"Don't move around so much. I could just stand here and let you do all the work. Stand like this." Jon demonstrated, watching Pyp do his best to imitate the stance. "Feet a bit further apart. Good. That way you're balanced, but you're ready to move if you have to. Let's try again." Jon raised his blunted practice sword, ready for Pyp's attack.
They stood in the practice yard of Castle Black, along with a handful of new recruits to the Night's Watch and a few, like Pyp, who had already taken their vows but wanted to improve their skills. Jon had offered to help and his brothers had gratefully accepted, glad to learn from anyone but Ser Alliser Thorne.
Pyp swung his sword and Jon blocked the clumsy stroke, then lunged forward, landing a blow on Pyp's armored shoulder. "Keep your guard up," Jon reminded him. Pyp lifted his sword up higher and attacked a second time, but let it drift downward after Jon blocked him. Jon hit him again.
"Ow!" Pyp protested, dropping his sword from the force of the blow. "What was that for?"
"I told you to keep your guard up. Next time-" Jon broke off, his attention suddenly far from sword fighting. There was a ghost riding through the gates of Castle Black, the ghost of the home he'd lost, the time before whatever family he used to have had been scattered to the wind, before his father was a traitor and his sisters hostages and his brother riding south to war.
Eddard Stark swung down from his saddle, and his bastard son realized that this was no ghost.
Pyp's practice sword slammed into Jon's stomach, driving the air from his lungs. Jon staggered back, bending over with his hands on his knees.
"We hadn't started yet!" He gasped, glaring at Pyp.
"Next time, keep your guard up," the other boy said, grinning. Jon would have hit him again if he weren't still struggling to breathe. "What were you looking at, anyway?" Pyp asked, glancing over his shoulder. Jon slowly straightened up, wondering if he could have imagined it.
The former lord of Winterfell stood where he'd dismounted, talking to a black cloaked man. Then he turned, and his eyes met Jon's. They were gray, older somehow than they'd been when father and son had parted. Like mine, Jon thought. Ned's face softened, and he didn't quite smile, but Jon't heart still leapt in a way it hadn't in months.
"Lesson's done for today," Jon said.
"Aw, come on, Snow, I didn't hit you that hard," Pyp protested. "And Sam didn't get to practice at all."
"Thank the gods for that," Sam muttered. He'd been dragged along to practice at his friend's' insistence but would undoubtedly prefer to be inside with his books.
Jon ignored them, dropping his sword and pushing past Pyp. He could feel their confused gazes on his back as he went, but at that moment he could not bring himself to care. He crossed the yard in seconds, and found himself face to face with a man he never thought he'd see again.
"Lord Stark," he blurted. Only then did it occur to him that he had no idea what to say.
"Jon," Ned said, a genuine smile breaking out on his face, softening the hard lines of his features and stripping away years of worry and pain. "It's good to see you, son." Then Jon's arms were around him, and they hugged each other tightly. He closed his eyes, and just for a moment, Jon Snow was home.