Jon Snow sometimes wished he could be invisible, so he could disappear within the vast Winterfell and avoid many awkward situations.
In Winterfell, three colored banners flew high: white for House Stark's direwolf of the north, crimson for House Lannister's roaring lion, and gold for House Baratheon's crowned stag.
More banners meant more people, and Jon would never forget the way the southern visitors looked at him—curiosity, awkwardness, or even disdain. The bolder ones would even point and whisper.
People were curious about Jon's "birth mother"; some said it was Ashara Dayne, others said Wylla, and even bolder speculation suggested a fisherwoman. In any case, the existence of the bastard reminded everyone that even a stern and rigid Lord Eddard could have his moments of overflowing passion. Lord Eddard had done it, a mistake many nobles made.
Jon stood on the covered walkway opposite the Winterfell training grounds, watching two young men spar in the arena.
The taller one with dark brown hair was Theon, a slender, handsome nineteen-year-old. His opponent, Robb, the heir to Winterfell, had reddish-brown hair, blue eyes, and a sturdy build. The two went back and forth, their blunted swords clashing with a cold clang.
Jon adored Robb, but his relationship with Theon was not harmonious. Mostly, Theon believed himself an heir and saw no need to befriend a bastard.
"They're putting on quite a show, aren't they!" Tyrion also came up, tilting his oversized head, his mismatched eyes scrutinizing Jon.
"Not bad." Jon looked at Tyrion, feeling a strange affinity. In a way, they were kindred spirits; a bastard and a dwarf, both on the fringes of noble society.
Jon would never forget the dwarf's parting words to him after the dinner. "Remember, boy, though all dwarfs may be bastards in the eyes of their fathers and the world, not all bastards need be dwarfs."
"You are also Lord Stark's Child, and your swordsmanship is not bad, is it?" Tyrion asked.
Jon liked him saying that about himself. "Robb's Longspear is more powerful than mine, but my swordsmanship is better, and Hullen says my horsemanship is among the best in Winterfell."
"It's certainly not easy. Knights prefer to use their swords, while I can only use my wits."
"Little bastard, I heard you spoke with your uncle Benjen for a while at the dinner." Tyrion added.
"Yes, My Lord." Jon replied.
"Let me guess your thoughts, Child." Tyrion said gravely. "Lady Catelyn is not kind to you, and Lord Eddard cannot protect you forever. Your uncle is a seasoned Night's Watchman, and northerners respect the Night's Watch's duties. Do you feel you have nowhere else to go and wish to go to The Wall?"
Jon couldn't help but admire the dwarf's insight and grasp of human nature. "You are a giant, My Lord. I have indeed thought about it many times."
"Are you ready?" Tyrion asked, feeling sad for the path Jon had chosen, knowing it would be a difficult one. "The Wall is a harsh place, and the Night's Watch cannot marry or have children. Before you experience women, you probably can't imagine the price you will have to pay in the future."
"My uncle Benjen has already told me all this." Jon replied. "He told me to think it through, that once I take that oath, there's no turning back."
"Your uncle is right." Tyrion said. "Do you know what the Night's Watch is now?"
"The Night's Watch are warriors on The Wall, the shield that guards the realms." Jon said. This was something everyone in the North knew.
"Hahaha." Tyrion laughed. "It seems your dear uncle Benjen didn't make it clear to you. In the past, serving on The Wall was seen as a symbol of honor and selfless dedication to duty; many Knights, people of standing, and nobles voluntarily donned the black. But now, the crows can only recruit from dungeons; rapists, bandits, and robber Knights are your brothers."
"This..." Jon was slightly stunned by the facts Tyrion revealed, but he thought he was ready to face the challenge, even if it meant associating with such scum.
"Why must you become a Night's Watchman? Becoming a crow means you cannot touch any woman in the world. Perhaps only you northerners and vale men are so rigid. I have three uncles, more than yours, but if you asked them to become crows, it would be worse than killing them. No women, no aimless wandering." Tyrion said. "However, your uncle becoming a crow wasn't purely for honor."
"Then what was it for!" Jon could not tolerate others' disdain for his uncle.
"You should read more, little bastard. Think of the She-wolf of Winterfell; that was a fascinating period in history, a time when a pack of direwolves must have been howling in Winterfell."
Jon paused, he agreed with Tyrion's opinion; donning the black was also a way to stabilize the succession. Many years ago, Lord Balon was gravely wounded in a battle with the Ironborn, and House Stark subsequently faced a succession dispute, with five widowed She-wolves and a dozen Stark Children vying for the inheritance of Winterfell.
"But I think your uncle donning the black wasn't very wise. Your father's generation only has this one brother alive, and in terms of family ties, who could be more useful than Benjen? It's a pity he went to The Wall." Tyrion analyzed.
"My uncle loves honor above all else." Jon retorted.
"Indeed, looking at Lord Eddard's face, I suppose that's true."
"bastards have honor too." Jon emphasized again. "I have thought it over and over, and the Night's Watch is an honorable job."
"You have many choices, you are just yourself, little bastard." Tyrion smiled, then whispered. "Look at the King's bastard; Across the Narrow Sea, he's carrying the dragon banner and making himself King. That's a life too."
"This..." Jon felt a lump in his throat. Mercenaries were dishonorable, and he felt the Night's Watch might suit him better. But a peer was already making waves Across the Narrow Sea, and Jon felt a touch of envy.
"Isn't that Gendry an enemy of your House?" Jon looked at Tyrion curiously, the son of the Lannister Queen.
"He's an enemy, but the boy is good steel. Aren't you envious? What could he gain in King's Landing? He might be sent to meet death by my kind older sister, instead of making such a splash now. At this age, perhaps only the Young Dragon could look down on the world like that, but the Young Dragon's war was also a failed war."
Jon felt a little lost. The Night's Watch was the conclusion of his many restless nights, his way of proving his honor. Even if his peers were already making a name for themselves, could he truly abandon honor for freedom, wander the world, and become a dishonorable mercenary, licking blood from a blade?
"Little bastard, there's one more thing you probably don't know, is there?" Tyrion whispered mysteriously.
"What?" Jon asked.
"Lord Eddard is about to go south; a new war is brewing."
Jon quickly reacted, "Are you talking about war with the Mercenary King, the King's bastard, Across the Narrow Sea?"
"Yes, who else could it be but that traitor Bastard who makes our fat King and Queen curse every day?" Tyrion said. "Our country already has a Kingslayer; we can't have another kinslayer King. By all accounts, Lord Eddard will be leading the army eastward."
"Just thinking about it makes my blood boil. Three hundred warships clashing on the Narrow Sea, those fragments and flames, must be even more exciting than the downfall of King Balon. In such a situation, do you still insist on going north?"
"This!" Jon felt a chill pierce through him, and he parted his lips. If war began, could he freely go to The Wall?
"So I think you still need to think clearly; you're too young. Instead of that, why not jump around enough outside, and then become a crow?"
"I..." Jon felt he was caught in a terrible choice. The Night's Watch had no family; even if his father died in the war later, he would not be able to leave The Wall.
"Why are you telling me so much?" Jon asked Tyrion.
"I can't say, perhaps I think you're not bad. Lady Catelyn's sour face isn't really that different from my older sister's." Tyrion shrugged and smiled, then lowered his voice. This was House Stark's business, but who could blame him for being kind? Compared to the other sour-faced Starks, this little bastard was quite agreeable.
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