[Chapter Size: 2900 Words.]

  Third Person POV.Winterfell.

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  ...

  The party wasn't very calm for the rest of the night, filled with fusion and fights as chaos spread across the hall. Men threw pu each other while the women, along with the servants, ran to avoid being caught in the middle of it.

  The Stark guards struggled to separate the men, while Lord Stark held his head in frustration, overwhelmed by the se. Eventually, they mao restore some order, even as a drunken Jon Umber staggered around shouting for someone named Dovahkiin.

  In the end, the party cluded, and all those without a p Winterfell were sent away. The night came to an end, but by m, Winterfell was bustling once again, as a crowd began gathering in the courtyard.

  Meanwhile, in another part of the castle, the Dragonborn was beginning to wake. He heard a door creak open a eyes watg him but sensed no danger.

  Suddenly, something climbed onto his bed and swiftly reached his face, lig him. Jon opened his eyes to see a small white wolf.

  "He likes you!" a feminine voice said as Jon turned his gaze from the wolf to the girl standing nearby, holding another wolf in her arms.

  It was Arya Stark, his cousin, watg him curiously.

  "It seems so..." Jon replied, his toral.

  "Are you okay?" she asked, showing no fear despite finding a stranger sleeping in one of the castle's barns.

  "Just a bit of a headache, a hangover," Jon replied as he fully woke up and sat on the edge of the bed. He truly had drunk too much, and the effects lingered. Even during the fight he had instigated with Greatjon Umber, he had kept drinking, more than he should have.

  His eyes fell on the girl before him. He wasn't sure what to make of her, and she looked back at him with curious eyes.

  "You're that bard from st night. I really liked your song. What's its name?" she asked as Jon ran his hand over the white wolf, tent but barely making a sound.

  "Sovngarde is calling me," Jon replied with the same dry tone.

  "That's amazing! This Sovngarde, what kind of pce is it?" she asked.

  "A haven freat warriors after their deaths, where they speernity feasting and fighting," Jon expined.

  "If I fight, I go there?" she asked, her tone growing louder, excitement in her voice, while Jon made a grimace.

  "I doubt Sovngarde would accept a girl," Jon mocked.

  "I'm not just a girl! I'll learn to fight!" she excimed.

  "I highly doubt that," Jon teased again.

  "I will!" she insisted before tinuing. "Anyway... I was heading to the courtyard, where my brother is fighting the prince. I thought I'd che Spark, but as soon as I opehe kennel door, he bolted. I followed him here and saw you when I opehe door to let Spark in after he started scratg to get inside..." She spoke while looking at the wolf enjoying Jon's attention.

  "Spark, is that his name?" Jon raised an eyebrow.

  "Yes, because it sounds like Stark, and no one else has named him yet," Arya replied.

  "Spark... that's a terrible hat won't be his name," Jon said, as if the wolf already beloo him. Arya frowned, giving Jon an odd look.

  "Spark is a great name!" she said stubbornly, but Jon didn't seem to care, whily annoyed her. "Then what name should he have?" she demanded, pouting.

  "A name... This wolf is so quiet... so I think Ghost would be the best name for him," Jon said, smiling for the first time as he looked at the wolf with its striking red eyes.

  "Ghost... it's a good name, I suppose..." Arya murmured, though she couldn't deny it was better than hers.

  "Yes... Anyway, what time is it? I think I overslept," Jon muttered, gng toward the window but uo gauge the time from the sun's position.

  "It's mid-m, so you missed the first meal of the day. Besides, why are you sleeping here, and why is there a bed in the middle of this barn?!" Arya muttered, voig the questions that had been b her since she saw him. She had expected to find someone sleeping here, perhaps, but not in a luxurious bed like the one before her. 'How did it get here?' she wondered.

  "That doesn't matter. It's fi's time for me to leave," Jon said as he began to get out of the bed, stretg uhe girl's watchful gaze.

  "You didn't answer my question!" she demanded, watg Jon ast her as he began to leave. He ignored her and simply snapped his fingers. Arya, frustrated, turned her head and widened her eyes as the bed vanished.

  "What?!" she murmured, then turo look at Jon, only to be met with the sight of the wolf being hao her.

  "I want you to keep him. I 't take him with me," Jon said, handing Ghost to Arya.

  She took him with her other hand, still not uanding what was happening, as she saw Jon drinking from a bottle. She couldn't help but wonder where the bottle had e from.

  Jon didn't pay attention to Arya's wide, questioning eyes. He passed the wolf to her, though he seemed saddened by it. "Don't worry about it. Soon, you'll be with me again," Jon said to the wolf, though Arya hardly seemed tister his words.

