Did something a bit different today. Let me know in reviews if you want more PoV from Jon.

Winterfell

294 AC

Mormont should've known it was all just a lie.

Arthur's early morning panting had likely been the result of some additional exercise, likely running or something of the like. All so his sudden weariness would seem more natural.

The victory he'd won the other day… Arthur may have slipped up on purpose just so Mormont would get careless.

All so Dayne could get the drop on him today…

He'd woken up before the sun had risen to a knock on this door. Bethanie had been sound asleep. When Mormont answered it, he was surprised to see Arthur waiting for him.

Of course, Mormont knew why Dayne was there. They always had their duels in the early morning. That way, neither of them would be distracted by a gathering crowd.

But Mormont soon realized that this was more than a simple test…

He narrowly parried Dawn away with Longclaw as Arthur whirled back again for another lunge, this time aiming for Starag's legs. Mormont batted the blade away, but the Sword of the Morning came back again and again.

Mormont damn well knew swordsmanship was not about how strong a particular swordsman was. It was all about how fast he was.

And Mormont definitely had the wrong advantage. Arthur was faster than him on all accounts. Were this a real battle, Starag knew he'd already be gutted by the older man.

Arthur came like a fast blur of flashing steel. His style was completely offensive, and he was attacking Mormont from left, right, and above. So fast that the Bear Lord could barely keep up.

This time, Dayne was not in a playing mood. His square jaw was set in a hard line across his face of stone. This… this was the real training. This is was the true might of Arthur Dayne. The Sword of the Morning. Even as Mormont was forced onto the defensive, he couldn't help but smile.

He'd long forgotten what it was like to be in a battle where he might just die if he slipped up. Mormont realized he'd gotten sloppy fighting southern knights and simple men-at-arms. He ironically had forgotten to stay sharp.

Starag would never make that mistake again. He knew the kind of lesson Dayne was trying to teach him. There was always someone better, and for all you might know, they could be waiting around the corner just waiting to strike.

Arthur made a wide sweeping strike with Dawn to Mormont's right. Starag blocked it and shoved the man backward with all his strength in the hopes that Arthur might be caught off balance. Instead, Dayne had redirected the momentum from Starag's shove. He quickly spun in a magnificent flash and had the deadly sharp tip of his shimmering sword just an inch away from Starag's neck.

The duel was over.

"Yield." Mormont let out an exhausted huff. He hadn't realized just how much he'd been tired from that single bout. I'll have to lay off the ale… and the smoking too.

Arthur slowly removed Dawn from Mormont's neck and sheathed it back by his hip. Starag did the same with Longclaw. A smile slowly spread across Dayne's face as the sun had just begun to rise above the tall granite walls. "A bit slower… Nothing some cardio can't fix."

Mormont frowned as he caught his breath. "Slow? You damn near battered me to death…"

"You only have yourself to blame, Starag. What if I were your enemy? Would you say the same thing then?"

Starag knew he couldn't. He'd made the same point to Jon just a few nights earlier. Arthur was right. Mormont would have to get back into shape. He needed to since he had three tourneys to win. Especially if he had Jon to protect.

Mormont finally caught his respite and stood upright. "Cardio." He could do that. Even if he hated it. "What else?"

"Maybe lay off the booze for a few days…" Arthur walked up to him and patted his flat stomach. "That or regulate your eating patterns. No more late-night meals. Understand?"

Starag nodded resolutely. As much as he loved his food, he knew Arthur just wanted him to be at his best. Mormont wasn't a fool. He knew that he didn't know everything there was to life. You don't know what you don't know. He'd listen to Arthur no matter what.

At least he didn't have to stop smoking. There was that. "Anything else?"

"There is."

The Sword of the Morning wore dimly lit eyes as his smile faded. "You're going to be out there on your own, Starag. Jon will be with you, of course. But he's just a boy. It's all on you…"

"There's something I want you to keep in mind." Arthur continued. He wore the mask of the harsh teacher. The man who Mormont had looked up to for the better half of his life. "The life of a Kingsguard is do or die. In regards to your expedition, this will very much apply to you."

