A shorter one this time. Enjoy!
P.S. Some think that Gendry is going to be the heir. No, it's not certain yet, Robert has not confirmed it in the previous chapter.
Jon
Jon and Robb walked down the road to Wintertown, preparing themselves for a night at the Smoking Log inn. Father had prohibited them from sleeping outside the castle walls today, but the two brothers had other plans.
"Theon has been weird as of late," Robb said, "He barely leaves his room, I am worried about him."
Robb had told Jon about his first encounter with Jorund, and how the squid learned a... Particular lesson. Jon would've loved to be there, laughing his arse off at the broken pride of the Greyjoy.
Theon had never been particularly kind to Jon, but never at the same level as Lady Stark. Not that she abused him, but still, that coldness she shows him...
"Ehh, he will snap out of it." Jon finally answered.
The duo now found themselves before the inn. There was quite the rowdy crowd inside, feasting and dancing at the bard's tune. They sat on one of the tables and gestured to the old Innkeeper to come to take their orders.
The man's name is Arnulf, a veteran of the war of the Ninepenny Kings. He smiled at the boys and asked, "Well, it seems the little wolflings finally left their lair. What can I bring you, my Lords?"
Robb was the one to answer, "Let us start with two cups of ale, the coldest if you may."
The man nodded and patted Robb's shoulder. Robb then asked Jon, "Jon, lately, you've spent quite some time in the library. Have you and Maester Luwin found something of note?"
Jon shrugged, "Not much. There are various accounts on the Others and past Starks, but it's difficult to tell apart fantasy from reality, especially after the recent events."
"I see..." Robb answered, "All that's happening... Is out of control, Jon. It's strange to say, but fantasy IS becoming a reality."
"And what's most frustrating is the lack of reliable knowledge. Studying a battle is simple. You read the past accounts of a Maester and deduce possible applications of the strategies implemented by the commanders. Is there such thing with magic?"
Jon shook his head, "Not that I can think of. Still, Winterfell's library is quite large, much has to be explored. I asked Jorund for such books, and he said they exist, Robb. Perhaps it's hidden in some forgotten bookcase, we can't give up on that."
Robb had a pensive look, "Maybe the scientific method can be applied to magic after all... The Maester may have been wrong on its volatility."
Suddenly there was a commotion in the tavern. "Fucking twat! You spilt all your bloody ale on 'me pants!" A disgruntled and drunk man said. "Awww, did the baby piss his clout? Guess yer' mother isn't here to change it. What a shame! She was such a remarkable woman last time I bedded her!"
The former man's face turned red from the ire, and he tried to strike the jester down. Too bad for him, the latter managed to manhandle him in less than a minute, and the drunk found his resting place on the ground. The two half-brothers laughed merrily alongside the others. That was a spectacle to witness.
The man approached Jon's table, "Is there room for one more?"
Robb smirked, "As long as you don't find any more trouble."
The three laughed, and the man sat down. "You're not simple guests, are you?" He asked, "The pelt of your cloaks is rather fine."
Robb answered, "Well, there's no shame to reveal ourselves. I am Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell. This is my half-brother, Jon Snow."
The man's eyes widened, "What a pleasant surprise! I am Rogar Barstark. We're somewhat related, you see."
Jon was taken aback. He didn't notice the skeletal direwolf knitted on his garbs. The looks didn't help, either. Rogar was massive, with black hair and blue eyes. He lacked the long face of the Starks, having hardened ligaments and a squared jaw.
"A Stark of the Barrows? What are you doing here, cousin?" Robb asked.
"When word of the Second Long Night arrived Barhold, I decided to try my luck and find my place in Lord Stark's retinue. Who knows, perhaps I could become a living legend."
"Aye, fair enough, I'll give the news to my father once I return to the keep. For now, let us enjoy this night!" Robb said.
"Now we're talking! Serving maid, another round for us! This one's on me!"
They chatted and drank for the night. Rogar eyed a comely serving maid at some point, and excused himself to pleasure himself. Robb took the occasion to excuse himself, as he needed to relieve himself in the privy. After they left, the curvy figure of Ros, Theon's whore, approached their table.
"Ah, the Lordlings are here this night I see. Is Theon with you?" She asked Jon.
"Sorry, Ros, he's still locked up in his room. He only shows himself during luncheon."
She pouted and was about to leave, but then she looked at Jon seductively. "Perhaps... We can try finish what we started some time ago?"
Jon's cheeks reddened, "I am sorry, the last thing I wish is to sire a bastard. I don't want to commit my father's only sin."
Once Ros saw his discomfort, she started to leave, "I see. Just don't go freeze your cock on the Wall."
Jon chuckled. After all that's happening, he would probably be more of use here in Winterfell than at the Wall. Not to mention the necessity to attend Jorund's lessons, Jon needed to cultivate his warging abilities.
Robb and Rogar came back after some minutes, the latter looking refreshed. "Gods, this is life!" He exclaimed, "Nothin' better than a woman to warm up your bed. So, are you two staying for the night?"
Robb answered, "Aye, cousin. Tomorrow I will introduce you to Father, as I've said previously."
