[Chapter Size: 2800 Words.]
Third Person POV
Winterfell, 100 AC.
The sounds of battle came.
They were heard from all sides.
Jon was once again, in his adult form, slaughtering soldiers as he advanced through the middle of the battlefield.
He moved forward, colliding with the soldiers; when they saw him, they felt immediate fear, Jon could see through the slits of their helmets.
Jon didn't quite know what that meant, but he felt that everyone who faced him hesitated the moment they realized who he was.
Even so, he pressed on, defending himself from a sword and striking armor to the point of cutting through it like paper. It didn't matter how beautiful the armor looked or the symbol it carried, all of them were easily cut.
Some didn't manage to cut the flesh, so he resorted to softer points: under the arm, in the armpits, at the neck, or even the eye.
It didn't take him more than three strikes to kill any man in front of him. The scenes were bloody, and he had been cutting down dozens of them without stopping for a single minute.
He controlled nothing, if that could even be said. After all, his body moved on its own. He was merely a spectator, feeling the emotions — the fury of battle, the fear of the men.
Suddenly, his vision changed. He was in the sky, seeing through an eagle, something like the owl at night he had managed to see through some years ago, while sleeping in his room, on the farm. He could see dust, hear screams. In one corner, he could see a cavalry advancing in a wedge formation, while forming a diagonal route ready to crush the enemy army from the side, which was clearly not prepared for it.
Returning to awareness in his body again, he could see the cavalry advancing, the thunderous sound of thousands of horses stomping the ground at the same time. To the right, he caught the enemies shouting in fear, trying to regroup somehow, but it was too late.
As the cavalry began to advance, everything in Jon's vision seemed slower. He raised his sword.
"Advance! For Arctic!"
His voice burst out before he began to advance with the cavalry, clearing most of the path. His men behind him followed, euphoric, joining him as well.
Then he could no longer see anything, because suddenly everything began to fade.
He was pulled back as he woke up in his stone room in Winterfell, with the sound of carts and people coming from outside. He knew: he was in Winterfell again.
He simply sighed. He was no longer that little boy who had come. Now he had ten name days. It had been two years since he had made the journey to stay there and learn from the Starks.
He got out of bed still sleepy, putting on a shirt as he leaned his head out the window, watching the courtyard already in motion.
It was 7 in the morning at that moment. The courtyard was already buzzing with activity, since many of the servants usually began working from 5, to organize things before the day started.
Now servants and guards walked, heading to their duties.
"I had another crazy dream," he muttered to himself as something came toward him from the sky.
A bird appeared at his window beside him. "Hello, Biri," Jon said to the small gray northern eagle. Biri was her name.
He had, somehow, bonded with her 1 year ago, and since then she never left his side. He often dreamed of seeing through her.
This was a rare northern eagle, which Lord Stark had praised when he saw her for the first time. She used to perch on his shoulder when he wasn't very busy. Biri would always come to him whenever he called her as well; she was about the size of a chicken.
She let out a sound, and Jon scoffed. "You want corn again? Didn't manage to get any in the kitchen today?" he asked the animal, which only tilted its head and began making other sounds, as if denying it.
"Alright, I have some here," Jon said, sounding reluctant.
He went to a small bedside table and opened one of the drawers. There was a sack of corn inside. "You're lucky I keep this stored here, because I knew you were too greedy."
With those words, he opened the sack and placed the corn on the wood. That made the bird fly from the window to the bedside table.
Another sound of wings made Jon look back at the window. He saw a white owl — another bird with which he had also bonded 6 months ago. He found her after her parents were killed. She fell from the nest, and Jon found her as if something had pulled him to the place.
She was still small, but she was a daytime owl, completely white, and Jon named her Snow.
Jon knew that he should take care of her from the moment he saw her. She grew up living in his room until she learned to fly, and now Biri took care of her.
"Come here, Snow. Want to eat too?" Jon said.
The small owl flew to him and joined Biri, pecking at the corn.
Jon watched his two birds eat in silence when he heard a knock on the door. The knocking became insistent — and only a child did that.
Jon sighed and went to the door, opening it to a 6-year-old girl. "Good morning, Jon!" she said, entering the room without being invited, before widening her eyes upon seeing the birds beside the bed.
"Don't even think about doing that! They're not dolls for you to squeeze. We've already talked about this!" Jon warned the little girl.
The girl stopped in front of the birds, who looked at her for a brief moment and then went back to eating.