Mormont only raised a thick eyebrow in response. Kingsguard? Arthur wasn't going to knight him again, would he?

He knew what Dayne was getting at, though. Mormont had lived that way all his life. He understood better than anyone what it meant for everything to be on the line. How he'd have to seduce some noblewoman just so he'd have a place to sleep that night. Or even when he was younger how he'd worried that he would never see the beautiful morning sun again if he made a single mistake in a battle.

And if he was going to protect Jon while on the road, he'd need to re-embrace that crafty state of survival. Do or die.

Arthur knew all of this. Mormont could only appreciate the Sword of the Morning for what he was trying to do. "This may be a simple gambling expedition, but your life and the life of your king is on the line. Any knight or lordling can kill. I want you to take your ego out of the equation and to judge the situation dispassionately. No matter what it is."

"There will come moments where you'll be backed against the wall. You'll be out of options. You may even be up against someone who's more skilled than you are. It's inevitable. In those moments, I want you to remember this: Sometimes… you'll just have to burn all the boats behind you. If you cannot afford to lose, you won't." Arthur finished as he lay a hand on Mormont's shoulder. "Understand?"

Starag nodded firmly as the early morning light had begun filtering into the courtyard. Streaks of sunlight arched across the cold dirt. "I do."

"Good." Arthur's grin was warm once again. "I'd make you a Kingsguard… But that's not really my jurisdiction. Besides…" He paused as he glanced up at the keep. "I don't think Eddard would be too happy with me stealing one of his bannermen."

Mormont chuckled at the mere thought of it. "The first Mormont Kingsguard… That'll be the day." He shook his head with a crooked grin. "I love women and drink too much, I'm afraid."

Now it was Arthur's turn to roar his head back into a boisterous laugh. "That you do, my friend! That you do!"

Starag knew what was next, though. As Arthur's smile began dying away and he stepped away from Mormont. He drew Dawn.

"Again," Dayne said with a fiery intensity that told Mormont that he wasn't quite out of the woods just yet.

There was only one thing Mormont could do. His grin widened as he drew Longclaw from the fur sheath strapped to his belt.

This time, he took the first step and swung his blade down onto Arthur's. CLANG!

If Jon Stark hadn't been excited down to the very bone, he would've been tired enough to sleep the rest of the day away.

He'd gotten up early that morning after he heard the clashing of swords outside his window. Curious, he'd walked up to the window and had seen two figures dancing in the morning sunglow that shined into the castle courtyard.

Uncle Arthur and Uncle Starag had been sparring again. But this time, each of their moves was as fast as lightning. So quick that Jon hadn't managed to keep up with them with his own eyes.

The hulking figure of the Lord of Bear Island had dominated the courtyard, towering over tiny Uncle Arthur. Yet despite their clear difference in physical mass, Uncle Arthur won more often than not, holding Dawn to Uncle Starag's throat.

He kept watching the two men duel even as the sun had risen high over the inner walls of Winterfell. Jon didn't even notice Robb and Arya come into his room behind him as he watched both his uncles clash their blades again and again.

"What are you watching, Jon?" Arya asked inquisitively as she tugged on his hand.

Robb answered her question as he also looked out the window. "Damn… I can't even see their swords."

Jon nodded his head in agreement. "They've been dueling for hours," he said blandly. All of his attention had been focused on the two whirling swordsmen. He desperately wished he was older.

Arya must've been angry that she'd not gotten his attention. She flicked at Jon's fingers hard. "Oww!" He clutched his ring finger and glared down at his little sister. "What the hell, Arya?"

His sister only grinned at him and stuck out her tongue in response. An idea immediately entered his mind, bred by the idea that he had to get back at his sister somehow.

Jon looked to his brother with a conspiratorial smile. Almost instantly, he knew that Robb had figured out what he meant.

"You know what that means, Arya…" Robb shook his head with as much melancholy as he could muster.

Arya Stark had ceased her wicked grin and only watched in horror as both her brothers picked her up and tossed her on the bed.

