Hate?
When that word left Theon's mouth and reached Jon's ears...
Jon's heart, thrown into turmoil by the mystery of his birth, instead grew strangely calm.
He looked at Theon, at his face, slightly contorted with excitement, at the ambition burning in his eyes.
He knew that face all too well.
But that fire felt utterly unfamiliar.
"Hate them?"
Jon's voice was soft, as silent as a snowflake settling on the leaves of the Heart Tree.
"Why should I hate them?"
"They gave me a home, Theon."
"Father... Lord Ned taught me to hold a sword, to ride, and what honor meant."
"He looked at me no differently than he looked at Robb or Bran."
"Robb treated me like his own brother. We rolled in the snow together and stood through Master Rodrik's punishments together."
"Sansa would secretly save me a lemon cake after Lady Catelyn scolded me. Arya would pull me along to watch the stars from the roof."
Jon's gaze moved past Theon to the warm spring deep within the Godswood.
"Lady Catelyn doesn't like me."
"I can feel it."
"But she never denied me a meal or a winter coat."
"She's just... a wife afraid of her husband's betrayal."
"Perhaps no other woman could have done any better."
"All that charity you spoke of, all that pity, all those whispers behind my back... yes, I've heard them. I've seen them."
Jon turned back. His gray eyes, exactly like Lyanna Stark's, were as clear as a cold pool in the darkness.
"But what of it?"
"My name is Snow. That's true."
"It's like a scar carved into my forehead, constantly reminding me that I'm different from them."
"But a scar doesn't define a person, Theon."
"What defines me is every lesson Lord Ned taught me, every time Robb