Chapter 4

The yard at Last Hearth was much the same as the yard at Winterfell, and it was with the same trepidation that I buckled on my familiar armor and picked up my familiar practice sword.

The Greatjon was looking on from the sidelines, along with what felt like half of House Umber. It made me even more uncomfortable than normal.

Finally, a giant lumbering old man made his way over to me. He stank of sweat and beer, and he leered over me with a chunk of glass for one of his eyes. I found myself drawing back further from the intimidating sight, which of course only caused him to sneer down at me more.

"So, you're the Stark boy?" He spat to his left, a look of disgust on his face as he loomed over me. Was everyone in this damn castle a giant?

"Ahh. Yes Ser."

The scowl deepened. "No Sers here, boy."

I shrunk back another half step, bumping into Ned. Ned gave a smile, somehow managing to grin up at the giant. "Uncle Mors! This is Eyron."

The scowl lessened a hair as he regarded my friend. "So I see. Well. Lets see what the Starks have managed to teach him."

He took a step back and motioned at us to begin. Somehow, this felt even worse than practice at Winterfell. There, everyone knew how much I sucked. There was no one new to disappoint. But here, I could see the waiting and judging looks. The expectations the watchers had of a Stark.

My back itching from all the stares, I hesitantly stepped towards Ned trying to remember some of the lessons old Rodrik was always droning on about. Ned gave me a small smile and a nod, and then we were beginning.

I gave a hesitant swipe at Ned with the sword. Next thing I knew, before I could even blink, I was in the mud with my sword knocked out of my hands.

Around us, I could hear murmurs and even a small snicker.

Ned came to a halt over me, blinking down in surprise. Hesitantly, he offered me a hand up. "Are you alright Eyron?"

I got to my feet, grabbing the practice sword and avoiding his eyes. I usually felt embarrassed at sword training, but this was the first time I felt acutely ashamed. My brothers knew how bad I was with the sword, and thus they had low expectations. There was something about the sheer shock and surprise on Ned's face that made me feel uncomfortable.

I didn't have time to process that before Mors was between us again, stale breath wafting over me. "What was that boy?"

I mumbled something non-committal, my eyes downcast.

Ned gave me a small nudge. "Sorry Eyron. Didn't mean to surprise you like that…"

From the sidelines, I heard the Greatjon thumping his fist to his chest. "That all you got Stark?"

Mors gave a grunt, stepping back. "Again."

Ned gave me a reassuring smile and came forwards. Slower this time, clearly intent on giving me a chance to respond.

I lasted ten seconds and then I was in the mud again, scrambling desperately for the sword. This time, the snickers from the crowd were not subdued, and I distinctly heard the Greatjon's booming laugh.

Blushing, I got to my feet. Ned was looking at me incredulously. "Are… are you alright Eyron?"

The sheer shock in his voice had me feeling humiliated. This was *much* worse than Winterfell. Worse, after this I had a feeling Ned, the one friendly face I'd met here, would want nothing more to do with me. I hated Last Hearth. Hated it. I felt my eyes prickling and scrubbed at the grime on my face as I desperately tried to get my emotions under control.

Then Mors Umber was in front of me again. "You, boy, are a disgrace."

Surprisingly, his dismissive words helped me get my emotions back under control as I scowled back up at him.

Mors sneered right back down at me before turning to Ned and motioning for him to move away. "Don't waste your time with this one Ned. Go spar with your brothers or your father."

He waited until Ned had taken a few steps back before turning to me, "You know what I see, boy? A coddled little southerner. Do you even try? I know your father, and to think he would have a son like you?"

This drunk bastard was officially becoming my least favorite of all the Umbers. Not an easy task to achieve. I scowled right back at him.

"Ohh? Angry are you? Well. Lets see your teeth then…"

I had only a moment to be incredulous. Was he coming at me? He was an adult. How was I supposed to do anything against him?

These thoughts flashed through my head in a moment, and then I was on the ground yet again. Splattered in still more mud, looking up at the looming Mors.

"As I thought. Useless. On your feet boy!"

I scrambled to my feet, only for him to knock me back down once more.

"No. I changed my mind. Stay in the mud."

I looked up at him with disbelief. Never in all my training had Ser Rodrik dared to treat me like this. This was insane. I wasn't a fool, I knew I was sent here to 'toughen me up' by my father. But even he couldn't approve of this rough treatment!

Why was no one coming and putting a stop to this? My eyes flickered to the Greatjon, but he just had his arms crossed watching the proceedings. Surely they were going to stop this madness? What sort of training was slapping me around going to be?

I turned back to stare up from the mud at Mors Umber. Behind his back I saw Ned looking at me with some sort of mix of pity and sympathy. The Umber men-at-arms watching were snickering and cracking jokes. It made my stomach burn to see.

Finally, Mors started to turn away and I began to scramble to my feet.

Then there was a blaring pain in my side, as I literally went flying back into the mud puddle.

Confused, I glanced up trying to understand what had happened, only to see Mors standing over me again. The bastard had kicked me as I was getting to my feet. I could feel the bruise blossoming across my side.

