“Jon!
You’re finally back!”
A young voice rang out from the direction of the castle gate, brimming with delight.
Jon heard it, swung down from his horse, and crouched where he stood to wait.
A small figure came racing out through the gate and threw herself straight into his arms.
Jon laughed, scooped her up, and spun around several times.
Arya giggled uncontrollably, clutching his clothes with both hands as her head bobbed with each turn.
“Why were you gone so long this time?”
When Jon finally stopped spinning, Arya wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and complained.
Jon looked at her puffed-up cheeks and could not resist giving one a pinch.
“Ha!
I’ll stay a few more days this time and play with you as much as you like.”
Robb was following behind them.
Hearing Jon’s answer, he smiled despite himself, then immediately composed his face and tried to look serious.
“Did you run into any bandits on the road?”
“No.”
“Did you see any Others?”
“No.”
Robb looked utterly disappointed.
Arya, still in Jon’s arms, and Bran immediately burst out laughing at his expression.
Sansa stood a little farther away and gave Jon a polite smile.
Eddard and Catelyn stood by the doorway, smiling as they nodded to him.
“Let’s all go inside and talk.
Jon must be hungry by now.”
…
The fire in the great hall burned brightly, casting flickering light across the stone walls.
The scents of stew, bread, ale, and burning wood mingled in the warm air.
Jon sat in the place he had always used before, and heat quickly enveloped him.
Perhaps he had spent too long at Castle Black, because the warmth of Winterfell now felt strangely unfamiliar.
Robb sat beside him and studied him for a moment before suddenly asking, “Have you grown taller again?”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Robb reached over and patted his shoulder, surprise appearing on his face.
“It’s not only your height.
When did your shoulders get so broad?”
Jon shrugged, indicating that he had no idea either.
Months of training had left thick calluses across his palms, and clothes that had once hung somewhat loosely on him were gradually becoming tight.
His busy days had kept him from noticing, but now that Robb had mentioned it, Jon realized his body truly had changed.
Early the next morning, Jon went to the Lord’s study.
Morning sunlight streamed through the high windows, falling across the parchments and maps spread over the desk, while a fire burned quietly in the corner.
Eddard stood by the window with his hands clasped behind his back.
Hearing footsteps, he turned around.
“How have the past few months treated you?”
“I’ve started learning to fly.”
Jon told Eddard everything that had happened during his time away.
He spoke of Maester Aemon teaching him High Valyrian, of Frostflame’s mischievous nature, and of what it had felt like when she first carried him up through the clouds with the wind rushing past.
These were the things he had most wanted to share with his family.
Eddard listened quietly, a smile appearing on his face from time to time.
When Jon had finished, he asked, “Father, are the men we sent to Essos still there?”
Eddard walked over to the desk, removed two unmarked letters from a drawer, and handed them to him.
“These arrived recently.”
Jon took the letters and opened them at once.
They contained a considerable amount of information about the Targaryen siblings.
For now, neither of them was in danger.
Illyrio Mopatis, the Magister of Pentos, had taken an interest in their identities and the value they represented.
He had housed them in his own estate, providing comfortable quarters, fine clothes, and servants ready to attend to their every need.
The letters also mentioned Viserys Targaryen.
The exiled prince spent much of his time immersed in memories of his family’s former royal glory.
He had begun seeking support wherever he could, dreaming of reclaiming the Iron Throne for House Targaryen.
Whenever anyone questioned his plans, he immediately became irritable and angry.
The information concerning Daenerys was much more limited.
She was still adjusting to life in Pentos.
The letters ended by saying that although many eyes were watching them, neither sibling was presently in danger.
The Magister of Pentos was keeping them well protected.
Jon let out a quiet breath of relief after finishing the letters.
Then he carried them to the fireplace and fed them into the flames one by one.
The parchment quickly curled.
The writing blackened in the fire before finally crumbling into ash.
The letters could not be allowed to remain.
…
A few days later, once Jon had rested, he set out once more for The Wall, accompanying supplies being sent north.
There was still much waiting for him at Castle Black.
Swordsmanship, horsemanship, High Valyrian, and learning to ride Frostflame in battle and while hunting.
If he wanted to be ready for what lay ahead, he could not afford to stop now.
And so they traveled through wind and snow for more than twenty days.
When they were only two days from Castle Black, they entered a dense forest blanketed in snow.
Heavy snow bent the branches overhead, while cold wind threaded through the trees and sent fine powder swirling through the air.
Apart from the muffled thud of hooves sinking into the snow, the only sound was the occasional crack of a branch breaking under the weight.
Benjen, riding at the front, suddenly raised a hand.
The party stopped immediately.
Sensing something wrong, Benjen scanned the surrounding forest.
After confirming there were no enemies in sight, he dismounted, crouched in the snow, and brushed away the upper layer.
A disorderly trail of footprints appeared beneath it.
The boot prints varied in size, and their edges had not yet been softened by the wind and snow.
They had been made recently.
Benjen looked toward the depths of the forest.
