Euron Greyjoy

Life's meaning is elusive until you shape it.

Death, too, holds its significance, waiting for you to define it.

For simple folk, life and death are as mysterious as the gods themselves, and it's almost pitiable how they believe these concepts can halt everything... when in reality, life and death are merely the prologue to the great unknown.

As a god, the only obstacle in your path is the one you create.

The candles in the room dimmed and shifted, twisting and changing, revealing a vision that transcended ordinary comprehension.

Jon Snow

Snowflakes gracefully descended upon Winterfell's courtyard, where a medley of banners danced in the frigid breeze—blue, white, orange, and red—yet none could rival the proud direwolf snarling upon its grey and white field, the emblem of House Stark, which had graced the battlements and towers of Winterfell for generations.

Jon Snow's dark hair was gently kissed by the falling snow as he observed the festivities unfolding before an enthralled audience. He kept his distance from the center of attention, far from his siblings, choosing to watch freely without the need to worry about lords' whispers or Lady Stark's disapproving glares. Instead, he shared the company of stable boys and squires.

"Another victory," a resounding cheer erupted for what felt like the hundredth time that evening as Robb Stark sent Cley Cerwyn sprawling after a brief swordplay. The audience included Northern lords, highborn ladies, squires, journeymen, musicians, and sellswords who had gathered for this momentous occasion. Winterfell was vast enough to accommodate them all in the inner courtyard, its ancient gates still welcoming more guests on horseback and foot.

While Northern lords sat on wooden benches, others stood, but even from his distant vantage point, Jon could discern the approval in their eyes as they watched Robb. He pushed aside any trace of jealousy that threatened to surface—this was his brother's moment.

Robb offered a hand to his defeated opponent, his smile radiant. "I hope the fall wasn't too hard, my lord. You have a long ride home," he jested, eliciting snickers from the crowd.

"That boastful little..." Jon couldn't help but think, but Robb reveled in the attention, just as much as he loved drawing the admiring looks from maids and serving girls. "They don't spare me a glance," Jon thought solemnly, his insecurities gnawing at him. He didn't consider himself ugly, but his illegitimate status seemed to make him invisible. He forced those feelings away again.

Cley took Robb's hand and rose, wearing an embarrassed smile. "Not at all, my lord Robb. It was a good bout." The audience applauded his gracious acceptance of defeat.

Robb nodded in satisfaction. "You speak truly," he said, patting the son of Cerwyn's lord on the back, causing the smaller man to stumble. Jon could hear Arya and Bran's giggles even amid the commotion. Theon, uncaring about hiding his amusement, burst into laughter until Lady Stark's raised eyebrow silenced him. Jon's gaze met Theon's, and they exchanged glares before looking away in silence.

"You've raised a fine son, Lord Eddard!" Lord Karstark's voice rang out above the noise, as he stood with his sons and uncles. His daughter, meanwhile, assisted in removing practice gear from her younger siblings, Torrhen and Eddard Stark. Karstark's heir was managing his own castle in his father's absence. "And you've raised a formidable fighter, even better than my own kin." He shot a disapproving look at his heirs, who blushed deeply in shame.

Standing on an upper level overseeing the courtyard were Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark, with the towering figure of Greatjon Umber behind them. Sansa sat nearby, her own chair pulled up politely. Jon had mixed feelings about his sister; she never truly regarded him as a sibling like the others did.

"Don't thank me for my son's swordsmanship," Eddard humbly interjected. "Thank the master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel. He has trained him since he could walk." He gestured toward the elderly man, who was observing the sparring matches from the center of the courtyard.

The old master-at-arms, whiskered and proud, seemed to shrink slightly under the collective gaze of the onlookers.

"He is an exceptional student and worthy heir to Winterfell," Ser Rodrik declared with pride, his stern voice laced with satisfaction. His words echoed as he surveyed Robb's latest challengers, including Cley Cerwyn, Daryn Hornwood, Smalljon Umber, Dacy Mormont, and many others who dared to challenge the auburn-haired lad. The Boltons were conspicuously absent, with Lord Roose Bolton sending a raven citing his eldest heir Domeric's illness as an excuse. Given the joyous atmosphere of the evening, the lords seemed content to excuse their absence.

"Thank you, Ser Rodrik," Robb nodded respectfully, his infectious smile sending a ripple of admiration through the crowd, particularly among the women. Jon tried to picture himself in his brother's place, basking in the glory and adulation.

"I've never seen a strike like that even with blunted blades," Daryn Hornwood admitted, rubbing his arm where a bruise was forming. "Get over it." Jon had endured worse.

"Incredible skill at such a young age," noted the young Dacey Mormont. "A prodigy." Nods of agreement spread through the courtyard, accompanied by murmurs of approval. "I've bested him more than a dozen times." Where was Jon's praise? He swallowed his resentment; this was Robb's moment.

Robb's smile was radiant, his eyes shining with delight. Jon had never smiled that broadly in his life.

"He's not that skilled!" Arya interjected from her perch on an empty barrel, a helmet perched upon her head. Heads turned immediately in her direction. Robb's smile faded, replaced by hurt. Jon felt offended on his brother's behalf. Robb had trained diligently and was by no means a slouch in combat.

"What will you say now, Arya?" Jon worried silently; he loved his sister more than anyone and didn't want her to say something that might get her into trouble.

"Arya!" Lady Catelyn admonished. "Such remarks about your brother are unbecoming." "For once, I agree with the lady."

Arya lowered her gaze in shame but quickly raised it defiantly. "Robb is good, but I know someone his age who's better."