Immediately, her bursts of laughter and piercing giggles could be heard throughout the castle as Jon and Robb mercilessly tickled their sister. They attacked her armpits and her sides ruthlessly with their fingers. She thrashed wildly when Jon moved his hand to the bottom of her foot.

"Stop! Please-ah!" Arya's laughter had been combined with a desperate plead. "I'm s-sorry! I-I-hah! I won't do it again!"

Jon stopped tickling his sister. Robb followed suit. "You promise?" Jon held out his hand to his tomato-faced sister. She quickly nodded and shook his hand.

As quick as a cat, his sister had jumped off his bed and turned around. Like a viper, she reached out her hand to Robb's ear. Jon was too late to stop her before she pulled back her middle finger and flicked it again.

"OWW!" Robb clutched the side of his face and jumped off the bed too. By the time his feet had hit the cold stone floor, Arya was already outside of Jon's bedroom and running down the hall.

Jon wouldn't let her get away with it. Robb had backed him up, and Jon would back his brother up no matter what. They both ran out of Jon's room and into the hall.

Arya was halfway down the hall and almost at the stairwell when they had already begun catching up with her. As mischievous as she was, Arya Stark certainly did not have the endurance and speed of her older brothers.

"Arya! Get back here!" Jon shouted. He knew she wouldn't stop though. She almost certainly did not wish to endure another round of tickling.

Instead, she had started up the stairs, jumping two steps at a time to gain more speed. Jon knew she was going to try to take refuge with Father and Mother. They'd save her, no doubt from her big bad brothers.

Jon and Robb managed to climb the steps faster, but Jon felt the nugget of doubt that told him she'd make it to Father's bedroom long before he and Robb got there. Still, he'd stick up for his brother.

Once they finished climbing the stairs, they both immediately looked to the left as they heard the thudding of a hand knocking on wood. Arya was at the end of the hall, slamming her hand on their parent's door.

Jon ran after her. Perhaps there was still time! Robb followed right behind him, his right ear blotchy red from the sharp pressure of Arya's finger.

He was perhaps only five meters away when the door to Father's room opened. Mother stood there with tired purple eyes as she glanced down at Arya and then at Jon and Robb who stopped just a few feet short of the door.

Mother rubbed her eyes tiredly. She wore a thin purple dress that reached down to her shins, though it was stretching now that Arya had fully grabbed onto it. Her black shoulder-length hair was messy and tousled. "What is going on?" She asked as she looked out a nearby window. "Arya, you-"

Arya simply slipped between Mother's leg and the door frame and ran inside the room. Jon saw her jump onto the large bed and landed softly onto Father's stomach.

"Arya!" Jon heard Father nearly shout in astonishment.

Mother turned around and faced Jon and Robb now. He gulped as her purple eyes narrowed at him and she crossed her arms sternly over her chest. "Okay, you two. What's going on?" she said.

It was Robb who spoke up. "She flicked my ear! And Jon's hand too!" He pointed to his patchy red ear underneath his tidy mane of black hair.

"I never once thought in my life that you, Robb Stark, would let yourself get hit by a five-year-old girl." She shook her head, though now Jon had recognized that mirthful glint that now appeared in Mother's eyes. "And what kind of revenge did you plan to enact on your sister?"

"We were going to tickle her," Jon said plainly. There was no point in hiding it from Mother. She was by all accounts a rather impressive detective. "That's all."

He nudged Robb as he saw the customary playful smirk of the Dayne family grace Mother's lips. "I see. A fitting punishment, I should think."

Suddenly, Mother had stepped aside and uncrossed her arms. Jon grinned as he realized what she was doing. "Come on, then. She's cornered herself."

Jon saw the absolute look of betrayal on his sister's face as he and Robb entered the room. Father was shirtless on the bed and even confused as to what his two sons were doing there at such an early time.

"Your youngest daughter has been terrorizing your sons." Mother answered his unasked question. "They've come to… tickle her."