Biri, in particular, was irritated. The eagle had already been squeezed by this girl a few times, to the point of screaming for Jon's help.
"Ah..." The girl stopped in front of the birds with a pout.
"Why are you here so early? Your mother won't like this," Jon warned, crossing his arms after closing the door and approaching her.
"It's because of her that I'm running away!" the girl said, jumping onto the bed beside the bedside table, not disturbing the birds but sitting there while swinging her legs with a certain anxiety.
Jon sighed. She was practically a little sister to him now — something he couldn't deny after 2 years there. She had also grown very attached to him, even more than the other Stark blood siblings, Jon would dare say.
Jon also loved that girl. She helped fill the void that Mari and Sam had left when he left the farm.
"What is it now, Lyra?" Jon looked at the girl, who pouted, puffing her cheeks.
"You know… mother wants to introduce me to the Manderlys. You know they're coming here today and might arrange a marriage!" she said indignantly.
Jon stared at her for a second before starting to laugh, bursting out laughing. Even the birds stopped eating and looked at them, curious.
"What's so funny?" Lyra grumbled, irritated by Jon's reaction.
"What's funny is you talking as if someone is going to marry a 6 name-day child," Jon laughed, while she huffed. "Don't look at me like that, who would want a brat like you as a wife?" He kept laughing.
Lyra's eyes widened. "What are you talking about, you damn idiot?!" she shouted at Jon, even stammering words that her tutor and her mother would have made her wash her mouth with soap if they heard. She was offended that Jon was laughing at her for that, while Jon kept laughing, not caring about the girl's fury.
"Ah, sorry if I don't look like the women from the brothel, right?" she snapped with a colder tone.
Jon stopped laughing and looked at her with some concern. "What are you talking about?" he said in a serious tone.
Lyra seemed surprised. She was still a little angry, but looked to the side. "I saw Uncle Rodrik talking to Rickon that soon he has to become a man… and the only way to become a man is to be with a mature woman, like the ones in the brothel." Jon brought a hand to his forehead.
"Lyra, forget that. Stop thinking about marriage. You're only 6 name days old. Your parents aren't going to arrange any engagement, much less marry you at this age. I guarantee it. What your mother wants is for you to represent House Stark as you should. You are the only daughter of Lord Stark, and many call you the princess of the North. So they expect to see you behaving as such," Jon said, trying to speak in a gentle tone, while making a mental note to deal with Rodrik later so he would shut his damn mouth or at least make sure Lyra wasn't hearing his nonsense.
She looked at him with some suspicion for a while. "Alright," she said, though she remembered Jon's words and her anger evaporated like vapor. "Do you think I'm as beautiful as the southern princesses?" she asked innocently.
The southern princesses were always said to be beautiful. Although, a few years ago, people didn't talk about them as much — after all, a year ago, there had been that scandal with Princess Gael, whose child died shortly after being born, after she became involved with a bard. She killed herself by jumping into the Blackwater and drowning.
Even though it was meant to be hidden, someone revealed the truth through rumors.
Even so, much was said about how the young Princess Rhaenyra was the delight of the realm. They also spoke of Princess Leonor Velaryon, extremely beautiful with her pure Valyrian appearance.
Jon heard Lyra's question as she looked at him full of expectation. He gave her a smile. "Yes. Well, since I haven't seen any southern princess so far, I'd say you are the most beautiful princess I've ever seen. Lyra, the princess of the North!" Jon said with a smile.
Lyra quickly began swinging her legs, happily. And both of them started laughing at that.
Another knock on the door startled Lyra. "I know you're here, Lyra! The servant told me you came in here!" Alys Stark's voice came through.
Jon just gave another smile before opening the door, bowing. "Lady Alys, good morning. How have you woken today?" he made a theatrical gesture, pointing to Lyra on the bed.
As for the birds, they didn't even care about all the commotion that was about to happen.
"Jon, good morning," Alys gave a sweet smile to the boy, before turning serious and looking at her rebellious daughter.
"Lyra, you won't escape. We're going to fix your hair so you'll be presentable today for your father's vassals."
Jon saw Lyra get off the bed with heavy steps before looking at him. "You traitor," she grumbled.
Jon just stuck out his tongue. "Good luck, little sister."
That certainly wasn't typical behavior for a ward, but the Stark family had welcomed him well, and he could act with a certain boldness, even in front of Alys Stark, who only laughed at Jon's words and grabbed her daughter, pushing her down the corridor.
