children of the wild ones | 2starks and a snow
A bastard is still a bastard. Nothing changes that. Jon had accepted that a long time ago. Even the shiny new trinket pinned to his cloak made no difference. The Hand of the King in the North. What a mouthful. When Robb had offered the position to him at first he had hesitated, telling his brother that the position would be better suited for Lord Damon or Stefan if Damon did not want to leave his position as Lord of Boreal. But Robb had insisted, and of course Jon didn't want to let him down. So he accepted. But it didn't change who he was and who he wasn't. At least now the taunts of him being Eddard Stark's bastard were brought down to a bare minimum.
As Jon passed through the camp he greeted the men with a simple nod, knowing that none of them truly cared whether he stopped and chatted with them or not. They keep their mouths shut. That's all he was grateful for. Maybe someday they would grow to be actual allies, but for now he was glad they didn't belittle him as much as they could anymore. At least not publicly. He greeted the men outside his Lord brother's tent before pulling aside the flap to enter. "You called for me?" Jon asked once he saw his half-brother hunched over by his desk.