Father looked at Jon and then at Robb. No doubt the redness of Robb's ear was easier to see than Jon's ring finger. "Does Arya know the punishment for harming her Lord Father's heir?" Father asked this time. Jon nearly had to hold himself from laughing as he realized what he was about to do.

Arya was too slow this time to prevent her father's thick arms from wrapping her in a bear hug. Realizing her plan had shattered into splinters, she tried to wriggle and squirm out of Father's iron grasp.

Jon and Robb smiled at one another. Today, they'd have their revenge!

Father grinned at them. The crinkles in his eyes showed how much he'd aged, yet there was still that youthfulness in the dark grey orbs. "Get her, lads!"

Breakfast had been quick and light. Uncle Starag told him they'd need to keep their wits about them while they traveled the Kingsroad. Jon figured he had meant wildlings who'd traveled far south of the Wall. Too much food wouldn't do them any good if they got into a fight.

Uncle Arthur had wanted him to spar with Robb, but Uncle Starag had refused. It would take them a day or two to reach Castle Cerwyn. Perhaps even longer if they took their time.

Jon had a distinct feeling that his Uncle Arthur didn't want him to leave. He had a sad glint in his eyes whenever Jon brought up the trip itself. He didn't understand why.

Uncle Starag's expedition was public knowledge by now, though the reasons behind it were not. Everyone figured that his uncle was simply taking Jon on as his squire, and Jon did not bother to correct them.

As he stuffed the last of his small clothes in his pack, he flipped the leather hood over it tied the strings together. His new bag was a gift from Mikken. Jon had wanted a sword, but he couldn't deny that the bag would be useful.

It slung over both his shoulders and clung tight to his back. It would shift well with his weight. Oddly enough, it seemed that it was almost larger on the inside.

Lastly, he took the large knife that Uncle Arthur had given to him and tucked it between his belt. If Jon were bigger and stronger, he could skin a deer with it. He took one last glance around the room he'd grown up in his whole life. It felt incredibly odd to know that he wouldn't be going back to it later that night…

Jon turned around and slowly closed the door to his room. Even as he walked down the grey stone halls, he felt a strange sensation twist and lurch in his gut. He was going to miss this place, he realized.

He'd never really been overly impressed with Winterfell. It was his childhood home, and one grew accustomed to the tall granite walls and the magnificent towers and keep. It was home and nothing else.

While Jon had wanted to see the Wall one day, there was a part of him that had been curious about the south. He never understood why Father disdained it so much. Though he figured it must have something to do with King Robert's rebellion.

Perhaps Uncle Starag would tell him more…

He found his uncle leaving his own room. Right behind him was one of the cleaning girls who Jon would talk with occasionally as he roamed the castle. Bethanie was her name. Jon could only widen his eyes as he saw Uncle Starag kissing Bethanie hard on the lips before letting her go with a smack on her behind.

Jon had expected her to get angry at his uncle. Jarringly enough, however, she hadn't. Jon heard her giggle and saw her blow his uncle a kiss before she turned the corner. Out of sight.

He'd seen many of the men-at-arms do the exact same thing to the serving girls in the dining hall. Just as they hit the girl on the rump, she'd turn around and either slap him across the face or toss a flagon of ale in his eyes.

Why had Uncle Starag gotten away with it and the men-at-arms had not? Jon supposed because he was a lord, but there was something in the back of his mind trying to tell him otherwise…

Just then, his uncle had turned around and spotted him. "Ah, Jon!" The overly tall man had grinned. Jon smiled back. "Come, lad. Time we were on our way."

"Yes, uncle." He nodded and walked over to Uncle Starag. Instead of a cloak, his uncle wore a very long coat that had gone down to his shins. It was thick and padded, like a sort of black gambeson. It had dark green accents and embroidery. Though it only covered his sides, legs, and back. There was a light brown bear's pelt which served as the collar of the thick coat.

His armor too was quite strange. The cuirass was a sort of plated mail, but his uncle wore it like he would a simple shirt. Strapped to his belt, Jon could see a long dagger and the gleaming white bear's head pommel of Longclaw, House Mormont's ancestral sword.

