Chapter Text
It was Jon's tenth nameday, and as always, a grand dinner would be held for the entire castle. Every year, he looked forward to it, delighting in the gifts he received. Yet, he reminded himself that he was no longer a boy and shouldn't care so much about presents. Despite his excitement, he knew Lady Stark would find some way to remind him that his nameday was nothing to be proud of.
He gratefully accepted wishes from his siblings, though Sansa's felt different this year, lacking the warmth of previous years, which made him a little sad. He enjoyed the wishes from the castle men and women too; theirs didn't feel any different. Uncle Benjen had come as well—for the first time, he had come specifically for Jon's nameday and not for the celebrations of Jon's siblings. Now that he was ten, Jon thought he could ask to go with him. He was old enough, surely. He had debated asking when Uncle Benjen arrived but feared his uncle might refuse and inform his father, who would then demand reasons. Jon didn't want to explain it to his father.
When the time for dinner came, Jon was happy. Lady Stark had not spoiled his day. He wasn't given any tasks—nothing in the stables, the winter garden, or even on the towers. Instead, he had too much fun today. Perhaps Lady Stark had accepted that he was here to stay, or maybe she didn't even know it was his nameday, he thought. He didn't know which one he preferred.
He enjoyed the dinner with his family very much, especially his father reminding them all that they were wolves and they should stick together, Jon had his best nameday last night, the gifts had been the best thing, his father had said he will get another from him tomorrow and with wondering what it might be Jon went to the bed.
He was in his father's solar, sitting opposite him, fidgeting and wondering if his father had forgotten about the gift. He hadn't asked yet, but they had talked about all sorts of mundane things—things he did, his siblings, among others—but the gift still hadn't been revealed. While he enjoyed his time with his father, he wanted the gift more. He had no grandfather in Riverrun to send him gifts, so he would cherish any additional gift he got, even if it would be unfair to his siblings that Father got him two and not one like them.
“And your jousting lessons?” Father asked, and Jon wanted to scream. He was good at jousting, but he had already told him that when they had discussed his horse riding. He failed to hide his annoyance. “I'm able to match Robb in it; we take somewhat equal wins.”
Father gave a chuckle—a nervous chuckle, Jon saw—and that's when it hit him. Father was nervous. There was something serious going on, and he wanted none of it. If he was involved in making Father nervous, it had to have come from Lady Stark. He knew there would have been tension because of him, but it never reached his ears, and Lady Stark had always ignored him.
“You promised another gift, Father. May I have it now so I can go?” Jon asked, wanting to get out of there before whatever was in his father's mind came to haunt him.
His father smiled, and Jon saw no nervousness and felt relieved, but it was short-lived.
“You will have it, but we must discuss something I have arranged,” Father said, his face grim.
“What?” Jon asked, wary of what the answer would bring.
“You're ten now, and we must talk of your future. One day you will be a man grown, and with that, you will have responsibilities. You have had the same lessons as Robb; you would need lands to put them to use. Do you understand?”
Jon was stunned. He had wondered what would become of him, and the Night's Watch had made sense to him, but to have lands—it would be a dream, he had thought. “I understand. I will be honored to have any land you might bestow upon me.”
“Good. Now, when I was eight, my father sent me to the Eyrie to foster, and my brother Brandon to Barrowtown. I need Robb here for Theon. You and Theon have not taken to each other as I had hoped. There have been offers for you and Robb for fostering, and I have avoided them as long as I could…” He understood what was to come clearly enough. He was being sent away. Yet, he didn't feel the bitterness or sadness he had imagined he would feel at the notion. Instead, a strange sense of anticipation welled up within him. Father continued, “Mace Tyrell has accepted to foster you. You will have the lessons he gave his sons and learn from his sons, Willas and Garlan Tyrell. There are other children your age there, too.” his father said nervously and Jon didn't react to ease his father's worries.
His father watched him closely, and Jon felt a mixture of relief and excitement at the idea of Highgarden. He wasn't being sent to hide for being a Snow; he was going to Highgarden, the seat of a great lord known for its beauty and chivalry. It was an opportunity to prove himself, to be more than just the Stark bastard. Yet, the thought of leaving Winterfell tugged at his heart. He would miss his siblings, Arya the most, with her fierce spirit and wild ways. But Father had been fostered too and still loved his siblings deeply, so perhaps distance wouldn't diminish his bond with them.
Jon straightened his back, trying to appear more grown-up than he felt. “I would be happy to foster their father, I have heard great things about the Reach.”
His father’s grim face softened slightly, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “You have a strong heart, Jon. Highgarden will be good for you. You will learn much and make connections that will last a lifetime.”
