When he first heard Jon had been attacked by bandits on the kingsroad, Ned had been wroth, sending men to examine the bodies and find out who they had been. While that came up short, Ned found himself racked with worry when he received a letter from Jon Arryn telling him Jon had been injured trying to stop a man who murdered a gate captain in King's Landing.
Ned had been tempted to demand the boy return at once, but he knew he couldn't. By all reports Jon was doing well in King's Landing, and no one had found out the truth. Of course, even if he wanted to bring the boy back he knew it would only make things worse in Winterfell.
Catelyn had been furious with the boy, blaming him for the coldness Robb and Arya showed her after he left. Though both had thawed, things had changed. Robb had started to push away from her. His brother was in the capital working to become a knight so he felt he couldn't be coddled by her mothering. He wanted to prove himself a man worthy of being Ned's heir.
After weeks of silence and ignoring Sansa completely, to the point where it started to upset Sansa, Arya finally returned to calling her sister names and Ned wasn't sure which he preferred. Meanwhile Arya doubted everything her mother said and questioned every decision she made, earning herself a missed meal she surely made up for by sneaking into the kitchen. She'd lost faith in her mother's judgment, making it clear she blamed Catelyn for the loss of her brother. A part of Ned hoped that might make Catelyn rethink things with Jon, but she doubled down and cursed him for turning her children against her.
No, calling Jon back would only make things worse. Instead, Ned thought to send someone to Jon. Other guests surely had retinues, and though Jon was a squire, he was still the son of a lord, surely it would be understandable for him to have a companion. Ned heard from the others Jon had found a friend in Mace Tyrell's son, but surely a boy of the North would be a good companion to help remind the boy of home, keep him company when he wasn't squiring, and be there to guard him.
He came to his decision while visiting Torrhen's Square and considered asking Helman Tallhart to send his son Benfred, but decided against it. As nice as the boy seemed he was a bit too loud for the part he needed to play at Jon's side.
It wasn't until they left that Eddard found his answer on the kingsroad.
They were settling for the night when they noticed a camp fire in the distance and Ned found himself thinking of the bandits that attacked Jon. Ready to battle, Ned led Theon and his guards toward the fire where they found a lone man sat before a small fire. He was average sized with a beardless oval face and long dark hair. His eyes, such pale brown they seemed amber, found the men before they'd even made a noise.
"If you've come to take my purse I'd suggest you cling to your lives and leave," the young man said staring at them, unflinching.
Ned's eyes narrowed as he noticed the boy wearing a pink doublet with with red stripes down the sleeves beneath a black jerkin, his cloak bound by brooch bearing a flayed man.
"You're with House Bolton?" Ned asked standing straight and stepping into the light.
"I am," the young man said looking them over before he took a breath and leapt to his feet. "You're Lord Stark."
"Aye," Ned nodded. "And you are?"
"Ser Domeric Bolton, my lord," he said with a polite smile. "Returning from squiring to Lord Horton Redfort in the Vale."
"Domeric," Ned said with a nod, recognizing the name. "Roose's son."
"One of them," Domeric said with a laugh. "I've learned I have a bastard brother."
"You do?"
Domeric nodded. "So I've heard. When I wrote to my father he wouldn't speak of him so I've decided to look for him myself once I return."
Ned stepped forward. "Domeric, do you wish to return to the Dreadfort or could you be asked to travel south again?"
The Bolton heir arched his brow slightly as he moved closer to the men of Winterfell. "For what?"
"My son, my bastard, he's squiring in King's Landing, but I fear for him. I know he's in good hands but all say it is a viper's pit and I've sent the boy there alone." Ned sighed, feeling a bit of guilt for asking Domeric to give up his task of finding his brother and returning home for his sake, but he needed this. "I'd ask you join him there. I'd like to know he has a man of the North at his side."
"And you think I'm the one for this?" Domeric asked with a glance to the guards around the lord.