And the most obvious feature of all was the massive bear's head mounted on Uncle Starag's left shoulder. He saw the barely concealed pauldron underneath the roof of the bear's mouth and still attached rows of jagged white teeth. It was the most outlandish piece of armor Jon had ever seen. "Where did you get that, uncle?"

Uncle Starag glanced at the bear's head. "Ah, a gift from Mikken. Thought it looked a bit silly, but then I figured it might help to instill a good bit of fear into my competitors." He patted the large bear's head. "Onwards and upwards, I suppose."

It was fearsome to look at. There were beady black eyes staring out from the bear's head. Such an imposing man wearing the head of an incredibly dangerous and ruthless animal like he would a pair of boots… Jon knew the intended effect would be achieved.

Jon only nodded his head. He doubted he could wear the stuffed head as a pauldron. If anything, he'd be able to use it as a helmet. But the image of himself wearing such a thing on his head only made him snicker.

"Let's go, then." His uncle waved for him to follow. "Goodbyes are always the most uncomfortable part."

He followed Uncle Starag as they marched silently down the stairs. Jon knew that the older man had already been packed and ready to leave nearly a day ago since he didn't carry anything else.

Jon had only ever said goodbye to Uncle Benjen and Uncle Starag. One was First Ranger at the Wall, while the other was visiting infrequently during his travels. Never had he once uttered that word to his Father or Mother.

Never had he imagined he would, either.

The nerves in his chest that had once been excited and riled up at the idea of a grand adventure across the country, had now tightened and coiled in his throat.

It had been so easy to be eager to leave Winterfell, but now as they both walked through the keep… Jon could not ever recall being as frightened in his life as he was just then. Each step was louder in his mind than the last as he saw the morning sky through the windows.

Is that what going into battle feels like?

Uncle Arthur had told him how shocked his nerves would be. How easy it was to make a single mistake and fall asleep forever. As he followed behind Uncle Starag when they exited the great keep of Winterfell.

Everything in his mind was screaming at Jon to go back inside and fall back onto his bed. Was he making a mistake in taking on this trip? Perhaps he ought to just go back inside…

No. Jon told that voice to go away. He wanted to leave Winterfell. He told Uncle Starag that he'd be his squire and help him win all the money in the tourneys down south. Jon couldn't-wouldn't let his uncle down. He gave him his word.

Jon remembered another of Uncle Arthur's lessons. He must've been five when his uncle had sat him down and told it to him, but he remembered.

"There will be a voice speaking to you inside your head. It will be loud and it will tell you to not do anything rash, or bold. To forget all notion of ambition or worthiness. It will tell you to sit and be quiet just like everyone else." His uncle had said. "Your first priority is to ignore that voice. At all costs."

He thought it strange how he'd remembered that when his other uncle had offered to take him on as his squire. Almost like the gods were behind it…

Now they were out in the courtyard. Uncle Starag's massive warhorse was packed and saddled. Standing next to it was Bella, Jon's garron. She looked like a shaggy dog in comparison.

Behind the two horses was a third garron. No doubt their packhorse for the journey as it had several thickly clothed sacks tied neatly to the saddle.

Nearby, Jon's family had gathered. He felt his cheeks redden at the thought that he'd have to say goodbye to each of them.

He watched as Father handed Uncle Starag what seemed to be a pair of small envelopes. Jon's uncle had unceremoniously stuffed them in his satchel and gave Father a warm hug, which Father had reciprocated.

Now it was Jon's turn.

Father knelt down on his knee as he looked Jon in the eyes. The older man's warm smile only encouraged Jon to smile back. "Our family has never had much luck going south… Be careful, alright?" Those grey orbs were pleading as much as they were ordering. "Listen to your uncle, and take good care of him. He needs this as much as you do."

Jon felt Father's arms wrap around him tight. Jon hugged him back. Part of him never wanted to let go. "I will, Father."

Reluctantly, the two separated. Jon swore for a moment that he could see Father's eyes shaking just slightly as he nodded. "Good," he said finally with a parting smile and nodded to Mother.

