theimaginarywriter
patreon
Game of Thrones: The Ruler- Chapter 6: The Parting Gift
🕑 Added 2025-06-17 17:41:57 +0000 UTCThe rest of the day passed in a flutter for Jon. There was not much for him to do.
After that incident, an extra layer of chill had crept into his relationship with the Starks.
Though he and Robb still trained together, there was little warmth left between them. They hardly spoke, and though Robb had made a few attempts to rekindle the relationship, Jon had politely pushed him away. He knew Robb meant no harm, in the canon, they had shared a close bond, and Robb had even legitimized him as a Stark. He had not hated Jon for him being a bastard of his father.
But still, there was that slight disdain in Robb’s eyes, born of Jon’s bastard status. Jon could only hope that, in time, Robb would see his fault. Just because you treat someone kindly does not mean you are treating them rightly. Robb, Jon felt, needed to grow beyond the influence of his mother and Theon.
His relationship with Ned remained unchanged. Cold. Stoic. They rarely spoke. Ned had tried, on occasion, to pull Jon more into the Stark fold, but he first needed the courage to stand up to his wife.
Catelyn remained the same. Her scorn for him only grew. But since Jon kept his distance from the family and did not outshine the legitimate heir in duels or otherwise, their interactions had lessened.
And with that, the bitterness seemed to dull slightly. Though this dullness was only in view.
Sansa had taken after her mother. She did all she could to become what a lady was expected to be. Her head was filled with dreams of knights in shining armour and sword with golden hilts and a world that did not exist. She did not hate Jon like her mother did. No, for her, he simply did not exist.
And Jon did not try to form a bond with her, either.
Now Arya, she had just turned ten. She was the one person Jon had truly connected with.
He knew that, even in the canon, Arya and Jon had shared a warm bond. And the same was true here. He had not intended to get close to her, but Arya had wriggled her way into his heart. She did not care what her mother thought, or that he was a bastard, or that he was not a genius and exceptional with a sword. She truly loved him.
Bran, nine years old, had followed a similar path as Arya. But since Jon was not specially skilled with a sword, and Bran aspired to be a great knight, there was a certain lack of respect on Bran’s part.
But as a brother, Bran still loved Jon and Jon had no problem with that.
And then there was five-year-old Rickon. He was a true delight.
Rickon adored Jon’s presence and was always eager to play with him. But being only five, he had little control over his life. Catelyn still dictated the terms.
The men of Winterfell had gathered once again in the training yard in the evening. It was time for spars, one man pitted against another.
Jon waited for his turn on the sidelines. Not far from him stood Robb and Theon.
Arya and Bran standing on the sidelines watched with visible interest and curiosity.
“Jon and Theon,” Ser Rodrik called the next match.
“Seems like I get to defeat the bastard,” Theon chuckled, stepping into the arena. “Again.”
Five years was a long time, and that incident had faded from most people’s memory. So had the punishment Lord Stark had declared for Theon.
Though Theon had never again insulted Jon's mother, the rest of his crude remarks had returned.
Still, since there was little interaction between them, Theon did not get many chances to fan the flames of his resentment. Only during spars could he try.
Jon stepped into the arena, a blunt training sword in his hand.
He had grown tall, already nearing six feet, with more growth to come. In many ways, he resembled his canon counterpart, but he was sharper. More striking.
His eyes were calm and serene, but deep within them, a fire blazed.
“Ready for another defeat, bastard?” Theon sneered.
Jon easily noticed the scowl on Arya’s face. She hated that squid, and she hated him passionately.
Jon did not usually respond. He never did. He let Theon have his way with words and sword.
But today, he was going to give Theon a gift. One he would not forget for a long time.
“Theon,” Jon said.
It was the first time in years he had spoken to Theon directly.
“I heard a rumour,” he said.
“What is it, bastard?” Theon laughed, drawing chuckles from the surrounding men.
“That when you were about to be born,” Jon smiled, “your father, Balon Greyjoy, asked a hundred thralls of the Iron Islands to fuck your mother. So, you would not be born cockless like him.”
The training yard fell silent. No one could believe it, that the quiet bastard had just spewed such vulgar nonsense.
But it was a good joke. Moments later, the men burst out laughing, the yard echoing with it.
Theon’s face turned red with anger, and his hands tightened around his sword. He was furious.
He let out a beastly roar, “You bastard!” as he charged toward Jon.
Ser Rodrik realized things were spiralling out of control and he moved swiftly, shouting, “Theon, stop!”
But it was too quick, and Theon paid no heed to Rodrik’s command. He came swinging his sword at Jon.
To Jon, Theon was as slow as an ant. He had always been. It was just that Jon had let that squid win before. He had not wanted too much attention.
Jon stepped aside as Theon’s sword slashed through empty air. Theon tried to turn and deliver another blow, but before he could even react, he felt a powerful force slam into his stomach. Jon had punched him.
Theon vomited all the food he had eaten that morning. He gasped for breath and was not even able to scream properly. He had barely registered the punch when another strike hit him. Jon’s knee crashed into his jaw. A sharp crack rang out. Theon let out a wild scream as he tumbled to the ground.
By the time Ser Rodrik reached them, it was over. But he was too shocked to even respond. He had never expected Jon to beat Theon so easily and so mercilessly. The entire training yard stood frozen in stunned silence.
“But your father made a mistake, Theon,” Jon chuckled mockingly.
“He didn’t realize that since he was cockless, how could he have ever produced a child?”
“Next time you go to the Iron Islands,” he added, “make sure to find out who your real father was. You will probably need to check every thrall on the island.”
With those parting words, Jon swaggered out of the training yard, leaving a speechless crowd behind.
