Jon V
Training the seven worst recruits of the Stark house guard was a difficult task, but for Jon it was still easier than it had been trying to train a single Samwell Tarly. Each of the recruits had their issues that they had to overcome but none of them were an admitted craven whose abusive childhood prevented them from wanting to learn. Getting to know them as more than just seven random men would be the key to making them proper guards.
On his first day, as he was younger than all of them, he knew he had to prove himself capable in their eyes so they would respect what he told them. So he fought them one on one, all in turn and bested them all. He allowed them to come at him in pairs, then trios, and continued working with more and more numbers until it was all seven of them against him, and still he won. Their bodies were covered in bruises while Jon hadn't even been touched, and it was then that they realized how much he had to teach them.
It was the following day, once he had their respect, that he started to train them. Gannon was tall and muscular, but he was slow in the head; a step above a lackwit. Rylar had fiery red hair and the type of arrogance that thought him better than others. Asten was small, barely above Arya in height, and that showed in how timid he was. Barret and Karrem were brothers who seemed to have both inherited clumsy, uncoordinated limbs. Kennet was a tall and gangly lad who seemed more unsure of himself than anything. Olyvar had a habit of thinking he knew best, no matter what it was in regards to.
It became clear that not all of them would be swordsmen. Ser Rodrik trained recruits in other weapons but the main weapon of the guard was the sword and shield. There were bowmen and spearmen, but they were far fewer in number. Jon had his seven try different weapons for a week at a time, to see if they showed better skill with one over the others. He also took different approaches with them. Gannon needed simple instructions repeated to him multiple times. Rylar needed to be humbled but at the same time made to feel important.
After five grueling months, Jon was happy with the results. Barret and Karrem were made bowmen, where the repetitive nature of drawing a bow became muscle memory, and after time even their clumsy hands could do the actions without messing it up. Kennet was given a spear to add to his already impressive reach, and joined the small ranks of spearmen that made up the guard. Gannon was given a warhammer, the only member of the guard to wield one, a simple swing and smash weapon that wouldn't require much thought from him to use effectively. Olyvar, Rylar, and Asten, after each of them overcame their flaws that held them back, became capable swordsmen.
They joined the house guard proper, shortly after the rest of the recruits under Ser Rodrik did. The old master-at-arms had been impressed at their progress, and told Jon that he could have a future as the master-at-arms of any castle, including Winterfell, if he wanted. Jon added it to the list of options available to him for his future.
The training ended just in time to welcome the various noble families of the North that came to Winterfell as the Harvest Feast approached. Even if the guard wasn't at full strength, it was nice to have more capable men around the castle to remind their vassals of the strength of House Stark. Robb declared that those who stayed at Winterfell would be split between the First Keep and the Guest Hall, which Jon believed was another reminder of the size and power of House Stark and their ancestral seat.
Because of his status Jon wasn't in the yard greeting most of the guests but he was there when the Umbers came, to greet his former foster family. They were just as Jon remembered them, loud and direct. He only had a few moments to welcome them to Winterfell before he was summoned to join Robb in the Great Hall. And then Wynafryd had told Robb she was three months pregnant. Jon couldn't believe it, Robb was going to be a father and he was going to be an uncle.
Robb shared the news that night at the Harvest Feast, eliciting a mighty cry from all in attendance and sending the celebration into an even bawdier affair. Lord Manderly was besides himself with joy and Ser Wylis was so happy he shed tears. Even Jon's former foster father, Greatjon Umber, had quickly gotten over his earlier sullenness at Robb not agreeing with his plan to march beyond the Wall and joined in on the cheer.
Jon had quickly found himself surrounded by the three Umber men, Greatjon, Smalljon, and Hoarfrost, and was forced to drink cup after cup of ale in celebration of his coming niece or nephew. He had not drank that much since the first night King Robert had come to Winterfell all those months ago, though it had been wine he had consumed in excess that night, and the morning after was just as wretched as it was then.
After getting over a hangover that none of the three Umber men suffered from, despite them all outdrinking him, he found himself outside the walls of Winterfell in the stands, watching the melee that Robb had ordered to take place the following day. The rest of the Starks, as well as all of the nobles and their families, sat in a viewing booth separate from everyone else. Jon sat with the smallfolk from Wintertown and the surrounding areas who had come to witness the event.
Robb was right in that the small purse didn't attract any lords or prominent knights. A few of the hedge knights that had accompanied Lord Manderly, as well as about fifty of the various men-at-arms from the various households, were participating. Then there were maybe twenty to twenty five smallfolk trying their hand, with their faded leather armor that seemed to be remnants from the Rebellion almost sixteen years ago, whether their own or from their older family members.
Jon was asked to observe them, to see which of the small folk participating would be worthy additions to the house guard. Lady Catelyn's return from Riverrun after the death of her father had returned the guard numbers up to 127, but that was still well short of the two hundred it had been before their father had left for King's Landing.
The small folk who watched the melee loved the entire thing. They weren't of the south, where seeing a hundred knights go at each other could be a yearly occurrence. This was the first melee held in the north in twenty years and even if the level of competition wasn't the highest it was still entertaining. They were going to be even more fond of the food that would be provided to them after the melee, while the nobles and their men crowded back into Winterfell to feast.
"Do any of them look promising to you?"