Ned smiled. "As I understand it he's found a friend but not many more, not his own age at least, so I'd ask you not only watch him but be a companion as well."
Domeric's gaze fell for a moment, thinking of his brother. Wherever he was, surely he had his own friends by now. He could always find him later, ask others to look into it for him. Doing this now for Lord Stark could be a boon for him, not only would he get to visit the capital but he would be doing the Lord of Winterfell a favor and likely befriend his son. Surely others would look down on the boy for being a bastard, but how could Domeric do that when he looked forward to meeting his own bastard brother.
With a nod Domeric looked to Lord Stark. "I'll travel south in the morning."
Ned let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Ser Domeric."
The boy shook his head. "No, thank you for this chance to see more of the world, my lord."
"I'm not some lady," Jon said with an indignant snort as he stood outside the Red Keep with Loras while Ser Barristan guarded Queen Cersei.
"There's little doubt of that, my friend," Loras said with a laugh.
"Then why do I need some retinue?" Jon sighed. "What kind of squire has a guard?"
"I thought him a companion to ease your longing for the North?" Loras asked dripping condescension.
Jon shook his head. "You knows as well as I do that's a load of shit."
"Don't forget," Loras said turning to the sullen squire, "manure is key to letting grand gardens bloom."
Jon eyed him for a moment. "Are you telling me to grow something from the shit?"
Loras nodded. "What harm is there in another knight among us?"
"None, but…" Jon frowned. "The guards already call me Lord Snow. How will anyone ever take me serious if I earn a knighthood? They'll think me coddled."
Loras chuckled and shook his head, smacking the dark haired bastard's shoulder. "Anyone who thinks you coddled or unworthy is a fool who need only see you in the yard."
Jon shook his head. "I still lost more today."
"And I yesterday," Loras shrugged. "At least I know when I go and face Garlan I'll be able to do so knowing he may no longer be the best I've faced."
Jon smiled at the compliment, lie that it was, looking ahead as he said, "Barristan and Jaime are still better than you."
Loras guffawed. "Would it be cruel to say I'm glad Lady Stark drove you from Winterfell, otherwise I would miss this?"
"Aye," Jon said with a reluctant nod, "it hasn't ended up too bad."
"Not too bad?" Loras scoffed. "Name me another bastard trained by the best swordsmen in the realm who has the princess fluttering whenever she sees him?"
"She doesn't flutter," Jon said with a glance at Loras.
"In her heart she does," Loras assured. "It shows in her eyes. There's no chance you of all people haven't noticed."
Jon frowned. He had, but then he'd also assumed he imagined it. Of course a bastard like him would want a pretty girl like her to like him. He'd even tell himself why else would she bother with him so much, but he knew she wasn't like most people. Him being a bastard didn't stop her from being friendly. She was like Tyrion, smart enough to see beyond things like that, only less crude and much prettier.
"The poor princess," Loras mourned mockingly, "fallen for a bastard. And not even a fun one but a sullen, honorable one who would never dare steal her away or take her maidenhead in a moment of passion."
Jon shook his head. "I'm not… I'm fun."
"No one fun ever says they are, Jon," Loras said shaking his head pitifully.
"Either way, you're wrong. The princess is a friend, sure, but she's like a cousin."
"She may as well be. King Robert already considers Lord Stark a brother, more so than his own at times." A teasing smile took Loras' lips as he looked to Jon. "I wouldn't be surprised if the king offers to legitimize you or even let you raise your own house and marry her to you just to unify your houses."
Staring solemnly at the path to Flea Bottom, Jon crossed his arms. "Even he wouldn't dishonor her by marrying her to me."
His sincerity stole the humor from Loras, who frowned. "Anyone would be lucky to have you, Jon. Don't doubt that." He shook his head. "Besides, I'm sure he'd do it to give her what she wants."
"He'd have to notice she wants it," Jon said with a snort.
"Which would mean noticing she exist," Loras nodded, a smile creeping across his lips, "but at least you admit it's what she wants."