  "How did you do that?! Where's the bed?!" Arya finally asked as she saw Jon leaving the barn.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Jon shrugged, while Arya grew more anxious with questions and followed him, carrying the two wolves in her arms.

  "So, you have four other siblings... I see," Jon said as he walked through Winterfell, with Arya trailing close behind. She seemed to have tired to get answers out of him, and Jon had begun asking questions about the Starks instead.

  "Five! But one died a long time ago, when I was just a child," she corrected him.

  "I heard that Lord Stark didn't care much for him," Jon said calmly as they headed toward an area crowded with people.

  "That's not true!" Arya said.

  "Are you sure? I heard he wasn't wele here," Jon said, raising an eyebrow.

  "I..." She murmured, unsure how to respond. She was aware that her family didn't seem to care much about that lost sibling. Her eyes shifted back to Jon. "But you remind me of him a lot. You look a bit like our father and... you have violet eyes!" she said, as if having a realization, especially sine of the wolves also seemed to take a liking to the bard.

  "I'm twenty years old. Would your lost brother have been that age?" Jon tered, making it clear she was mistaken. To her, Dovahkiin was a man, not a boy the same age as Robb. Jon tinued, "Besides, your father is very ugly. 't you see how handsome I am?" he said with a smirk, winking at her.

  "He's not ugly!" Arya seemed embarrassed by Jon's ent and immediately protested.

  "Anyway, what's going on here?" Jon ignored her and asked, looking toward the courtyard.

  "My brother and other nobles are fighting with the royal guard. That's why everyone is here. Even though it's been a while sihe royal family arrived in Winterfell, there haven't been many fights like this. The king prefers hunting every day," she said. Jon seemed somewhat ied at first, but his i soon waned.

  "Are you going to watch?" Arya asked the Dragonborn.

  "No... there's nothing here for me," Jon said, ued in watg fights between boys. He decided to head for the gate, leaving the girl behind.

  "If you want a fight with steel, then so be it! Let me choose someone for that!" A booming voice echoed as the king appeared in a high pce, where he could see everyone below. He spotted Jon walking toward the courtyard's exit and immediately reized him.

  "You, the bard!!" he excimed, pointing at Jon from afar, as all eyes turo him and Arya widened hers in surprise.

  "Hm?" Jon narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze toward the king.

  "I want you to pick up a sword and fight my son! He said he wants a real swht, and I want to see if you're as much of a warrior as your songs cim!" the king excimed.

  "Robert... calling a bard to train with your son—isn't that a bit much?" Lord Stark spoke beside him, though Robert didn't seem to care.

  "My son is too poor a swordsman to fayone else. Maybe a bard will give him a det fight," Robert responded dismissively, while Ned sighed and turned his gaze toward the strange bard approag them.

  Jon didn't appreciate being called out but went along anyway, realizing his mistake in not activating his stealth abilities earlier. He moved through the crowd, feeling the weight of their stares. Some looked at him with pity, others with mog or curious smiles, likely thinking this unishment for disappearing during st night's feast.

  "How may I help the King of Westeros?" Jon asked openly as he arrived before the group.

  This left everyouhe king sat in his chair at the head of the gathering, with Jon standing before him aark at his side. The king looked focused, fnked by royal guards. Among them were Ser Barristan Selmy and another Jon hadn't seen st night—Jaime Lannister, who stood on a castle baly alongside Queen Cersei and Catelyn Stark, the otion in the courtyard.

  At the ter of the courtyard stood the prince, holding a sword and eyeing Jon with i. Despite this, there was a faint glimmer of caution in Joffrey's gaze, likely due to Jon's impressive build—standing over 6'3" with noticeable muscle. Nearby, Sandor Clegahe Hound, swallowed hard, his eyes betraying a flicker of fear at the man standing before them.

  Even Tyrion Lannister resent among the nobles, sipping wine while watg the se unfold with great i. On another baly nearby, Sansa Stark and her friends eagerly watched, hoping to see the prince fight, alongside other noble dies visiting Winterfell.

  The crowd in the courtyard included Robb Stark, Bran Stark, Theon Greyjoy, and other nobles, as well as many Stark and royal guards, knights, and southern meraries, all focused on Jon.

  Jon noticed his uncle, Eddard Stark, freeze for a moment as their eyes met. Even Beark, who Jon had dragged from the table the night before, was from a distance, frowning as he reized him.

  The casual way Jon addressed the ki most of the crowd stunned. Even Robert himself seemed momentarily taken aback before his expression grew more serious.

  "Bard, I want you to fight my son! With real swords!" the king ordered, ign Jon's informal tone.