Realizing something, he quickly mounted again and drew his longsword.
“Someone passed through here not long ago, and they’re waiting for us.”
The moment he finished speaking, disorderly shouts erupted from both sides of the forest.
More than a dozen bandits burst from among the trees, nearly all of them mounted.
Their horses varied greatly in size, most of them gaunt and underfed.
Their saddles and tack were worn and mismatched, clearly stolen from different places.
The men themselves wore battered leather armor, much of it crudely patched with animal hides and strips of cloth.
Some carried chipped swords, others rusty axes, and their weapons were an assortment of whatever they had managed to acquire.
Their leader rode a tall, thin horse, a vicious grin on his face.
“Leave your horses, provisions, and weapons.”
He raised his blade and shouted, “We’ll take whatever belongs to the Night’s Watch.”
Benjen glanced around, quickly assessing their numbers and weapons.
“Seems you’ve forgotten what happens to men who rob the Night’s Watch.”
The leader sneered.
“There are three of you and more than a dozen of us.”
“If you won’t hand them over, then you can stay here.”
Without another word, he sharply waved his hand.
“Kill them!”
The bandits charged with wild cries.
Jon drew his longsword, his heartbeat quickening despite himself.
One bandit came at him from the side, swinging an axe toward his shoulder with a sharp whistle.
Jon raised his sword to block almost entirely on instinct.
Clang!
The axe slammed against the blade, sending a numbing jolt through his arm and nearly knocking the sword from his hand.
The moment they saw Jon under attack, Benjen and Thorne broke away from their own opponents.
One spurred his horse in front of Jon while the other moved behind him.
Neither said a word.
They simply intercepted the bandits trying to surround him.
Another attacker came at Jon from the side.
Jon immediately pulled the reins and used the forward momentum of his horse to drive his sword through the man’s leather armor, the blade cutting across his ribs.
Blood sprayed across the white snow.
The bandit clutched the wound, swayed twice in the saddle, then toppled from his horse.
Jon’s heart hammered in his chest.
Before he could even catch his breath, another bandit was already upon him, thrusting a rusty sword straight toward his chest.
Jon twisted aside and slashed across the man’s arm.
The bandit did not even glance at the wound.
He gritted his teeth and attacked again.
Only then did Jon truly understand what Thorne had told him.
A real enemy would not stop after being hurt the way an opponent on the training ground would.
Wounded or not, the man still wanted to kill him.
Nearby, Benjen and Thorne were already fighting several bandits at once.
Benjen’s sword was controlled and swift, each stroke forcing his opponents backward.
Thorne fought more brutally.
His blade crashed down with such force that his enemies dared not meet him head-on.
It did not take long for the bandits to realize that they were no match for the three of them.
They began to retreat.
“Run!”
Someone shouted, and the remaining bandits immediately turned their horses and fled deeper into the forest.
Benjen spurred after them.
“We can’t let them escape!”
The three gave chase.
Deep snow made the ground uneven, with horses repeatedly sinking into drifts.
The fleeing bandits abandoned anything that might slow them down, and the distance between them quickly widened.
The pursuit continued for some time.
Just as Jon was about to catch one of the bandits, a sudden warmth spread through his chest.
It felt as though a pair of eyes were watching him from somewhere high above.
A heartbeat later, a deep roar rolled down through the curtain of falling snow.
Jon did not need to look up to know who it was.
Frostflame dove from above the treetops.
Her enormous wings whipped snow into the air as she swept overhead, her sharp claws snapping several dead trees apart.
Her violet eyes shone through the white haze like twin flames.
The horses screamed in terror and came to an abrupt halt.
Frostflame landed, her claws sinking deep into the snow.
One massive foreclaw came down upon the leader’s horse, piercing its flesh.
The man did not even have time to swing his weapon before the force threw him from the saddle.
The remaining bandits screamed in terror.
“Dracarys!”
Jon shouted.
A deep rumble rose from Frostflame’s throat.
The next instant, white flame erupted from her jaws and swept across the snow ahead.
The snow vanished beneath the heat, exploding into clouds of steam.
Bandits and horses disappeared into the flames.
Their screams lasted only moments before the roar of the heat swallowed them.
When the fire finally faded, the frozen earth beneath it had been scorched black, and an acrid smell of burning hung heavily in the air.
Silence returned to the forest.
There was only the wind, the faint sound of broken branches falling, and the crackling of embers still smoldering in the snow.
Benjen swung down from his horse and hurried to Jon.
“Are you hurt?”
He immediately checked Jon’s arm.
Finding only a shallow wound, he let out a relieved breath.
“Just a scrape.”
Thorne came over as well.
After hearing Benjen’s assessment, he examined the injury himself.
Only after confirming that it was nothing serious did the tension leave his face.
Then he looked toward the bodies lying in the snow and the massive form of Frostflame standing nearby.
“Prince, for your first battle, your performance astonished me.”
Thorne stared at the bodies for a moment before continuing.
“Truthfully, I didn’t expect you to manage this well.”