Safety (Jon)

[Rickard Stark]

After the three Stark brothers, Osha and Hodor got away from Winterfell, they hid at a farm. After they left, Theon Greyjoy, the man Rickard grew up with, had the farmer and his family killed. Rickard would never forgive him for what he's done. Nonetheless, Rickard had to get his brothers safely to the wall. After that, he would think of what he was going to do. Either stay with his family at the wall, or go south to join his older brother and fight against the Lannisters.

Rickard was very relieved when the wall came into view. It was a truly magnificent sight, seeing an enormous ice structure stretching for miles to both sides, and hundreds of feet up in the air. It was even more impressive as they entered Castle Black and he looked in the air. Rickard looked around for a bit, and then spotted several men staring at him.

"What are you staring at? I am prince Rickard Stark of Winterfell, and I'm here to see my brother, Jon." He shouted to the man standing in front of him, but he wouldn't move a muscle. "Well, make it quick. I don't have all day." He said.

[Jon Snow]

Jon limped slightly as he walked past the cots of several other brothers of the Watch. There was a solid white linen cloth wrapped around his leg, stained with blood. Longclaw hung at his side, and his restored black cloak trailed behind him. Ghost trailed behind him, his red eyes flicking back and forth. Jon looked around him, grimacing slightly. Bodies lay on bloodstained cots, their black clothing matted to their bodies as they fought for life. One man lay on his side, a wildling axe through his side, breathing laboriously. Jon turned away and looked ahead of him. Lord Commander Mormont led the way in front of him.

The two of them were inside Castle Black, surveying the corpses of the dead. The Watch was spinning, attempting to recover from the surprise attack the wildlings had launched the night before. They had managed to repel the mammoths and giants, but the wildlings had struck hard-too hard. Even as Jon turned to look around him, at the dead and dying, a messenger strolled up, blinking awkwardly. He whispered something into the Lord Commander's ear.

"Jon..." began Mormont. "There is a visitor to the Wall. He-"

"No. You can't leave. The men need your support here. The wildlings struck us hard, and harder emotionally, we-"

"-the visitor does not ask for me, Jon. He asks for you. He claims to be...Rickard Stark."

Jon stopped in his tracks, and Ghost began to circle around him animatedly. Jon's eyes widened, and with a nod from the Lord Commander, Jon burst past him, dashing down the steps. He burst out into the cold, and his jaw fell slack. It was Rickard. His brother, Rickard.


The Starks of Winterfell lived.

[Rickard Stark]

Again, Rickard looked around to check out the castle. It almost looked like it was very old. It was colder here than it was in Winterfell, but Rickard almost enjoyed it. When he took a closer look, it seemed like there had been battle recently. There were a lot of men laying or standing around, and they all looked very tired, and some even wounded. Then he looked up. He saw his brother Jon running down the stairs. The black clothes looked good on him. The white direwolf Ghost then followed.

"Stay, Shadow" He said to his own direwolf, one that was a bit larger than the rest, and had an all black fur. The wolf sat down and it seemed like he nodded to Rickard in acknowledgement. Then he walked to his brother and embraced his brother. "Jon. 'tis good to see you, brother, though I bring grave news, if you had not heard it already" he said with a sad tone to his voice. his expression changed from a joyous one to a very sad one.

[Jon Snow]

Jon stepped forward, a smile on his face, then winced slightly. There was a wound in his ribs, and it hurt if he didn't take small, mincing steps. Aemon had told him to lie down for a few days, to rest the bones and let them heal, but he had refused. A Steward had duties. The men of the Watch were wounded, and recovering. It was his job to follow the Old Bear and help him muster the men's morale. If the wildings, or worse, the Others, attacked, they had to be ready.

Jon nodded sadly and looked at Rickard. He noticed the change in tone of his brother's voice, and looked up at the sky. A light snow was beginning to fall, and a small smile played across his face.

