sometimes Robb wondered exactly what went through his mind and how long would it be until the young man did something like the other Theons Jon had known. But this Theon wasn't those men and he could only hope he wouldn't betray them.

"Yes," Theon answered finally, "of course we are. It's just . . ." he sighed, eyes dropping to Grey Wind's form at Robb's side.

"I'm sorry if you've felt left out," Robb said, reaching out he laid a hand on Theon's shoulder. "There's a lot going on that must be handled within the family."

"And I'm not family," Theon muttered bitterly, voice low enough Robb barely caught the words.

"Not by blood, no," Robb acknowledged before stepping away. He motioned with a jerk of his chin and they began walking, "but we've grown up together, Theon. No matter your status you've grown up beside me, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and even Rickon. Family isn't just about blood . . . and it pains me and my father to have to do things like review your letters. Politics is a tricky thing, though, and for all that you are like a brother to us, you are also my father's ward." He stopped and turned to face Theon. "One day you will return to your birth family and you will become Lord Greyjoy of the Iron Islands. You'll have people to look after just as I will have people here to look after. I hope that I will be able to call you brother on that day and far into the future, but politics dictate that we must be cautious. If I were your father's ward the same steps would be taken and you know it."

Theon looked away. That was a lie and they both knew it. Theon's father would never have taken a hostage—had Lord Balon Greyjoy taken Winterfell all the Stark children would have been slaughtered and the castle looted and maybe even burned to the ground.

Sparring with Theon wasn't as challenging as it used to be, not since Jon had stopped adjusting his skill level when fighting Robb and gotten used to his shorter stature and reach. Robb's abilities had grown in leaps and bounds beside his brother's and, after a short time of guilt tinged jealousy, he had developed a drive that made him work harder. It was his goal to match his brother and perhaps truly beat him with the sword one day.

Growing up Robb had been reminded time and time again of his position and, by that same token, Jon's position within not only Winterfell but the entire noble ranking. Robb had always been proud to be Ned's heir, eldest son of the Lord of Winterfell, but he had also always been saddened that his boyhood companion, best friend, brother seemed to have no hope to amount to anything in the eyes of the greater realm. Even in the eyes of members of their own house. Had Jon been a trueborn second son things would have been different. He may have been able to have a hold, marry a lady . . . have any number of positions within Robb's household.

Robb would have allowed him much of that anyway, one day when they were both grown and he became Lord of Winterfell. But that day had always seemed too far off for Jon and his brother had lost hope that such a thing would never happen. He still cringed at the memory of shooting down Jon during play when he decried that he was one of the Lords of Winterfell after Robb announced his own choice of play.

Robb had hated the crestfallen expression that graced his brother's face, regretting his words near instantly. The sullen attitude that had befallen Jon for the rest of the day, and several days later, had guilt seeping through Robb's bones for weeks. Jon had never been able to escape what Robb believed he saw as his fate. At least, not until fate stepped in.

It was hard to believe that his brother, who still acted very much his equal in age, also had the memories of a man grown and hundreds of lives lived. But Robb trusted Jon and trusted his father. The stories they heard were just too accurate to be anything but the truth.

Blessed by the Gods, Robb had said once.

Jon had turned a dark glare on him and bit out, Cursed by the Gods, you mean.

Robb hadn't mentioned the Gods having a hand in his situation again, not to Jon anyway.

It had shocked him to learn that Jon was not his brother but his cousin. The details staggering him, but he'd pressed on. No matter who had born him, they were brothers and always would be. No matter what others may think or say Jon was good. He was family. He was loved. He deserved to be.

Dinner was a rather quiet affair since Father and Mother had left, Sansa, Arya, and Jon traveling with them. Rickon pouted through the meal, often mumbling questions about when their mother would be back. It would be several moons before most of them would return. They were visiting the major Lords and Ladies along the East coast, starting with the Manderly's in White Harbor. Jon would be gone for at least a few moons as well, traveling to Braavos to visit the Iron Bank much to Robb's annoyance.

He had wanted to travel with his brother, but Lord Stark had ordered him to remain in Winterfell along with the boys to oversee the castle. It would be a good learning experience; Robb had been told. A chance for him to stand on his own without having the Lordship thrust upon him without any preparation.

There were times he had push his envy of his brother down deep, but he knew that Jon's life was not as simple as it had once seemed to be. As a bastard Jon would have had simultaneously more freedom and less options than Robb as heir of Winterfell, but he wasn't a bastard anymore. Like Robb he was a trueborn son of a noble house and likely the heir. If the truth of his birth came out the pressure to rally a force to retake the throne would mount and even if he didn't there would be another pressure—one Robb had felt for years only his was lessened by the knowledge of having four younger siblings—one to find a wife and continue the family name.

There were only two other Targaryens alive as far as they knew, Viserys and Daenerys, and, from what Jon had said, Viserys was a monster as mad as his father had been. Robb wondered if Jon would break his word to their father and arrange the elder Targaryen's assassination as he had in previous lives. It would surely be easy for him to do while he was in Braavos; he could easily arrange for a faceless man to locate the 'Beggar King' and remove him from the world.

"It's tempting," Jon said quietly, tapping his quill against the parchment he was writing on. "He's a cruel man. You can't even imagine how he treats his own sister . . ." he lifted his eyes to meet Robb's. "Daenerys is a sweet, gentle young woman but his treatment of her and what happens to her after he . . . sells her to Khal Drogo hardens her. Makes her into a conqueror and a true Queen."

"But you would change it if you could?" Robb asked, thinking of the stories Jon had told him of Daenerys and her dragons. Of the lives he had traveled the Great Grass Sea with his aunt's Khalasar.