"Who?" Theon challenged, always a staunch supporter of Robb. All eyes were now fixed on Arya, curiosity piqued as they wondered who she could possibly be referring to.

Jon had a sinking feeling; he knew exactly to whom she was alluding.

Arya, despite her earlier bravado, seemed to be having second thoughts about speaking out. She chewed her lip and wilted under the intense scrutiny. Jon prayed that common sense would intervene in the nick of time.

Bran, standing beside her, came to her rescue. "That's easy! It's Jon!" Having observed their countless sparring sessions, it was hardly surprising that he'd make that statement.

Jon felt a rush of blood to his head, and his entire body tensed. "Why did he say that? Did he somehow forget who I am?" He did his best to make himself smaller and stealthily retreated from the crowd. He knew this was a mistake; he should have stayed in his chambers. But even so, he wouldn't have missed this moment, despite the outcome.

Catelyn and Eddard Stark froze in their places, while the crowd buzzed with confusion.

"Jon?" Jon heard Robin Flint ask in puzzlement. The boy in question crouched even lower in his effort to escape. Passersby cursed him as he bumped into their legs, but he paid no mind. He just wanted to leave before things escalated.

"Jon Snow, the Winterfell bastard," Theon announced loudly, a sneer on his lips. Jon had never loathed him more than he did at that moment. Greyjoy had never liked Jon, and the feeling was mutual.

Robb shot Theon an angry look but remained silent.

A hush fell over the yard as awkward glances were exchanged, and all eyes turned to Eddard and Catelyn. The couple chose not to speak, but their expressions revealed their simmering anger and tension.

Arya regained her confidence. "He's the best swordsman in Winterfell! He's defeated Robb many times!" A spirited chatter erupted among the onlookers. Despite himself, Jon felt his heart warm at his sister's defense.

"Is that so?" Greatjon Umber slowly turned his gaze to Eddard, but the lord did not respond. Instead, he turned his inquisitive gaze toward Ser Rodrik.

His eyes were joined by many others. Ser Rodrik, once again under the spotlight, squirmed uncomfortably but eventually spoke up. "Yes, he has. The boy is truly remarkable in his own right." He rubbed his whiskers thoughtfully. "Jon has gotten the better of the heir more times than the heir has bested him."

Doubt and skepticism rippled through the crowd; they found it hard to believe his words.

"Well... let's see then!" Greatjon's booming voice carried throughout the courtyard. His massive frame overshadowed everyone else.

Before Jon knew it, he was standing with his hand raised. "Here, Lord Umber!" All eyes fixed on him as though he were a target dummy for archery practice. Greatjon's grin of satisfaction said it all.

Never before had so many eyes been on him at once. He had always wanted the attention as a child, but he had never dared admit it or voice his desire for the recognition that his siblings received simply for being born. This was his chance; he wanted to prove them all wrong.

He deserved it.

"I'm ready, Ser," Jon replied calmly. That was all that needed to be said. Ser Rodrik held his gaze for a moment, then nodded briskly and moved to the center of the courtyard.

Jon's hands were clammy, and he had to double-check his grip on his sword's hilt. His heart pounded, and he forced himself to take shallow breaths of the cold air. He tried to block out the outside world and focus on Ser Rodrik's muffled instructions.

"Begin!"

Those simple words prompted Jon and Robb to clash swords in the middle of the courtyard. The sound of grunts mixed with the clanging of swords filled the air. Birds took flight to escape the commotion. Their blades whirled and clashed in a frenetic dance. They locked swords, battling for control. Jon eventually broke the deadlock and struck quickly, his blunted sword knocking Robb's from his grip...

...and into Jon's outstretched hand.

Robb blinked in disbelief, then found himself facing two blunted swords at his throat.

Silence hung heavy in the air; there were no cheers, no applause. It was as if the world had stopped.

Feeling a sting of regret, Jon quickly removed his padded armor.

"I shouldn't have done that," he muttered to himself as he placed his sword on the rack. "Now I look like a bastard trying to steal his brother's glory." It was already challenging enough that he resembled a Stark more than any of Lord Stark's legitimate children, which he knew irked Lady Stark to no end.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Arya threw herself into his arms.

"I told them! I told them!" Arya rambled, an effervescent ball of energy. "They didn't believe you could do it, but you did! I believed in you! You're way better than Robb!"

"But at what cost?"

Jon offered a faint smile and tousled her unruly hair. "Thank you, sister."

"He's not that much better than me, Arya," Robb mumbled, his cheeks flushed. "He's just a bastard." Jon sensed the remorse in his brother; it was clear Robb regretted his earlier words. Theon, trying to hide his amusement, rubbed his face.

Laughter and snickers rippled through the crowd.

"Do not make excuses just because someone outperformed you in battle," Eddard admonished, his expression severe. He beckoned to Jon and Robb. "Shake hands and let's move on."

Robb's embarrassment deepened as he realized the gravity of his earlier words. Jon could see the regret in his brother's eyes as he opened his mouth, likely to offer an apology, but Jon had already turned and was making his way out of the courtyard. He couldn't bear it.

"They all think so little of me," Jon muttered to himself. He wiped away tears he hadn't even realized were forming. "Why must my birth dictate how they perceive me? Can't I wield a sword because of who I am?"

The boy's legs carried him back to his chambers, where he slammed the door shut and bolted it.

"They believe I don't belong here."

"I don't belong here."

Jon's eyes widened, and a burning determination surged within him. He would prove them all wrong. If they didn't want him here, he would leave. He would venture far away and forge a name for himself. He would join a sellsword company, battle pirates and smugglers, and become known as the greatest bastard since the days of the Blackfyre rebellions.

Only then would they recognize his worth.