[Chapter Size: 2300 Words.]

  Third Person POV.Winterfell.

  ...

  ...

  "Yes..." The words escaped the mouth of the Lord in front of the Dragonborn.

  "As I imagined," Jon ented while analyzing Lord Reed and his children, who watched him with a certain caution. "I've always heard that you were a close friend of Lord Stark, from his own lips many years ago, but I also heard you never left your s in the south of the North. It seems that has ged." He spoke while notig the man wasn't drinking, as there was nothing for him or his children to e.

  The man gave a tight-lipped smile. "And it remains so. After all, I have a debilitating dition," he said, seemingly gng at his legs.

  "I noticed that..." Jon said suddenly. "I know you survived, but it was still rather cowardly what you did to the greatest swordsman ieros." His words made the man flinch slightly, looking at Jon in surprise that he knew, while his children seemed fused.

  "I'm not proud of it at all..." Hownd said, tinuing, "But for the first time in 16 years, I am here in Winterfell." He ented as Jon raised an eyebrow.

  Jon ighe ent about Ser Arthur Dayne's fate. "Indeed... looking at it like this, it almost seems like you're here precisely to see me. Like you foresaw my arrival or something like that?" Jon asked, raising his eyebrow again.

  "Not me, but my son." He gestured toward the boy beside him, and Jon scrutinized him with his eyes in the moment.

  "My name is Jojen Reed, and I have a question for you." The boy spoke directly, staring at Jon with intense eyes.

  "Go ahead," Jon said, unsure what the boy wanted but certainly curious.

  "You were beyond the Wall, weren't you?" Jojen began, taking care to ensure no one else could hear.

  "Yes," Jon replied, a bit surprised but also intrigued by what the boy wao say.

  "Then you killed him, didn't you?" The boy tinued. Jon gave him a look that suggested he uood what Jojen was referring to.

  "Are you talking about the old man iree or the White Walkers?" Jon asked, making everyohere, even Lord Reed, furrow their brows. Jon answered before Jojen could speak.

  "Both. I killed both. The White Walkers, as they appeared before me, and that old man iree... well, he became my enemy. So I went to him, fronted him. He was there, trapped in the roots, and I killed him. That's what you wao know, isn't it?" Jon spoke calmly, while Jojen remained silent at his words, not seeming too surprised by Jon's response.

  "Why? Why did you do it? You ged the future of this world!" Jojen murmured, perplexed.

  "I did. Well, it doesn't matter," Jon replied, impassive. "After all, I'll shape my own future and won't rely on prophecies or an old man in a tree who cimed to be a Messiah. All that matters is what I want to do." He spoke with an arrogant tone.

  Meera Reed, Lord Reed's daughter, observed Jon carefully while her father tried to decipher him. He was certainly nothing like what he had expected from a son of Lyanna Stark. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing. But Jon was very different from the Starks—or at least this one was sure of that. Though his talent with music was something ied from his father, it still seemed different frar.

  "And what is yoal now?" Jojen spoke again, while Jon's gaze lingered on the main table. There, Beark was talking to his brother, likely asking what his brother wanted with him, while Lord Stark, in turn, seemed a bit fused.

  "Before that, let me ask you something, Lord Reed." Jon shifted his gaze to Hownd before tinuing. "Do you know who I am? I don't mean my name or what I appear to be. I mean, who I truly am the son of."

  "Yes, I know," Lord Reed murmured, unfazed, given that Jon had already spoken about Arthur Dayne.

  "I see. It's uandable. After all, you were there with Lord Stark. Perhaps you're the only person who truly knows my in, aren't you?" Jon asked, as Rownd nodded again before he tinued.

  "So, you know I have some unfinished business, as you imagine, with my mother's family. And what happeo my brothers... Even without knowing them ae having different mothers, what kind of person would I be if I left such things unanswered? After all, the Lannisters alay their debts, and they owe me a rather rge one, along with the Baratheons, of course." Jon spoke, uned about sharing such things with the lord before him—it wouldn't ge anything.

  "So, you seek war?" Rownd murmured.

  "There will be no other way. Dealing with this will indeed create great chaos," Jon replied.

  "Do you seek the throne?" Rownd asked again, as Jon shook his head.

  "No. The throne, even if it belongs to me, is not something I desire. I don't want to be king."

  Jon held something he would rade for anything: his freedom. And he knew he wouldn't find that as king, even if legitimate. He would have to deal with the problems of the Seven Kingdoms every day, surrounded by deceitful people trying to gain something from him. It wasn't something he aspired to. Perhaps some nds in the North where he could raise his children would be the ideal way to live out the rest of his life, if he could choose.

  "And what will you do about the threat beyond the Wall? You've seen them, haven't you? You know the danger," Jojen murmured now, with an even more inteone, as Jon had killed the Three-Eyed Raven.

  "The White Walkers will be dealt with at the right time. Don't worry about that. I won't let this world bee a graveyard of icy corpses walking around, if that's what s you. But even so, I wish to take care of my business in the South," Jon said with a serious tone.

  "I uand," Jojen murmured, gng at the main table. "But war, whether you interfere or not, will be iable." He spoke vaguely, already foreseeing wars breaking out among those people and others, while Jon looked at him, shrugging, not fully grasping his meaning.

  "Well, in any case, I'd better go. After all, I'm just a strange bard talking to high nobles of the Northern Realm." Jon spoke, beginning to rise.

  "Wait, Daemon," Rownd called before he could leave. Jon turo him, raising an eyebrow upon hearing his true name spoken—it seemed he had known since Johe Tower of Joy.

  " you tell me where you've been all this time and what happeo you?" Rownd asked. Jon gave a small smile.

