Brandon had spent the waking three hours of everyday training ever since he received his first wooden sword. Ned on the other hand spent most of his time reading through the Histories of Kings of the North by Archmaester Delwood. That three thousand paged monstrosity made Brandon's stomach roll whenever he thought about it.

Going by this different allocation of free time as well Brandon being a year older than his younger brother, Brandon concluded that he should be the victor of their spars. It was the logical conclusion after all. Reality was often a disappointment...

Brandon struck harder and harder. He had practiced sparing with Theo Wull, and had Rodrik run him through all the guards and attacks. His wooden sword having a long two-handed grip that gave him a longer reach than his brother's one-handed wooden sword. He should have every advantage. Yet, Ned met his every strike by blocking or simply parrying his sword aside.

Brandon stopped his strikes, retreating two paces, he was out of breath and assumed a defensive stance, and prepared for Ned's counterattack. This exact same scenario had played out in the exact same way for the last week. Brandon would tire out after attacking and Ned would commence an attack that will have him on his ass in six moves flat.

As Brandon anticipated, Ned moved to attack. Feint thrust; swings left. High right, right, left followed by a final right that swipes Bandon's sword right out of his hands. Exactly as Brandon predicted the fight will end. He had been testing his theory in every single one of their spars in the last week. And his theory had finally been proven correct. That Ned was barely paying attention whenever they sparred!

Brandon knew that he couldn't beat Ned in a head-on fight. Ned was stronger and faster than he was. So, if Brandon couldn't win by outfighting his brother, he would win by other means.

Both of them looked to Rodrik, who had been monitoring their spar.

"Well done, you two," Rodrik said. "Take a brief respite."

Rodrik walked away to monitor the other spar in the small training yard. Between Theo and Rodrik's younger brother, Martyn.

Their spar took much longer to finish due to both opponents being as relatively skilled as each other. And not the hopelessly lopsided mismatch between Brandon and Ned.

Brandon watched the spar as he rested, while Ned had simply gone to sit on a bench to read that accursed tome which he had left to the side of the practice yard. 'The Reader Wolf', they called his brother. As he could always be found with some book their mother had asked them to read in their lessons.

That isn't the only name, Brandon thought with a frown. 'The Cursed Wolf' was a favorite of the servants. Brandon had felt an unruly fury every time he had heard them mutter it. Wolf's blood, mother called it. And Brandon got the name, 'Wild Wolf', when he lashed out at serving boys when they called his brother a monster.

Brandon came out of his thoughts just as Theo delivered the final blow that sent Martyn into the mud, his sword having fallen out of his reach.

"I yield."

"Well done," Rodrik repeated. "Take a respite. After you're done, Lord Theo will fight Lord Eddard, and Martyn will fight Lord Brandon."

Theo groaned at the news while Martyn sniggered.

"You can't beat him either!" Theo shouted, glaring at his downed opponent.

The two looked ready to explode at each other before Brandon interfered.

"Actually Rodrik, I want to fight Ned again."

Rodrik looked at Brandon questionably, before simply nodding and calling Ned back to the arena.

They stood across from each other. Brandon grinned in excitement, while Ned simply looked on, aloof. As he had always been.

"Shake hands," Rodrik ordered.

"Back four paces," Rodrik continued. "To your stances."

Brandon watched as Ned took his typical stance. A defensive one, as usual.

"FIGHT."

Brandon advanced, wolf's blood singing in his veins, as he attacked with furious strength. He launched a flurry of strikes one after another putting all his strength and weight behind them. Ned matched Brandon's strength in every exchange and kept on the defensive until Brandon tired out.

Out of breath, Brandon again retreated two paces. Falling back into the familiar routine of their fights.

Ned pressed forward to launch his attack. Feint thrust; swings left. High right, right, left, and the finishing move. A simple right swing that would normally have taken Brandon's sword right out of his hands. But this time, Brandon stepped back suddenly. His brother's sword-swinging through nothing but empty air.

This is it!