Jon gave a relenting laugh. "The queen wouldn't allow it."
"Oh, of course," Loras mocked, "and the king always pays attention to her desires."
Jon chuckled, though grew somber as he shook his head. "Even if we both wanted that it could never be." Jon looked to Loras with a smile. "I actually envy you here. At least you have what you want." Loras let out a slight gasp, his eyes widening as Jon looked ahead and said simply, "I'll never say a word. I don't know for sure, so it's not a lie to say it doesn't exist. I just want you to know I know so there's no lies between us."
Loras found his fear easing when he nodded, a thankful smile taking his lips as he felt tears of relief prick his eyes. He'd thought such awful things about Jon at first, thought him a dullard of the North, an untrained savage given a blessing he didn't deserve, and yet here he was accepting this awful truth about Loras, something others would hate him for. He didn't need to tell Loras he knew, he could have even used it against him, but instead wanted to make it known so Loras could be even more open about himself.
"It's not easy," Loras said with a quiet, sad laugh.
"No, I can't imagine it is," Jon said shaking his head, "but you're braver than I."
"I doubt that, Jon," said Loras. "When the time comes I've no doubt you'll prove yourself more than any suspect."
When they saw the rider in a pink riding cloak Jon raised his hand, a gesture which the man returned, guiding his horse to them. Loras noticed his pale brown eyes shift, similar to how Jon's did whenever he scanned a room or person. When he dismounted the young man greeted them with a friendly smile.
"Ser Domeric Bolton," he said holding out his hand.
"Loras Tyrell, squire to Lord Renly Baratheon," he said shaking the Bolton's hand before releasing it for Jon.
"Jon Snow, squire to Ser Barristan Selmy."
"Well you were clearly expecting me," Domeric said with a nod. "I assume your father told you of me?"
Thinking back on Ned's letter Jon recalled, "You squired in the Vale, right?"
"Aye."
Loras observed the man for a moment. He was a year or two older than him, so two or three older than Jon. Though average looking he held himself well, like a man who could defend himself.
"Are you decent with a sword?" Loras asked with a nod to the simple longsword hanging from his waist.
"Decent enough," Domeric offered with a nod, clearly thinking himself better than decent. "Though I prefer the harp."
"A musician," Loras gave an impressed nod. "Should be fun."
"And you, Lord Tyrell?"
"I prefer to make steel sing," Loras said with a smirk.
Domeric nodded, turning to Jon. "What of you, Lord Snow?"
"Jon, please," he said while Loras chuckled. "I'm… okay, I guess."
Loras scoffed as his uncertain tone. "Don't listen to him. Jon is a good judge of everyone but himself."
Domeric nodded, smiling at the clear camaraderie Loras felt for the sullen looking squire. "I could always see for myself I suppose."
"It does seem about that time," Loras said looking to Jon. "I'm sure our fans are waiting."
"Fans?" asked Domeric.
"Those who come to watch us spar," Loras explained as Jon led them to the stable to put away his horse before bringing them to the yard. "The king's even come a few times."
Domeric wondered if that was because the king had some fondness for the boys, being the squire to his brother and Lord Commander of the kingsguard as well as his friend's bastard, or if they were good enough to garner the attention. Loras certainly seemed the type women would flock to, but not the king. Then again, it could be both.
He was a bit surprised to find a few people already gathered at the fence around the training yard, turning to wave to the squires as they approached. He noticed even a few guards turned to watch them, placing coins into a purse.
Removing his cloak and securing some of the simple gray plate armor he carried with him from the Vale, Domeric took a blunted steel sword and shield. More people joined the crowd as he heard whispers of Bolton when they noticed the sigil on his cloak. "First to ten?" Jon asked, spinning the training sword in his hand as he looked at Domeric.
"Whatever you normally do," the Bolton heir said with a smile.