As Jon absorbed his father’s words, he realized that this was not just about him. It was a step towards shaping North's future. He would not waste this opportunity. He would show them all that a Snow could be just as capable and honorable as any Stark but would he be a Snow ?
“And the land you have for me, where are they?” Jon asked.
It took a beat for him to receive a reply. “I fostered until I was nineteen, and it was war that brought me back home. But you, Jon, will return home at sixteen. Then, I will tell you of your lands and your mother. You have my promise on that.” Father sounded determined. Jon forgot all about lands and Highgarden; his father had promised to tell him about his mother. Jon found no voice to make his father understand, but somehow he saw that his father did.
“You have a forthnight before you leave. You will travel by ship, and ten men from House Stark will go with you. They will either be old or young and most likely without family, so make sure you are family to them. They are leaving their home for you, so be kind and don’t get into trouble.”
Jon frowned. He knew how to take care of men; he didn’t need instructions on what to do.
“I will, Father,” he said annoyed.
“Now, be wary. There might be people who would want to take advantage of you. Trust Lord Mace and inform him of anything suspicious,” Father said. Jon nodded, only half-listening.
“And Jon, do be wary of Lady Tyrell, both of them. Do you understand?”
He nodded again. He was already wary of the Lady of the castle he lived in, at least that would not change. He mused and smiled at the thought.
“I think you have reached your limit today. We will talk about this tomorrow. Now, let’s get you your gift.” his father said fondly and messing his hair.
Jon’s heart quickened as he followed his father. The promise of the gift that had so preoccupied him earlier now felt secondary to the monumental revelation about his mother. Still, curiosity tinged with excitement bubbled within him. As they walked through the familiar halls of Winterfell, he felt a mixture of anticipation and anxiety about the gift and that brought Jon back to attention. Had he not received the gift, he had thought it was the fostering? Well, he wouldn’t mind getting another.
His father led him to the stables, and there stood a magnificent black destrier. Jon was delighted. Until now, he had been riding stable horses to practice. Now, he had his own horse, and he had gotten it before Robb.
“His name is Shadow,” his father said. “May he serve you well.”
Jon stroked the horse’s mane, feeling a deep connection with the creature. “Thank you, Father. This is the best gift I could have asked for.”
The next morning, both Robb and Jon took Shadow riding. Jon had woken even earlier to be with his new horse. Robb and Arya hadn’t liked the fact that Jon would be going away, but by the time he was to leave, they had come around. Robb pestered their father to get a horse too but it fell on deaf ears.
In the quiet moments, Jon found himself wondering what Highgarden would be like. Would it be as grand and beautiful as the songs said? What kind of men were Willas and Garlan Tyrell? Would they accept him, a northern bastard, among their noble ranks? He pushed these thoughts aside, focusing on the joy of riding Shadow through the fields of Winterfell.
Memories of Winterfell flashed through his mind again like they had for many days—the training yard where he and Robb sparred, the godswood where he found peace with Arya, the warm kitchen where Sansa stole lemon cakes, Bran who was always to play with. These memories would have to sustain him through his time away and then the news of Lady Stark being with child filled him with joy and sorrow, he might not see the new babe for years, just as his other siblings.
All his siblings came to his rooms the night before he was to leave, even Sansa was with them.
“We came to say goodbye, Jon, and to remind you to write. If you do not, remember I’m the oldest, and will make you pay for it,” Robb said, his attempt at a stern expression failing to hide the sadness in his eyes. Their faces broke Jon’s heart.
“I will, of course, write. And you best write back too. You too, Arya,” he said, looking uncertainly towards Sansa but not letting the conversation falter. “And you take care of yourself, Sansa. I will write to you too, Bran.” Tears now flowed freely from him. Soon he was engulfed in a hug from Robb, followed by Arya, and then both Sansa and Bran. All the siblings stayed in the embrace until they had no more tears to shed.
They sat on Jon's bed and reminisced about the stories they had lived, the adventures and mischief that had bonded them as siblings.
The weight of the impending separation hung heavily in the air. Jon looked at each of his siblings, trying to memorize their faces, the love and concern etched in their expressions. He realized how much he would miss them, each one in their unique way. Arya's wild spirit, Robb's steadfast loyalty, Bran's curiosity, and even Sansa's grace and poise—all of it would be a void in his heart.
The room was filled with laughter and bittersweet memories until it was time for dinner. As they prepared to leave, Sansa started to cry. She threw herself at Jon, hugging him tightly.
“Write to me too, Jon. Please, Brother,” she pleaded, her voice breaking.
Jon was crying again. “I will, sister. I promise I will.”
