Run Fast for your Father
Jon had never thought to spend much time in the Wintertown. He’d spoken to some there; the butcher, the baker, the barber, the whores of the brothel, but he would never have said they were his friends.
Joni must be a little more sociable than him, because according to so many that let him and one of the Starks hide in their houses for a few days, Joni had been their friend. So many looked at him and smiled brightly before they realized he wasn’t her. When he made it back to his his own home, he was going to spend more time in the Wintertown. He and Joni’s siblings would be dead already without the smallfolk’s help.
They had stayed in the brothel for several days before others had offered their hospitality, and from there they had separated. Staying apart made more sense. If one of them was caught, the others would still be free. Jon spent the first of those days with Lyarra and her basket of precious contents. She’d thought to keep him close to her, both to gather more information and to keep him away from her sisters if he was a traitor.
“You’ve met all of us. Tell me more about your family,” she said.
Jon smiled. “My eldest brother… you… is called Robb. You look a lot like him, all Tully. You’re a lot more ... thinking ahead though.”
Robb was good at strategy, but Lyarra was thinking about the people.
“What about Edwyle? I can't imagine him as a girl.”
“Her name is Arya.”
He told her about all his siblings, and his father, and Theon.
Lyarra frowned at the mention of him. “Father fostered him here for some time too. But he kept pestering Joni, until she scratched him. I think Father sent him to Stannis Baratheon.”
“That does sound like Theon,” Jon agreed. He was more surprised Theon hadn't pushed Lyarra for a roll in the furs. Perhaps he feared her father beheading him.
“He’s still at Winterfell, in your life?”
“Yes.”
Lyarra shook her head. “That’s so bizarre.”
Jon sought information from her too, though much of it was jumbled. According to her, the attack on Winterfell had come without warning, and the rumors about why were varied.
“How did the King come to bring an army to the North without Father having time to prepare?” Jon asked. If he’d marched through the Neck, his men would have struggled in the bog and the Crannogmen raised the alarm.
“Of that we’re not certain. Father believed he must have landed at White Harbor, but we never heard anything from the Manderlys.”
“Then the North was betrayed.”
Lyarra shook her head. “I’m sure many here are still loyal to us. I’m certain of it.”
She was more optimistic than Robb.
Soon enough though, he separated from Lyarra and was paired with Edwyle for some time.
Edwyle was less impulsive than Arya, though he still had a temper and was quick to come to conclusions. He viewed Jon with suspicion, his grey eyes as cold as his father.
“I know you don't trust me,” Jon said.
“You came from nowhere with an impossible story, and now our Joni is gone. No, I don't trust you!”
“I understand. But we do need to work together if we want to survive.”
Jon had wondered whether he could take these Starks into their Winterfell and take them back to his, but his fear made him reject the thought. The Baratheons held Winterfell, and they would surely all die if they tried to enter.
“I don't need to do anything with you,” Edwyle muttered.
After Edwyle, Jon found himself with the younger two girls. They were so much different from his little brothers. Minisa was painfully quiet and shy, and only happy for the few minutes when the baker’s cat came in to play with them. Berena, meanwhile, was a fierce little thing, ready for some kind of fight.
They spent only a day together before they swapped round again so he would be back with Lyarra.
“Your sisters are doing well,” Jon assured her.
Lyarra nodded, but didn't look as happy as he’d have felt.
“What is it?”
“Baratheon men searched the house next to the one I was hiding in last night. That's why I had to ask for us all to be moved round again.”
Jon could admit, he'd assumed they'd been moved because Lyarra didn't want him spending too much time with her little sisters. But this did make far more sense.
“Are you well?” he asked.
Lyarra sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “I'm fine. They didn't come to mine. I just…” She shook her head. “I miss Joni.”
“I'm certain Joni is fine. My Winterfell isn't under attack, and my family will look after her.”
At least until they had him back. After that, Jon wasn't certain what happened. He didn't know if they could both exist at the same time on the same side of the mirror.
Lyarra’s eyes went to her precious basket. “Then you never..?”
Jon managed a smile. “I think your Joni must have a bit more unsupervised alone time than me.”
Lyarra flushed red. “What do you mean by that?”
“Just that I wouldn't have had time to…” He waved a hand at the basket.
“Joni and I are close.”
“I'm not saying you aren't–”
“We spend most of our time together.”
“I believe you. I was only joking.”
“It wasn't funny.”
“Sorry,” he muttered.
They said little to each other that day and night, though it only made their time cooped in the small attic more uncomfortable. In the morning, the woman who owned the house stuck her head into the room, looking pale and worried. “You ought to know there’s something afoot at the castle gates.”