He spat at my feet. "I told you to stay there boy."

I gritted my teeth and tried to answer this maniac politely. "I'm sorry. I thought the training was done."

"Training never started. I don't train whiny little whelps. Your father was a great man, but I suppose every litter has a runt. Seems to me, the only place you've earned is that…" he gestured to the puddle of mud I was laying in.

And I felt something inside me snap. All I'd endured since being reborn here. The humiliation. The dismissal. I felt a cold anger forming in the pit of my stomach as I climbed to my feet, glaring at the man.

He slammed a fist into my stomach and I bent over double, stars in my eyes as I desperately tried to catch my breath.

"You're going to stay on your knees, boy. Where you belong. Till I tell you to get up."

I scowled up at him, trying to set him on fire with my eyes.

But I also felt something hardening inside of me. My innate stubbornness. Back in my previous life, my parents had called it my tendency to 'cut my nose off to spite my face.' Even here, Ned Stark had more than once noticed my stubborn streak.

It was insane. But I was damned if I was going to let this asshole grind me down.

I climbed to my feet again. "Bastard."

He backhanded me this time. I was on my knees again, the copper taste of blood in my mouth.

"Seems to me, boy, of the two of us you're the one whose parentage we should be questioning. You sure you are a Stark?"

My hands tightened around the tourney sword on the ground besides me. This time, when I stood up, I stood up swinging with all my strength.

He deflected the blow, almost contemptuously, with his armored left arm. The right shoved me back down again.

I got to my feet again.

Another punch to the stomach, driving the air from my lungs.

Again.

He swept my legs from under me contemptuously.

Again.

This time he simply bowled right over me, sending me sprawling.

Every bone in my body ached, and I felt like one big bruise. I was bleeding from my busted lip. Maybe elsewhere. And I'd never been so angry in my life. A cold anger of frustration, but it still burned all rational thought aside. My hair stood on end I was so enraged, and I could feel the anger blazing inside me.

I got to my feet again.

He sneered as he closed the distance. "Incompetent and dim too. You don't learn."

I was too exhausted to even try to dodge the blow. But as soon as I was down, I was getting to my feet, glaring at him with all the hatred I could muster.

"Stay down boy, and it will end. You're hopeless and you know it. Stay down and I'll let you go rest in your precious library."

I was so angry, I wasn't even tempted. "Fuck you."

Down I went again. I had no plan. No goal. No way to win this. But I would be damned.

Slowly, painfully, I clambered to my feet yet again. My right eye had swollen shut, but I glared up at the bastard as best I could.

He took another step forward, and I braced myself for the next blow.

It didn't come.

For a second, I couldn't understand what was happening. I had gotten so caught up in taking the constant blows and climbing back to my feet. But Mors Umber just stood there with his arms crossed.

Suddenly, I heard a booming laugh from my right, and the Greatjon was striding across the field. He gave me a slap to the back that almost sent me sprawling to the ground again.

Mors gave me a level gaze, the anger that had been in twisting his face earlier completely gone. "He's still hopeless. No skill."

The Greatjon gave another booming laugh. "Skill can be taught. But he's got some wolf's blood in him after all. That can't be taught."

I was having a hard time processing this. Maybe it was the blows to the head? What the heck was going on? "What?"

Mors gave a grunt. "We heard a lot about you, boy. Had to see the truth for ourselves. I can teach you the sword, but I can't put a spine in your back."

Wait, what? "That… that was a test?"

The Greatjon was grinning. "Showed yourself a Stark!"

Mors gave another grunt. "Had my doubts. And you're still hopeless as fuck. But I can work with that."

Instead of relaxing at that, I felt another surge of anger through me. That had been some sort of test? Those assholes. I felt my hand tighten on the sword handle. If I could move, and if it had been a real sword, I might have been tempted to stab it right through the bastards.

Mors gave a small smile. "That's right. You be as angry as you want. Use that."

The Greatjon gave me another smack on the back that had me stumbling forward. "This is the North, boy. You can't afford to hesitate. Lose the sweet words and courtesies."

I glared daggers at his words, and Mors nodded. "Keep the anger."

Suddenly, the Greatjon turned solemn and sank to his knees, heedless of the mud and blood around him. He looked at me level in the eyes. "Boy. Eyron. Listen to me good. I made a promise to your father. But now I make one to you. I've seen what you're capable of. You hate me if you need to, I don't give two damns. But you are going to put in every ounce of effort into every lesson I give you. Even if I need to beat it out of you. Your father put a great trust in House Umber when he gave you to us. I won't let him down. But I won't let you down either. You give me the effort lad, and I'll see you have what it needs to live up to your name."

And like that, I felt the anger leave me. Like a blown out flame. I knew I should still be angry, but it was hard to maintain it amidst all this solemn talk. I honestly didn't know what to say to that. I knew abstractly the Starks were Lord's Paramount of the North. But I'd never really thought about what my role was in all of that.