Jon returned to his room and began preparing for the day, putting on better clothes. While doing that, he looked at his birds.
"You can go now. Just don't try to get into the sights of a hunter with an arrow who doesn't think before shooting," he warned.
The eagle let out a chirp in protest and flew to the window, with Snow following right behind, as they rose into the sky to do whatever they were going to do.
Jon adjusted everything he could and finally left, heading to the first meal.
Lyra and Alys were not there, probably still fixing the younger Stark's hair. Nor had most of the Starks arrived yet. He only found Lord Stark eating, seated with his mother, Lyarra, talking.
"Hello, Eric. Hello, Balt. Hello, Salia," he greeted the servants and soldiers as he passed through the hall.
He had taken seriously his uncle Roman's instruction to try to get to know as many people in Winterfell as possible. He ended up memorizing everyone's names, knowing about their lives. He knew a lot.
"Good morning, Jon!" many replied, smiling at him.
He ended up being known by everyone as well. In a few years there, he was more well-known than the Starks themselves. Not that the Starks were bad, but how many of them knew everyone's names? Knew how many children they had, whether their parents were sick, if a newborn had arrived, if someone important in the family had died, or if they were having financial problems?
Jon knew everyone and also knew everyone's lives!
It was then that Jon saw Lyarra interrupt her conversation with her son before greeting him. "Hello, Jon. How are you?" she asked with a maternal smile.
"Hello, grandma," he said with a smile.
"Come, sit beside me," she said.
Lord Stark said nothing, only watching.
Jon nodded happily and pulled out the chair beside her. She leaned in a bit as she gave him a kiss on the cheek, the elder Stark.
Some things had changed in 2 years there. Jon was no longer treated as just a mere 'ward'. He was truly beginning to be seen as a member of the family, adopted by them.
Lyarra saw Jon as a grandson, just as Lyra saw him as an older brother, something that seemed to last even more than those of blood.
"Good morning, Lord Stark," Jon greeted, while the man nodded, showing a small smile.
"I heard that you and Rickon had a… small accident yesterday." Upon hearing those words, Jon immediately blushed.
"I didn't mean to hurt him, Lord Stark," he said in an apologetic tone.
Benjen Stark only shook his head.
"It's alright. I know your training is more intense due to your competitive personality. It was an accident. You don't need to apologize for that. My son must learn from his mistakes and that they have consequences. It's better to be struck with wood than with a steel sword injuring him."
Jon had fought Rickon the day before, striking his left leg when they began attacking with more intensity. Rickon was hurt enough that he couldn't train anymore after that and was taken to the maester.
Jon was a little worried, but later he spoke with him after dinner. Rickon said it was fine, but Jon still hadn't spoken with Lord Stark, so he thought the man might be furious for hurting his son. But the man didn't seem to see it that way.
Jon nodded. "I hope he's well today. He said he intends to challenge me again this very day!" he said.
"Well, you can ask him personally, since he's coming right now," Lyarra said, looking toward the entrance.
Rickon was walking in. It was clear he limped a little, but he appeared with his chin held high, like the heir of Winterfell.
Right behind him was his brother, Bennard, maintaining his usual proud posture, and Walton was also coming, greeting everyone he could. As always, he was the most cheerful Stark.
Rickon reached the table and went to his grandmother, kissing her cheek, then Bennard and Walton gave their mother a good morning.
"Good morning, Jon," Rickon said with a nod as he sat near his father.
"Hello, Rickon. How is your injury?" Jon asked, still a little worried.
"The maester said I'm as good as new. I can even train, if you promise not to keep dancing so much on the training field."
"I don't dance," Jon grumbled.
"Sometimes you look like a Ciri, it's hard to keep up," Walton interrupted the boys and said with a smile.
"That's not true," Jon replied with a mocking expression.
Rickon started laughing. "That's true," Rickon agreed with his uncle.
"You don't even know what a Ciri is!" Jon accused Rickon.
Rickon just shrugged.
Bennard was the only one who didn't speak to Jon, just calmly sitting in his chair beside his older brother, leaving an empty chair for their mother to sit later beside their father, while Walton sat next to Jon.
"Boys, let's focus on eating first. After that, you can talk about your next adventures," Lyarra said.
Everyone fell silent immediately. They knew they shouldn't provoke or disobey the Stark matriarch if they didn't want to feel winter itself.
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