She was struggling to hold back her tears as Jon approached her now. Instantly, she swept her arms around his shoulders and embraced him. "The castle will feel so empty without you…" she said. "I don't know what Arya will do all by herself."

Jon chuckled softly into his mother's neck. "I'm sure she'll begin annoying Robb or something."

Mother kissed him on the forehead. He nearly broke as he saw tears begin to fall down her tanned cheeks. "Go on. You'll be home soon enough," she said.

He nodded as he passed next to Robb. His brother grinned at him, though Jon could see the hint of sadness behind his eyes. "You're so lucky, Jon," Robb said as he shook his head. "I wish I could go down south with you and Uncle Starag."

"But who would be here to endure Arya? Stop her from taking over Winterfell?" Jon said as he hugged his brother.

Robb laughed. "I'll make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."

Dyanna had embraced him tightly. She'd given him a doublet she'd made as a parting gift. It was mostly black with white embroidery. A white direwolf's head had been stitched onto the left breast of the coat.

He couldn't believe that his sister had made it, it looked far too regal and professional for an eight-year-old to have made it.

"Mother helped me quite a bit." His sister had admitted with reddened cheeks. "I'm sure you will look very handsome when you feast and dance with those southern ladies."

Jon blushed scarlet. He hadn't thought of that, but it fitted perfectly with the kind of antics that Uncle Starag would normally get up to, it seemed. "Thank you, Dyanna."

Arya had latched onto him and begged him to take her with them, or else she'd leave Winterfell and track them down herself. While Jon had no doubt his sister would follow through on her promise, he told her that he'd be back in a few moon's time. During then, she must listen to Father, Mother, and Robb.

His sister nodded with tearful eyes. She nearly burst into a fit of tears when he finally pried her off him and handed her to Robb. I have to be strong.

Bran was only a few years old, yet he smiled up at Jon and hugged his waist. "Can you bring me back a sword, Jon?" The little boy asked.

"I'll see what I can do, Bran." Jon hugged the little wolf fiercely. "Take care of the girls and Mother for me. Alright?"

"Alright." Bran nodded as they separated. Jon tousled his little brother's hair as he moved on to the last member standing in line.

Uncle Arthur stood tall and imposing in his white doublet. He smiled kindly at Jon as he lay a hand on his shoulder. "Take care of Starag, will you?" he asked. "He's a hothead, and he'll need someone who can balance him out. Understand?"

"I understand, uncle." Jon nodded firmly. "I'll make sure he's looked after."

"Good." Arthur clasped him around the shoulders. "Enjoy yourself down south. It's teeming with pretty girls this time of year." he chuckled.

Jon nearly cursed his uncle out loud as he felt that familiar embarrassed warmth flush his cheeks. He almost shoved Uncle Arthur away from him as he shook his head.

Uncle Arthur stood back up and gave him a wink. Jon smiled back. He took that as his queue to walk over to Bella and tie his pack onto the saddle.

His other uncle had already mounted his warbeast and had tied the thick robe from the packhorse onto the nook of his saddle. "Time to go, lad." Uncle Starag smiled sadly at him. Jon immediately realized that the huge man would know exactly how he was feeling right then.

With a quick jump upwards, Jon had cleanly mounted his horse. He turned in his saddle to give one last wave to his family.

Father was holding Mother now. Jon felt something twist in his gut, much worse than any kind of childish flicking that Arya could've caused. He made his Mother cry…

He looked to Uncle Starag. The man's face might've been made of stone at that moment, but Jon saw him wince as Mother shoved her face into Father's neck, weeping loudly.

Father waved him to him as he and his uncle began trotting away, leaving behind the inner courtyard and passing the first gate. As they came over the moat, the inner gate had closed.

Jon found himself looking back at Winterfell. Even as he and Uncle Starag had ridden past the outer gate and had trotted idly through Wintertown and over the hills that were miles away from the castle. Neither of them said so much as a word to one another.

It was hard saying goodbye.