Brandon drove forward, catching Ned completely off guard. Forcing him to backtrack to their starting positions.

Brandon lowered his guard for a moment, and Ned immediately tried to regain the initiative by launching a huge swing at Brandon. But Brandon's attack meant that Ned didn't set himself in a proper stance before trying to counterattack. This would not have normally been a problem except for the fact that there was mud today.

And you're standing right on it!

Brandon's leg kicked out and he watched with a grin as Ned slipped and fell to the ground. Brandon followed right after him, his wooden sword right at his brother's throat.

"Yield!"

Ned looked completely stunned, it was such a brief moment that not many would have noticed the slight change in facial expression. But Bran looked for such small changes to his brother's face and so he always noticed them.

"I yield," Ned answered gracefully.

Martyn Cassel began cheering at his victory while Theo continued to look on unimpressed.

"You should set yourself to the ground before every attack, Lord Eddard." Rodrik scolded.

He then looked to Brandon, a small smile on his face. "A well-earned victory, Lord Brandon."

Brandon smiled at the praise before turning back to Ned who was still lying flat in the mud. Smiling, he extended a hand to Ned and pulled his brother out of the mud.

Rodrik smiled at the gesture, "Well done, to the both of you."

"Eh, it wasn't that impressive," Theo drawled.

"Think you could have done better, Wull?" Brandon challenged with a grin.

"All you did was make him slip Stark," Theo managed to look unimpressed but for a slight rise at the corner of his lips.

"As you say, my lord," Brandon grinned. "Still a victory though, so you still have to empty your pockets."

Theo clicked his tongue before throwing Brandon a purse, Theo's entire allowance for that month.

"You lot!" Rodrik yelled. His previous insistence on calling them 'Lords' gone. "What did I tell you about betting on spars!"

"To not too?" Brandon offered as he winced from Rodrik's glare.

"You four are going to be cleaning the kennels tomorrow!" Rodrik said angrily.

"But Ned and I didn't bet, brother!" Martyn protested.

"That's Lord Eddard to you, runt!"

"It isn't fair," Martyn kept on. "Whatever trouble those two get into, we get punished for as well."

Rodrik Cassel loudly inhaled through his nose and Brandon thought the knight was going to explode at his younger brother. But instead, he just sighed.

"I have told you this before," Rodrik said, his voice controlled. "You four, are training together. The rules apply to all of you equally, and if one of you breaks the rules, all of you will be punished."

"Where is the justice in that?" Theo asked.

Martyn glared at him, taking ill to Theo speaking up at all.

"It's to teach you a lesson in responsibility, Lord Wull."

"One of you breaks the rules, all of you will be punished. Until you learn to never break the rules again. If one of you refuses to learn, I am sure the other would love to teach them."

"Now," Rodrik continued. "The master-at-arms will be coming by to check up on your progress. And teach you a new lesson."

Brandon looked at Theo, grinning. The Master-at-Arms of Winterfell, Lord Edric Cerwyn, usually spent most of his time training the Household Guard and levies. And so had left most of their training to Ser Rodrik but came by once every few weeks to check on their progress.

Brandon took out a silver stag from the purse he had won from Theo, on it was the face of King Jaehaerys II.

"Theo!" Brandon showed him the coin. "Madness or greatness?"

"Greatness."

Brandon flipped the coin. And it landed on the Stag, tails.

"I am afraid the realm burns, Lord Wull." Brandon gloated. Before pointing at the well in the corner of the training ground. "Go get us water."

"As you command, Lord Stark."

Ned went back to sitting and reading his book, as he and Martyn waited for Theo to bring water.

"Will you tell us about the war, Rodrik?" Brandon asked as he sat down.

The Cassel Knight considered him for a moment. "Why do you ask, Lord Brandon?"

"Because no one else will talk about it. Not father, not Edric, no one."

Brandon had begun asking some of the guards and footmen in Winterfell about the War of the Ninepenny Kings. But no one ever seemed to like speaking about it, like it was an unpleasant thought. Though Brandon could not understand what could be unpleasant about the war. It was filled with battles and knights and dragons. All of Brandon's favorite things.