Jon nodded and stepped to the side, forcing Domeric to do the same, circling the ring as Loras stood leaning against the railing, clearly interested in gauging Domeric as much as Domeric was interested in gauging Jon. Domeric closed first, dashing to Jon with a slash he avoided, parrying Jon's counter. When he went to slash at Jon, he hit only his shield, which knocked the blunted sword aside while his own thrust forward, slipping along Domeric's arm to find his chest.
Domeric's brow furrowed as he backed away, the men of the North exchanging a nod before starting again. This time Domeric waited, letting Jon come to him. He was surprised to find Jon swaying slightly, as if unable to determine which way he would go before suddenly dashing toward his shield arm.
It was Domeric who felt a fool for doubting him when Jon bounced his sword off his shield. When he went to slash at the bastard, he found Jon ducking, bringing his shield up to block the blow while he turned and swung his sword into Domeric's right leg. From there he slashed up, straight into Domeric's armpit. If it had been live steel and the angle altered, Jon could have driven the sword into his heart or through his collar and into his head.
Domeric let out a laugh as they separated. Jon wasn't just a good swordsman, he was smart, tricky, thought ahead. He could be vicious most likely, pick away at people if he wanted.
Loras watched Domeric charge in next and his brow rose watching the man slide beneath Jon's slash to strike at his legs and then swing up, hitting Jon's side under his arm. He was back on his feet a moment later, turning to swing at Jon, who caught the strike with his sword and slammed his shield into it before bashing his shield into Domeric's. The moment they made impact, Jon turned his hand, letting his shield loose to grab Doemric's and pull it up while thrusting his blunted sword into the Bolton's chest.
Watching the Northmen fight Loras realized just how good Jon was. Jon wasn't as skilled at Jaime or Barristan yet, likely not even truly of a par with himself or Garlan, but he didn't limit himself like they did. The bastard squire had conformed to their knightly style and grown, but clearly hadn't forgotten his northern style. He grappled, struck everywhere anyway he could. Jon wasn't just a swordsman, he was a fighter. With Domeric he could refine that as well.
It turned out Domeric was decent with a sword, not at their level, but he made up for it with grappling and good strategy. Loras couldn't wait for their match to be over just so he could try fighting the man himself.
When the match ended it was Jon who took the victory, but both looked as tired as they were pleased. Domeric seemed joyed to find another who fought like him while Jon was glad for another person to challenge him. Though he'd technically won, it was by two points and Jon knew he could have easily lost.
Loras slipped into the ring, taking up his own blunted sword and patting Jon's shoulder. "Do you mind if I cut in?"
Jon glanced to Domeric, who arched his brow. "Go ahead."
Stepping aside, Jon spotted a familiar golden haired girl stood beside Mandon Moore. Seeing him take notice of her, Myrcella smiled, waving him over.
Jon stepped out of the ring and around to her, where she smiled. "You did well."
"Thank you princess, but it was close."
"Who were you fighting?" She asked looking to the ring where Loras and Domeric clashed.
"Ser Domeric Bolton. Heir to the Dreadfort in the North." With a hint of embarrassment he explained, "My father sent him to keep me company." To his relief Myrcella didn't seem to think less of him, simply nodding as she looked to the man in the pink doublet who laughed when Loras easily parried his blows.
During the match Domeric had noticed Jon speaking with the princess, who smiled up at him as he spoke. His sullen face seemed to soften as well, even cracking a few smiles as he listened to her. Domeric found himself smirking as Loras took another point and he stepped toward the squire.
"Those two?" He asked with a slight glance toward the princess and the bastard squire.
"He thinks it hopeless," Loras said shaking his head.
Domeric chuckled as he backed away to prepare for another round. He'd been there barely an hour and found his few doubts gone. Things would certainly be interesting here. His father would be angry at him for not returning to the Dreadfort as he wished, but he had little doubt in time Jon could well prove to be a brother in arms, perhaps even more than his own bastard brother could ever hope to be.