"I would," Jon nodded, brow furrowing. "I think . . . but I'm not sure if I should yet." He stared towards the window. "We have Winter . . . but even with three dragons defeating the Others has always been difficult." He bit his lip in thought and then sighed, shaking his head. "It would be better to have four."

"More does sound as if it would be better," Robb agreed, "in this case at least." Shifting the papers stacked before him he looked through the notes of various lives Jon had lived, reading over the actions Jon had taken and what he believed the consequences of each were. "Could she not hatch at least one without the sacrifice bit?"

"I don't think so," Jon said slowly, glancing up at him. "At least I have never seen it happen. Either the dragons hatched upon Khal Drogo's funeral pyre or they hatched upon Viserys'. As far as I know it only happened upon Viserys' one time and I was there for it."

"But you did?"

"The egg was given to me as a babe," Jon bit his lip as he shuffled through a few sheets of notes. "I think that may be why it was so easy for me to hatch it. That or perhaps Winterfell and the crypts have some amount of magic in it that helped as well." He shook his head. "I don't think they had an egg to lay in her crib when she was born and if they did it is likely still on Dragonstone. Maybe . . ." he paused, picking up his quill again, "maybe she could have managed one."

"But that would leave us down one dragon."

Jon nodded. "It would."

They fell back into a comfortable silence as they arranged the notes and rewrote them where needed. Jon's writing had been sloppy when he'd first written some of them, shaking with emotions as he first relived the memories. The quiet was only broken a few times by Robb asking clarifying questions about what he or their father had written.

Jon had a relatively high opinion of his aunt, Robb knew, and painted a pretty picture of a beautiful woman who walked through fire—literally and figuratively—and come out the better for it. Though there were times he'd frown as he described decisions she made, actions she took, as if looking back at now, so far removed, they had begun to take on a different light.

"What will you do when she comes to Westeros?" Robb asked a while later.

"I don't know."

Robb raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

"Daenerys can be stubborn," Jon smiled slightly, "and she will not want to set aside the dream of regaining the Iron Throne. I will not let her destroy our family though, Robb. I may be a Targaryen, but I am a Stark first. If she or even if Aegon comes for the throne . . . it will depend on the dynamics of power in the kingdom."

If the Lannisters ended up in power, Robb knew that Jon wouldn't hesitate to support Daenerys or Aegon. If Robert was on the throne still . . . well therein lay the conundrum. Their father wouldn't abandon his loyalty to his foster brother unless their House or the North was threatened.

Robb wasn't sure where his lord father would lay their loyalties if Prince Joffrey ascended to the throne. Not after the tales Jon told them.

"I will do what is best for our family and what is best for the North," Robb said softly after a while, setting down his quill.

Jon smiled, glancing up at him. "As will I." Grey eyes dropped to stare at the pages before him. "I think you'd like her," he said after a long moment.

"Daenerys?"

"Yes."

"Did we ever meet?" Robb was genuinely curious, he hadn't come across any notes that told of him living long enough to treat with the Dragon Queen as yet.

"A few times." Jon ducked his head, attempting to hide behind his dark curls.

Robb narrowed his eyes as Jon didn't continue speaking. "Is this one of the times you're going to refuse to tell me more . . . like the time I asked about my marriage to Margaery Tyrell?"

He had seen the notes on that life, much to Jon's annoyance, but his brother had declined to give him any more information on the subject.

Jon glanced up at him, grey eyes shining with mirth and lips quirked in a grin.

"All right," Robb shoved his chair back from the table, nearly knocking over a pot of ink, "that's enough of this for the day. You and me, in the practice ring, ten minutes."

"Lord Robb—"

"Robb," Robb corrected his cousin quickly.

"Robb." Robin Arryn smiled as he poked at his food with his fork, pushing it around his plate. "Bran says you're an excellent horseman."

"I am more than decent riding a horse," Robb said, a grin quirking his lips which he hid behind his glass as he sipped from it.

His cousin bit his lip and glanced Bran's way before taking a deep breath to muster up his courage. "Mother never let me ride a horse. I always had to ride with her," he said gaze falling to his plate. "I was wondering if, perhaps, you might teach me—me and Bran—the basics?"

Robb watched them for a long moment, trying to emulate how his father would have responded to such a request. When Robin's fingers began to fidget be finally broke his silence. "I suppose," he said and then waited for his cousin to look up at him before continuing. "If Maester Haburt says it is okay and the weather is clear I don't see why we couldn't go over the basics tomorrow morning."

Both boys grinned widely at him, showing off their gap-toothed smiles.

"If you promise me that there will be no more climbing of the castle walls," he stared pointedly at them until their faces adopted a sheepish expression and they nodded violently. "Well then, Robin, first thing tomorrow visit your maester and I will meet with him after."

The boys wouldn't stop talking of their plans for the next morning and which horse they would ride for the rest of the meal; Robb excused himself after he was done and made his way to the Godswood, his guard for the evening, Wildem, shadowing him a few paces back.

The clearing was quiet and he stopped to light a few torches on his way to the Heart Tree, the glow reflecting off the pond. Grey Wind had appeared at his side as they entered the wood, his yellow eyes shining in the torch light. He'd been hunting with Summer and Shaggydog much of the day. They were all so large now, though the mother wolf was still at least a quarter taller.

As Robb knelt before the tree, Grey Wind lay down next to him, his side pressing against Robb's thigh. He prayed to the Gods for guidance, for his family to be safe, and for the North's preparations not to be in vain. Lastly he prayed that Jon would make the right choices and not do anything stupid while on his journey—that his brother would return to them safe and sound with Ghost at his side and Winter flying in the skies above him.

He prayed that in this world they would have a happy ending.