"Did you slay a dragon?" Martyn asked excitedly.

"The dragons were on our side, Martyn," Rodrik answered his brother. "Thank the gods for small mercies."

"King Aegon rode Betharos, the beast said to be Balerion the Black Dread born again. Scales black as it's fire. When that dragon roared, I felt as if the whole earth shook under its fury." Rodrik told them.

"Accompanying the King had come Prince Areys, on his dragon Vilyx and Princess Rhaella on her dragon Rhaegarion..."

"Aren't King Aegon and Prince Areys dead?" Martyn interrupted.

"Aye, King Aegon at an assassins' blade and Prince Areys in the Battle of Braavos." Rodrik nodded, his expression sorrowful.

Theo returned with two buckets of water. And the four refreshed themselves and sat as Rodrik told them about the fighting on the Stepstones. The storming of the beach at Bloodstone and the battles at sea. The battle against the Golden Company and the death Maleys Blackfyre. Before finally ending his tale with Taking of Tyrosh.

But after the war was effectively at an end, King Aegon was assassinated by a cowardly faceless man. The whole of Westeros was put in shock by the killing of the king and blamed the city of Braavos for his death.

"And those foolhardy Lords in the capital called for a war to avenge the king," Edric Cerwyn said for Rodrik. "Prince Areys and his dragon were killed for that stupidity."

"Lord Edric!" They all greeted, standing up as the Master-at-arms arrived into the small courtyard.

"How are the best swordmen in Winterfell doing today?" he smiled widely at them.

"Ser Rodrik was just telling us about the Battle of Braavos."

"It wasn't much of a battle if you ask me," Edric said dismissively. "The Titan of Braavos came to life and plucked Prince Areys and his dragon right out of the sky. And no one really wanted to attack Braavos after seeing that."

"That really happened?!" Martyn asked enthusiastically. "Like in Old Nan's stories."

"He jests, you idiot." Theo dismissed. "Stone doesn't come to life."

"I would not have believed it myself if I had not seen it with my own eyes," Edric said somberly. "And even then, I might have not believed my own eyes if the entire army had not seen it as well."

"But how can a statue of bronze and granite," Theo asked skeptically. "Made a thousand years ago by runaway slaves come to life?"

"From what I have heard," Edric began. "The slaves merely found the Titan and decided that's where they will build their refuge. Hoping that it would defend them from their Valyrian pursuers."

"But how can..."

"It's good that you are skeptical of things, Theo." Edric said.

"I would normally even praise such an attitude." Edric continued. "But we live in an unusual time filled with strange and terrible things."

Before Brandon could ask his questions, all eyes turned as a servant entered the yard carrying four swords under his arm.

"Ah," Edric smiled widely. "Looks like the new training equipment has arrived."

The servant handed the swords to Edric before giving a bow and leaving.

"That's live steel, my lord," Rodrik cried out in alarm. "Surely they are too young for that?!"

"Are they?" He asked. "I certainly don't think so."

"Lord Eddard is only four namedays," Rodrik spoke immediately. "And the oldest of them is Martyn and he's only seven."

"It would be at seven that they would normally receive their first wooden swords." Edric raised a brow.

"And they would normally be given live steel at nine, my lord!" Rodrik argued.

"We live in an unusual time," Edric repeated calmly.

"A time where boys grow faster and can be taught skills and trades at a much younger age. Already the carpenters, stonemasons, and smiths of the towns are beginning to take much younger apprentices."

"But to give them steel at their age is completely unprecedented!" Rodrik held.

"We have to adapt to the changing world, or else we are left behind by it, Rodrik," Edric said. "Besides, these are merely blunted blades."

Rodrik finally relented at the mention of the blades being blunted but insisted on them wearing padding and steel cap helmets that were entirely too large for them. This was followed by another heated argument and it was half an hour before were finally given the blunted swords.

Edric first had them going through all the stances and guards so they could get used to the weight of the sword.

