m_findlow

Title: For honour and glory
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Characters: Robb Stark, Jon Snow
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 570 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for m_findlow's prompt "Game of Thrones, Robb/Jon, play fighting" at fic_promptly
Summary: Boys will be boys

'I'm Ser Jaime Lannister!' Robb cried, thrusting his sword towards Jon, hearing the wooden haft clack against Jon's own in the practice yard.

'How come you always get to be Jaime Lannister?' Jon said.

'Because I'm the heir to Winterfell and you're a bastard.'

He didn't mean it in an offending way, it was just their little joke. Jon knew what he was and he couldn't change that. They loved one another like true born brothers. It did mean however that he could tease his brother all he liked about Robb having to stop playing so he could go off and do his boring lordly duties whilst the rest of them continued to have fun.

'Fine,' Jon said, swinging his sword around again, imagining it as gleaming Valyrian steel instead of sturdy oak. 'If you're Jamie Lannister, then I'm Ser Barristan Selmy. Barristan the Bold!'

Robb laughed, lunging back from Jon's wild swipe, and almost tripping over himself as his boot caught in a patch of mud.

'Barristan the Old, more like! Actually, you fight quite like him, slow and predictable.'

'Ser Barristan is a great hero,' Jon retorted, letting Robb's sword meet his own several times before spinning away to gain a respite from the relentless attack. 'Better than a Kingslayer.'

'The king was mad. Father says so. He did us all a favour.'

They sidestepped around the yard, alternating between parry and lunge. Robb had always been the better of them with swords, but Jon matched and bettered him at nocking and loosing an arrow. Only Theon could outshoot him.

Robb swung his sword high, bringing it down overhead but missing Jon who swept deftly aside.

'Are you practising your head lopping, my Lord?' Jon teased. 'You'll want a sharper sword than that when you're Lord of the North. Unless you intend on only spanking deserters and thieves.'

Robb grinned at him, the memory of their father's last call to bring justice to the realm a faded dream. The horror of seeing him take the head of the Night's Watch deserter was the first for the two boys, but it wouldn't be the last. Winter was coming, as their father said, and more men might choose to abandon their duty to the Wall. Robb wasn't afraid. Winter was always coming.

'What about you, Lord Snow? What mighty plans for the Bastard of Winterfell?'

Jon swiped low, clipping Robb's calf and smiling, as Robb winced at the hit. 'Once I beat you, I'll become one of the Kingsguard. Then you'll have to call me Ser Snow.'

Robb admired his brother's unrelenting determination. Just because their Lord Father treated them as equals didn't mean the rest of the world would, but it didn't stop him from dreaming big. At thirteen, who knew what the world had in store for either of them.

'You're more like to wear a black cloak than a white,' he replied. 'You can go join Uncle Benjen and fight grumkins and snarks. King's Landing would be boring marching around after the king. Better to fight the monsters lurking north of the Wall.'

'Maybe I will. I could be the Lord Commander of the Wall.'

Robb swung hard and the loud crack of wood knocked Jon's sword from his hand and he pointed the tourney sword at Jon's chest, grinning, their battle done.

'You'll need to fight better than that if you're going to be Commander, Lord Snow.'