“Do you know what?”
“They’ve brought Lord Stark out.”
“Father,” Lyarra whispered, her eyes hopeful.
Jon’s heart sank. “They won’t let him go.”
His father wouldn’t.
“Then what?” she asked.
“Let me go. I’ll see what’s happening.”
“Am I meant to trust you?”
“You trusted me before.” Jon met her eyes, and they held each other’s gaze before he broke away and slipped down the ladder. He stopped to help the houseowner put the ladder away before glancing around. “Do you have a cloak I can borrow?”
He doubted anyone would be looking at random boys in the crowd, let alone King Robert, who was the one that saw his face, but it wasn’t worth the risk.
The houseowner smiled and dug a thin cloak from a chest. It had belonged to a boy much smaller than him, but he could bring it up to cover his head and dark hair. Amidst a crowd, he hoped he wouldn’t be noticed.
He followed the houseowner out and they joined a flurry of people already on their way up to the castle. Jon moved with them as best as he could, though he still feared that one of them might see him and name him. Plenty had been hiding him in their homes. Then he wondered why they would betray him when they’d been hiding him.
“What are you doing here?”
The question was so expected and unexpected that it made him jump. He spun round to find Edwyle amongst the crowd, his dark hair a mess and his grey eyes spiteful.
“Me? What are you doing?”
Jon bore the Stark look, but he might be overlooked as most would be expected Joni. Edwyle was more identifiable to the men of Winterfell.
“They’re saying my father has been brought to the Winterfell gates. I’m going to set him free.”
Jon groaned. “You are not.”
Edwyle scowled. “He’s my father!”
“Not so loud!” Jon hissed. He'd thought Edwyle was smarter than Arya.
“I'm not being loud!”
Jon groaned and grabbed his arm, pulling him against a building as they reached the end of the street.
Ahead of them, Winterfell was draped in Baratheon flags. The dancing stag had filled all the places where the Stark wolf should have been. Jon’s heart rejected it; it looked all wrong.
A low platform had been hastily erected in front of the gates, and upon it was his father of this Winterfell, on his knees with his arms bound behind his back. Lady Catelyn was beside him, her face snow white.
“Mother!” cried Edwyle, pushing forward into the crowd.
Jon seized the back of his jacket and pulled him back. “Be quiet, you little fool! Do you want them to notice us!”
“I must go to them!”
Jon shook him roughly. “Your father would not want you to be executed alongside him, do you understand me? You’re the heir to Winterfell now; you need to survive.”
Jon suspected Edwyle was about to be the Lord of Winterfell, but he couldn’t say that. It would only distress the boy further.
“Robert is heir–”
Jon’s eyes went to the body hanging high above the Winterfell gates. It was badly damaged by the weather, but the auburn hair and Stark colors were still recognizable.
“There is nothing you can do to help them,” he said.
On stage, King Robert Baratheon was red-faced as he looked at Lord Stark. “This man has betrayed your king! He has betrayed Westeros! He has harbored an enemy here in his castle for all of these years, raising it to become a threat! I myself have watched it practice vile black magic!”
Mutters ran around the gathered smallfolk. Jon could only hope they didn’t believe the king. At least not all of them. He and the Starks of this Winterfell would be dead without their assistance.
“Not only that, but they have returned the most foul of beasts to our lands! And this man has helped and hidden them!”
“But he's lying!” Edwyle protested, his eyes bright with tears. He strained against Jon’s grip. “It's all lies!”
“Quiet!” Jon hissed.
“I, Robert of the House Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm, sentence you to die.”
“No!” screamed Edwyle, bucking in Jon’s arms.
Jon struggled to hold him back, but he was stronger than Arya and slippery as a fish.
On stage, King Robert brought his great war hammer down on his father’s head.
Blood splattered Lady Catelyn’s face. She screamed, her eyes wide with panic.
Edwyle screamed and stamped on Jon’s foot. “No! Father! Mother!” He kicked Jon in the knee, elbowed him in the stomach, and shoved his way into the crowd.
Lady Catelyn’s screams went quiet.
Jon closed his eyes and drew away, slinking back against the wall.
“Guards! Bring me that boy!” bellowed King Robert.
Jon turned and hurried back the way he'd come.
“Are you alright, love?” asked a woman, and it took him too long to recognize her as the one he'd been staying with for the last few days.
“My brother…” he muttered .
“Guards are after him now.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Let's get you back inside before they spot you too.”
Jon wished he knew what to say to Lyarra, but instead he looked into her blue eyes and burst into tears.