"Alright, now spread out so you don't hit one another," Edric instructed. "And start swinging them around so you could get used to their weight."

Brandon walked from the other three and got into an attack stance. He brought the sword up, before bringing it down in a smooth arc. It was much heavier than the wooden sword and...

Clang!

Brandon turned, expecting to see that Martyn had dropped his sword. But it wasn't Martyn or even Theo who had dropped their blade, but inexplicably it was Ned.

His brother, who had effortlessly gone through arms training within a few weeks after starting on his fourth nameday. The same Ned, who had sent a boy of ten namedays and three times his size to the ground with a single punch, had somehow dropped his sword.

The others seemed to be just as surprised by this as Brandon was. Even Ned was blinking at the sword that was now laying on the ground in front of him in surprise. A surprise that lasted only a moment before disappearing, as tended to happen to all of Ned's facial expressions.

"It's alright Eddard," Edric assured softly. "It's only the first day, pick it up and try again."

"Yes, Lord Edric." Ned replied as he picked the sword back up from the ground.

Brandon watched his brother get back in the stance Edric showed them. Ned then brought up his sword over his head and brought it down in a giant downward strike so strong, Brandon thought it might cut a man clean through. But before the blade could finish the arc it was coming down in, it dropped Ned's right out of Ned's hand.

Clang!

Even Edric and Rodrik openly winced from the loud sound of the sword crashing into the ground with great force. When Ned picked the blade again, all were slack-jawed at what occurred. The sword had been broken, no, completely shattered. It was as if the blade itself had broken down from Ned's attempt to merely wield it.

"Well, that went splendidly," Edric said, sarcasm dripping from their voice.

Before any of them could react, a guardsman came running to the courtyard.

"What is it, man?" Edric asked impatiently. "We are training."

"Master Glover has returned from the bandit hunt in the Wolfswood, Lord Cerwyn."

"Galbert? Well, what of it?"

"He brought back a prisoner, milord." The guard looked frightful. "It looked like it was one of the Children of the Forest. You will have to see to believe it!"

Edric went to action immediately, sprinting out the training yard with the guard following behind him.

"You four return to your quarters at once!" Rodrik ordered as he took off after Edric.

Brandon looked to the other three, unspoken words going through all their minds. The four of them started running at once, as if by word of command. They muttered apologies to guards and servants as they ran past them until they reached the main bailey where the Master Glover's party was dismounting.

The creature the party had taken didn't look like the Children of the Forest from Old Nan's stories. It didn't sprout claws for nails nor did it have flowers sown into its hair, for its head was hairless. It had small beady eyes and twisted face, completely unlike the graceful creatures Old Nan would talk to him about long into the night. And creature's skin was green and not the brown Old Nan had often spoken of.

The biggest disappointment for Brandon, however, was the creature's mouth. Old Nan had always said that the Children had beautiful singing voices. That the True Tongue they spoke was a sound unlike anything else in the whole world. That they sang from pretty smiles on their mouths.

The creature's 'singing' sounded like a mix of grunts and low growls. Truly the best singing voice I have ever heard Brandon thought warily. Indeed, the creature's 'pretty smiles' were colored by shard fang-like teeth coming out of its giant mouth and the snot running down from its flat nose.

"So much for 'the most elegant and beautiful creature in the world'," Theo commented. "It is the ugliest thing I have ever seen."

"You must have not looked at a vanity before, Lord Wull." Brandon shot.

"Haha. Very funny."

"It doesn't look like the Children of the Forrest from Old Nan's stories at all," Martyn said disappointedly.

"That's because it isn't one of the Children," Ned spoke up.

"If it isn't one of the Children," Brandon asked. "Then what is it."

Ned furrowed his brows as if trying to remember something he had long since forgotten before finally answering.

"It's a Goblin."

Dun, don, daaan.

Sort of cliffhanger in this chapter. The next chapter will either be a Rickard or Lyarra pov. Followed by a Steffon or Barristan chapter. And as always, all critique is welcome.