Rogar chuckled and clapped Robb on his shoulder, "You're a godsend, Robb. Have a pleasant sleep, I've got some work to do under the sheets!" He then walked away, laughing.
"Quite the boisterous sort," Jon said.
"Aye, he's good company." Robb answered, "Gods, I need to sleep. Let's go, Jon."
The sleep was peaceful. Jon dreamed of... Hunting. He realised that he was unconsciously warging, as Jorund described. Ghost had hunted his first prey, a small rabbit, inside the Godswood. When he woke up, he felt the taste of blood in his mouth.
Jon awakened in a dazed state. Gods, he was so confused he tumbled out of bed.
"Jon, are you alright?" The worried voice of Robb called out.
"Hmmm... Aye, just... A little confused..."
His half-brother helped him up, "What happened? You remind me of when Luwin stitched that nasty wound you had while sparring. Gods, he gave you nearly an entire bottle of milk of the poppy."
"I was warging, Robb. Ghost hunted a small rabbit. I still feel the taste of blood in my mouth..."
Robb shivered, "Gods... Jorund must know of this. Let's go back to the great keep for now. Rogar must be waiting for us outside."
Jon nodded, and the two left the inn. Rogar was truly waiting for them, full to the brim with energy. "Good morning, cousins! How was your sleep?"
Jon was the one to answer, "'Twas fair enough. Come on, we must get in before Father notices we've passed the night outside the castle."
The trio wandered the empty roads of Wintertown, the sun still waiting to rise. They reached the gate. Thankfully enough, Petar was the one guarding this shift. He winked at Robb as his brother gave him some silver stags for his help.
The three entered the castle's halls, just in time before Father awakened. "Rogar, we will say to Father that we met at the inn, and we later left to return to the keep. Is that clear?"
"Aye, no problem with that."
They changed to more appropriate clothes and waited for some time.
Father finally came out after an hour. He looked exhausted, as if he didn't sleep the night before. "Robb, Jon, good morn-"
As his eyes fell upon Rogar, he froze in place. "Lad, what's your name?"
Rogar looked confused, "I am Rogar Barstark, my Lord. We're distant kin."
Father didn't stop staring at the young man, "You're Barra's son?"
Rogar nodded. Father approached him and grabbed his chin awkwardly. He studied his appearance, then sighed.
"I see..." he said, "So, what brings you to Winterfell?"
"I wish to help in the War of the Dawn, my Lord." Rogar said, "I believe I can be of use here."
Father nodded, "Fair enough. You will receive new lodgings in the guest's wing, you're family after all. Every morning the garrison has a training session. You can hone your skills with them, alongside my progeny."
Rogar smiled, "Thank you, my Lord. I won't disappoint."
Theon
He looked at the mirror.
It's still there.
After multiple weeks, his reflection still didn't change.
A boy stared back.
Theon wanted to curse the God, but common sense stopped his intentions. He didn't know what the fuck he wanted. Why is he doing all of this?
However, when he narrated the legend of the Ironborn, Theon felt his sense of pride resurface. Was this a trial of sorts?
Theon passed most of these days locked in his room, thinking about this possibility. Trial or not, the God didn't give him a clue. What do I need to fix?
"Theon...?" A voice called him from behind.
It was Arya.
Shit! I forgot to lock the door!
"What are you doing here?" He asked nervously.
Arya looked him in the eyes, "Duh, I wanted to see what all the fuss about you has been about. Now I can see the reason."
Theon turned again towards the mirror, "Jorund says there's something wrong with me, but the bugger didn't tell me what! I spent days to discover this was a trial of sorts! Why is he being so cryptic?"
Arya sat on his bed in thought, "...Perhaps he wants you to grow up?"
Theon frowned, he was starting to get angry. "Grow up? I am the most mature of all of you!"
Arya smirked, "See? If you were truly mature, you wouldn't have answered this way, stupid."
Theon stared at her, "Do you think growing up as a hostage is any good? How would you cope with having all your siblings killed and being forced out of your home?"
"I didn't know any people in Winterfell, and nearly all outcasted me for being Ironborn. Only Lord Stark and Robb treated me as family, and I'm forever grateful for their support. But why, why did this happen to me? Why must all hate the Ironborn spontaneously?!"
Theon didn't realise he was shouting. Arya physically recoiled at such an outburst. Theon looked at the boy in the mirror.
He was crying.
"You know, I can somehow... Relate." Arya said, "Everyone expects me to act as a lady, but I don't want to!"
"I want to ride and fight! Why should I bother with needlework? Is embroidery going to fend off the Others?"
She looked defeated, "And now, while everyone else is warging, I still can't remember clearly my dreams!"
Despite all, Theon chuckled. "Aye, I can understand. My sister Asha probably learned how to fight, Father was quite adamant in that."
"If you wish, I could help you with archery in secret. From what I've seen, you are already quite skilled."
Arya beamed, "YES, PLEASE! Thank you, Theon!"
The two laughed merrily, but were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Jory.
"Theon, Arya! Lord Stark wishes your presence!"
Theon opened the previously locked door, "Jory...? What happened?"
"The Far Eastern Host is here."