  "I've been very far away, Lord Reed. Very, very far. And, let's say, the gods sent me back here. Anyway, I hope to see you again. After all, it's not every day that someone knows my name or my in, and you seem fairly trustworthy, despite saying some rather odd things." Jon said, taking his leave as he moved away toward the middle of the hall.

  And so he did, looking for something to occupy himself with. After all, he was still at a feast. Jon tio keep a low profile to avoid drawing too much attention, as he was still being hunted by the king.

  "For a bard, you certainly know how to evade His Majesty and his ckeys..." a voice emerged beside him at that moment. Turning, Jon saw a short man drinking among others eared to be guards, knights, and meraries.

  Jon found it curious aainly intriguing. The man, seeing his surprised silence, tinued.

  "If you'd like to sit, e join us. It's not every day I see su iing character at a ba," Tyrion said.

  Jon found the ent bold and amusing as he simply moved and sat o Tyrion. The eable turo look at him but remained silent, and Journed his attention to the man who had called him.

  "You are quite perceptive, dwarf," Jon ented.

  "Well, I do try to train my eyes a lot, even though I'm not in the best dition. So, I suppose the pliment means more ing when I'm drunk than when I'm sober..." Tyrion replied solemnly.

  Jon couldn't help but smile at his words. "So we have here a man of good humor," he said.

  "Thank you for that... I think. Your name is Dovahkiin, isn't it? An unusual name. Where exactly are you from?" Tyrion asked, clearly intrigued by the oddity of it.

  "From a pce very far away, if you must know. Best not to ask, as I doubt you'd ever reach it," Jon replied.

  "Really? And do the bards there py so well? I nearly saw my sister cry, a me tell you, that's like seeing stones pulled from her eyes." Tyrion ughed.

  "Truly? Who is your sister?" Jon asked, curious about the humor. Tyrioainly seemed like someone quite grumpy.

  "This is Tyrion Lannister, brother to Cersei Lannister," one of the knights chimed in, overhearing their versation.

  "What I say? My sister is the queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Tyrion murmured, giving a smile that quickly faded as he caught sight of Jon's face. The Dragonborn's expression was far from friendly, a stark ge from the demeanor he had moments before.

  "You don't seem to like my family, Dovahkiin," Tyrion murmured, notig the ess in Jon's eyes fixed on him. He felt a deep sense of danger emanating from that gaze, an instinct urging him to flee as quickly as possible. At the same time, Jon took a deep breath, seeming to calm himself.

  "Sorry about that, but don't worry too much. There are many people I dislike," Jon said. He now recalled Tyrion as the you son of Tywin Lannister and Joanna Lanhough he wasn't sure if there were more children, as his information about the Lannisters was outdated.

  "Well, I hope I'm not one of those you'd want to kill," Tyrion remarked, attempting to sound casual but with a tone of caution.

  "Don't worry. I'm not the kind to kill someone just because I dislike their family. Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Tyrion Lannister," Jon said quickly, not wanting to prolong the versation. Though he found the dwarf amusing, learning he was a Lannister had not sat well with him. Tyrion, for his part, looked slightly bewildered.

  "I apologize if my family has done something. They're certainly not the most lovable bunch," Tyrion murmured, giving a slight bow.

  "Seems like you don't have a very good experieh them either," Jon said, raising an eyebrow before finally leaving.

  "You be sure of that. After all, I am a dwarf," Tyrion muttered, raising his cup in a solitary toast before taking another sip.

  "If your family mocks you for your disability, they're definitely a bunch of bastards," Jon quipped.

  "If only what you say were true. I've never heard anyone say that about them, but thank you," Tyrion ughed. "I saw the mess you caused down at the end of the hall. You mao chase off two knights, including one of them being my nephew's sworn sword. I saw him run off with his tail between his legs after talking to you. I wonder, how do you do it?" he asked, trying to sound more friendly, though clearly cautious. Tyrioainly didn't want to be this man's enemy.

  "Well, I'm used to it where I e from. Anyway, it's my secret, and I'm leaving now because I still want to tihe chaos, but this time in the middle of the hall," Jon said, smiling for the first time since meeting Tyrion.

  After learning Jon's yrion realized he had a gift for words. As the Dragonborn walked away, Tyrion lifted his mug, pausing for a sed as if unsure what to do, before murmuring, "Strange fellow." He then downed his drink, but at that moment, a giant body crashed onto his table, making him spill his mug and look around, stunned. It was Jon Umber, trying to stand up with a bloody nose.

  "You little bastard! You didn't tell me you were so good with your fists! e here!" Jon Umber shouted, charging back toward the middle of the hall.

  Tyrion looked utterly lost, uo prehend what was happening, when suddenly a mug flew through the air and struother man sitting at the table. The man stood up angrily, shouting.

  "Who did that?!" Before anyone could answer, he punched someone else, and in the instant, that entire se of the hall desded into en began throwing pu each other, women screamed and backed away, and some servants tried to flee but were shoved aside in the otion. Tyrion, still perched oable, stared at the unfolding madness, utterly bewildered as to how it had all started.

  The feast in Winterfell quickly turned into a se of plete chaos. Tyrion found himself in serious danger as massive men brawled, tables were overturned, and the music came to a halt. Lord Stark shouted ands at his men to stop the fighting, while the youtendees and dies moved away from the ter, visibly armed as more than thirty men cshed with one another.

  At the ter of the chaos was Jon, ughing as he traded punches with Jon Umber. He seemed to be enjoying himself more than anyone else, reveling in the moment, nding another hit squarely on the man's face.

  "Now this is a proper feast!" Jon excimed, delivering another blow. And the rest of the night tinued in much the same way, turning the ba ily what he wanted—full of excitement, ughter, drink, and a good brawl.

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