"Do you remember what father used to say, Rick? When the snows fall, and the white winds blow..." Jon paused, reaching a hand to his face to wipe a single glistening tear away. "...the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives." He looked at Rickard and Bran and Rickon. "Robb is King in the North now. You should go to him. You're a pack. You'll survive. Protect Robb. Defend him. And I..."

Jon turned to look at the Wall, and his face became hard. "I'm the Bastard of Winterfell. I'm a crow, with the heart of a wolf. This is my place. I'm not a Stark anymore, Rickard. I'm just...just another black cloak among hundreds. "

[Rickard Stark]

Rickard had a smile on his face. It was good to see his brother, but that smile quickly faded as Jon told him about something their father used to say. About how the pack survives, while the lone wolf dies. Then he told Rickard that Jon was no Stark, and that he was but a crow. Rickard did not think so.

”Jon, our father’s blood runs through your veins just as much as it runs through mine, or Robb’s, or Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon’s. You may not have our name, or be in the line of inheritance, but you are a Stark by blood nonetheless.” he said, hoping to talk some sense into his brother’s mind.

[Jon Snow]

Jon turned, his face a mixture of harshness and sadness. He was conflicted, a man torn. He looked at his brother, then at the Wall that loomed above and the straggling black specks that manned it, with a sense of growing sadness. Then he grasped the hilt of longclaw, and spoke with firm conviction, his eyes hard and cold and the Wall behind.

"Blood matters not on the Wall, Rick. Blood is just that-blood. It falls upon the snows and it stains our clothes with each battle. Here on the Wall, I am someone I could never be back at-...at Winterfell. I am no one. I'm not the bastard son of Ed Stark, I'm not the bastard brother of the King in the North. When we feasted the King...you and Rob and Arya and Rickon all sat up at the Dias, lions and wolves and stags all. But where did you put me? Where did you put the bastard, the white wolf?"

Jon turned away from Rickon , his emotions, all the things he had ever wanted to say or yell pouring from him, like blood should have poured from the necks of the Others, but it hadn't, they just kept coming, laughing their cold laughter, watching with dead eyes, and-

Jon was broken from his reverie by the pounding of feet upon the packed snow. Sam, fat little Sam, stood before him, panting and out of breath. In gasped breaths, he told Jon that he was needed by Mormont, for some emergency or other. He nodded his assent, then glanced back at Rickon and the others.

"A fortnight of rest, two-if that-fresh horses, and as much food and supplies as fits one saddlebsg. I..I'm sorry. We're strained...The Seven know we can't spare anything right now. I..."

Jon paused, then turned and began to slowly walk away, as if each step hurt.

[Rickard Stark]

Rickard stood there, listening to what Jon was saying. He thought that he was an outcast, no one. But still Rickard thought he was wrong. "Brother, if father did not think of you as family, why would he raise you with Robb, Bran, Rickon, the girls and me? Do you not see that? He may have been less warm to you than to us but you were still his son, and thus my brother. And the reason you sat alone was the Queen. We may consider you part of us, but she does not."

Then he stopped to listen what else Jon had to say. Jon told Rickard that they had to leave. He couldn't send Bran and Rickon away again. It was safer here than anywhere else. And then Jon walked away. [color=red"Jon.. I can not take Bran and Rickon with me, it isn't safe, especially not where the place I'm going. I'm asking... No, begging you to allow them to stay until at least we have reclaimed Winterfell."[/color]

[Jon Snow]

Jon stopped and turned. His face was the picture of grief and conflicting emotions. His lips were pursed, and he stared at the falling snow, even as it drifted to the earth. He swallowed, and stared at Rickard.

"Brother. You do not know what you ask of me. I..."

Jon clenched his fist. Behind him, the Sam beckoned impatiently, and the snow drifted down to rest in Jon's hair. The ice-cold wind began to blow harder, and the snow began to fall the slightest bit faster. A storm was on the way. Jon gritted his teeth and through them, spoke.

"Two months. That is the most I can promise. Mormont may already have my head for this, so ask no more of me."