The Greatjon gave me a knowing smile before heaving himself back to his feet. For a giant brute, he was surprisingly subtle. "If I didn't think you could handle it, I would send you back to Winterfell."

A part of me wanted to scream 'please yes, send me back. I can't handle it!' Honestly, it was almost enough to make me regret my stubborn anger of before. But another part of me couldn't help but swell in pride as he said I could handle it. It was crazy. Why was I pleased that this madman thought I could take a beating? It was irrational, but it was there.

Mors was snering down at me. "You can do it. Don't know if you will. I won't make things easy for you boy."

I sent the bastard a scowl right back. If I had to learn the damn sword, the first thing I was going to do was knock that asshole into the mud.

Mors suddenly let out a bark of laughter. "Damn it. Don't be giving me that black scowl boy, or I'll knock you into the mud again."

The Greatjon seemed to find it hilarious. "Best be careful uncle, that one has spirit."

Mors gave his head a shake and turned around. "Ned! Over here now."

My friend was there in an instant. "Uncle?"

"Take Eyron to Hother." And with that he gave my shoulder a gentle nudge, turning me around. "I'll be seeing you both here first thing in the morning."

I stumbled after Ned as we left the yard. With the tension and anger gone, I was suddenly feeling every ache and pain. I felt like one giant throbbing bruise. It was taking all of my effort to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I'd never wanted my bed so badly.

As though oblivious to my situation, Ned was chatting up a storm. "That was awesome! You were amazing."

I sent him an incredulous look. "Amazing? Being knocked into the mud?"

He gave a snort. "Yeah. You *REALLY* suck Eyron. I never saw anyone so bad with the sword. I thought you would be amazing, taught at Winterfell and all. But…"

I felt that embarrassed squirm in my stomach again at his words. "Well… my brothers are better. I never practiced much."

"Yeah… I can tell."

I gave him a look. And right then and there vowed I was going to do better.

He grinned. "Still. I never saw anyone stand up to uncle Mors like that."

I gave a weary shrug. "I lost my temper."

Another grin. "Yeah! It was awesome."

Finally, we made it to the 'library.' I recognized the room from before. Ned gave one quick knock and then we were inside.

Wearily, I let myself be led to a chair and plopped down.

Hother, the not-Maester I had met that morning, was observing me. Was it only this morning? It seemed like years ago.

Finally, he gave a small snort. "Looks like you got run over by a horse."

Ned snickered slightly. "No, it was Uncle Mors."

"Hmm." He gave me a long look. "And you're still with us, eh?"

Ned nodded again. "He did great. Well." Ned paused. "Actually he did horribly. But it was still impressive."

I eyed my friend as he went on about how awesome it was that I got beaten up. I was beginning to think all the Umbers were a bit off. I hoped it wasn't contagious.

Finally, Hother interrupted him. "Fine. Enough, boy. Why are you here?"

Ned nudged me, and I winced as he hit a bad bruise. But I took the hint and spoke up. "Your brother sent me over. Not sure why."

He stroked his beard at that. "You must have impressed him. Gods knows how."

He turned, rummaging through his shelves, and finally returning with a little clay pot. "Here. For the bruises."

Gingerly I opened the little pot. It smelled pungent, and who knew what was in it. But I was aching too much to care.

And a moment later I was sighing in relief. Whatever this stuff was, it really worked. I felt my muscles slowly relaxing, and I gingerly leaned back in the chair.

Hother shook his head. "Works well, eh? Don't get used to it. Stuff is expensive as hell. You'll be on your own tomorrow"

The pain fading, even just a little, was too pleasant for me to worry about the fact that I was apparently supposed to do this again the next day.

The old Umber seemed amused my face. Another snort, and he slid a book across the table. "Here. Read this one?"

I glanced at the title. "Annals of The Black Centaur?"

He nodded. "History of Lord Commander Orbert. A good read. From my own collection."

I felt a surprising surge of affection for the old guy. After the craziness of the day, it was good to have something familiar. And absurdly, I felt a bit ashamed for looking down on his earlier offer that morning.

Hesitantly, I picked up the book, opening the cover. "Thank you…"

He grunted. "Don't mention it."

Ned peered over my shoulder, making a face. "That looks really boring…"

Hother gave him a gentle cuff over the head. "You could do with some more boring books."

I ignored the two of them as they good naturedly argued, eyes on the book in front of me. But it was hard to keep my focus. With my pain fading somewhat, a bone tired weariness was setting into my bones. My last thought as my eyes drifted closed was I hoped tomorrow wouldn't be quite this exhausting.

A/N: And there you have it! Hopefully that flowed well. I'm about half done with the next chapter, so we may get that up in the next week or so. But no promises. The next chapter will jump a few months. The plan after that chapter is to have an even larger time skip. Basically, I want to focus on a few scenes and defining moments over the next few years as we see what shapes Eyron. I don't have the whole story mapped out like I do with my other fic, but I do know what I want to happen up until Robert appearing in Winterfell. Which will take quite a few chapters.