  The royal guards didn't seem to appreciate Jon's posture, though Ser Barristan Selmy looked at him with widened eyes, as if something about Jon intrigued him. The prince, however, wore a mog smile, barely cealing his impatience. Joffrey couldn't wait to begin. To him, Jon was just a bard—a simple oppoo crush.

  "Very well then. Give me a sword," Jon said calmly. He already disliked the prince, and judging by the expressions of many present, he wasn't the only one. For Jon, this was an excellent opportunity to teach the "little brat" a lesson, or so he thought.

  A man quickly approached, handing Jon a sword. It was her than Ser Rodrik Cassel, Winterfell's master-at-arms. Ser Rodrik regarded Jon with great i, but Jon ignored him, taking the bde without ceremony.

  "Clear the courtyard! Let my son and the bard fight!" Robert anded as the oved to make space at the ter.

  Joffrey pined loudly about how fighting with wooden swords was "ridiculous" and had always refused such bouts with excuses. Now, his father had pushed him into fag the bard with real swords. Queen Cersei, watg from the baly, appeared displeased with the decision but seemed reassured by the assumption that Joffrey would faly a bard.

  The space was cleared, and Jon and Joffrey took their positions. Jon appeared rexed, while Joffrey, rigid and tense, held his sword with an aosture. Joffrey's stance was ughable; Jon almost chuckled at how inexperienced he seemed. 'I wonder if the prince's swordmaster is as inpetent as his stance suggests,' Jon thought with a touch of sarcasm.

  The prince didn't even wait for someoo signal the start of the fight. Instead, he charged forward with a yell, hoping to catch Jon off guard, notig that the Dragonborn hadn't even raised his sword, letting it rest at his side. Joffrey tried to surprise him with speed, but Joed swiftly, lifting his bde at the st moment to csh with the prince's, pushing him back. Joffrey stumbled, taking a few frustrated steps before ing at Jon again from the side.

  Once more, Jon deflected the bde with such force that the prinearly lost his grip, his sword almost flying from his hand. The courtyard fell silent as everyone realized that the bard wasn't even trying. Jo his sword lowered most of the time, raising it only when necessary to block Joffrey's attacks and immediately letting it drop again.

  "Fight like a man!" Joffrey's voice echoed, ced with frustration. He gritted his teeth as Jon stared at him as if he were a fool.

  The prinched a rapid series of attacks, swingiedly. Jon blocked the first strike, then the sed, and the third with precision, all without moving a siep. Joffrey tried to get closer, but Jon remained unmoved. Finally, Jon pushed him back with his bde, causing the prio lose his band fall onto his back. Joffrey y on the ground, bewildered, while Jon stood in the same spot, not having moved an inch.

  Even Robert eechless, watg his son be humiliated so thhly. The king seemed torween disbelief and embarrassment. Queen Cersei, oher hand, was the most furious of all, her gre filled with rage as if she wao strike Jon down herself.

  But Jon didn't care, ign the hostile gres. Many in the crowd, however, looked at him with admiration. After all, there was something deeply satisfying about seeing the prireated like the fool he was.

  "You dare humiliate me?!" Joffrey shouted, his voice trembling as he scrambled to his feet. He was mortified, feeling the weight of the crowd's pitying stares—an unfivable disgrace for someone of his stature.

  "Your stance is terrible, Prince of Westeros. You'll never win a fight like this. It makes me question just how inpetent your teacher must be," Jon said calmly, though his words echoed across the courtyard like a sp.

  The silehat followed was thick with tension. Even the royal guards seemed taken aback. Jon's critique wasn't just of Joffrey but also of those tasked with training him—a diresult to their efforts.

  "You have nht to speak to the prince of the Seven Kingdoms that way!" a firm voice rang out. It was her than Jaime Lannister, desding from the baly with a challenging gre.

  "I'm merely being ho, Lannister," Jon replied, narrowing his eyes. He kly who Jaime was—the man who had failed to protect his own siblings during his father's atta King's Landing. The thought of fag someone like Jaime intrigued him. "But if you think I'm wrong, why don't you pick up a sword and teach me yourself?" Jon challenged.

  Once again, the courtyard fell silent. Jon's boldness only deepehe crowd's curiosity. Jaime didn't respond immediately, surprised by the audacity of the violet-eyed man before him. Before anyone could act, however, Joffrey, ed by his rage, exploded in a scream.

  "Die, you filthy peasant!" he bellowed, charging at Jon with his sword raised for a clumsy, anger-fueled attack.

  Jon merely observed him calmly, as if anticipating every move. When Joffrey was close enough, Jon struck—a single punch to the prince's face. The impact was so forceful that Joffrey was sent sprawling backward, blood streaming from his nose, as the crowd watched in stunned silence.

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