Jon turned to see Ser Rodrik had made his way to join him in the stands. Jon looked back to the melee, where a burly hedge knight who had come with Lord Manderly knocked down one of the Umber men-at-arms. Ser Rodrik was also observing to see who would be a fine addition to the house guard.
"The older ones certainly have skill. They're veterans of the Rebellion, aren't they?"
"Most likely," Ser Rodrik agreed.
Men in their mid to late thirties might seem too old to join the house guard at other times, but when able men were in short supply Jon didn't see why not. Some of the current guards lived in Wintertown with their families, and if these older men, five of them in total, had their own families they could always have them moved into Wintertown as well.
There was a great clash of metal as one of the men-at-arms tripped over something and fell, shield first, into a knight. They both toppled to the ground, earning a laugh from all those who watched, as both men found themselves eliminated.
Another handful of fighters were knocked out, including the last of the commoners. There were plenty wounded but no one had been killed yet, which Jon considered a good thing even if some in the stands might not agree. The crowd roared as each man fell. Only a quarter of the fighters remained, all of them knights or men-at-arms. With none of the small folk remaining, neither Jon nor Ser Rodrik needed to continue to watch the melee, but he had to admit it was entertaining to see.
The burly hedge knight ended up winning the entire thing. The man was certainly skilled, though how skilled was difficult to say given his level of competition. Jon wondered if Jory, the best swordsmen out of Winterfell's guard, would have won the competition if he was not at King's Landing. Still, it was a shame the hedge knight was committed to Lord Manderly; House Stark could use a man like that.
Before the feast that night, Robb had Ser Rodrik and Jon join him in the lord's solar. Ghost sat at Jon's feet, while Grey Wind sat at Robb's.
"What are your thoughts on the smallfolk in the melee? Do any of them have any skill?" Robb asked.
"The older ones do," Ser Rodrik said. "Likely veterans who fought against the Targaryens and then the Greyjoys."
"The bearded one with the ax," Jon added. "Though my recommendation is to offer a spot to all of them."
"All of them?" Robb asked in surprise.
"While only some of them have skill, to even enter the melee takes some bravery and boldness. And let's be honest, we need the numbers."
Ser Rodrik grunted in agreement and tugged at his whiskers, as he often did. "While training so many raw recruits at once is burdensome, Jon's help will make things easier."
Robb looked thoughtful. "What about this Syrio Forrel that Arya trains with? Can he help with training?"
It was a surprise to them all when this slight, bald man with a beak of a nose returned from Riverrun with Lady Catelyn, Arya, and Rickon. Syrio spoke with a Braavosi accent and claimed to once have been the First Sword of the Sealord of Braavos, a position he had held for nine years.
It seemed their father had been persuaded by Jon's letter to let Arya train with her sword, and had decided to hire Arya her own personal trainer. "A bravo trainer for a bravo sword," Aya said their father had told her when he had introduced the man to her. Whatever issues she had with the situation, Lady Catelyn must have learned to accept it as she rarely voiced her displeasure with the entire situation. Robb had spoken with his mother about it and she had told him it was a decision made by their father, sparing Jon of any repercussions for his role. She still frowned and muttered things to herself under her breath but while she was not actively supportive of Arya's sword lessons, she was pleased that there was no longer any issues getting Arya to attend any of her other lessons. It seemed that Arya was sticking to her promise of attending lessons with Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane.
Like Jorelle Mormont, Arya's afternoon lessons with the septa were shortened to allow for weapons training. Though unlike Jorella, Arya did not join them in the yard. Syrio had his own way of teaching and it was beyond odd. Jon had come upon Arya standing on one leg on an upside down bucket in the middle of a courtyard, flailing her arms as she attempted to keep her balance. Another time the guards had told him they chased after Arya throughout Wintertown as she herself chased after one of the few stray cats in the town.
"I've seen him practice against some of the men and he's very good," Ser Rodrik admitted, "but he fights with a thin blade and his style won't work in a crowded battlefield. Besides, no northmen will willingly train the way he teaches."
Robb nodded his head and Jon agreed internally.
"I think we should train more spearmen and bowmen in this next group. Have a bit more versatility in the guard," Jon said, feeling confident enough in his standing with both Robb and Ser Rodrik to voice his opinion.
His brother seemed to be mulling something over before a resolute look overcame his face.
"If we're to bring in another large group of recruits, then make it one worthwhile. Last time we stuck to the lands within a day's ride of Winterfell. Tomorrow send men to every village, holdfast, and inn within fifty leagues for recruits. Tonight, talk to the commoners who took part in the melee. Give them each a gold coin for their bravery and then an offer to join the Stark guard. We will move any family to Wintertown, or even Winterfell itself if the wife has any useful skills."
Ser Rodrik grimaced at the thought of how many new recruits he was going to have to train but nodded his head. "I'll speak to Hallis."
It was after the second night of the Harvest Feast celebration that Robb had asked Lady Mormont and Lords Manderly and Karstark to stay another few weeks to discuss the requests they had each made over the previous days. With Lady Catelyn, Wynafryd, and Maester Luwin back to join him during these meetings, Jon found himself on the outside. Though it wasn't like he didn't have things to do himself.
While ravens flew to every keep in the north, announcing to the smallfolk the sum of twenty-five silver stags to the family of any man who joined the Night's Watch, the Stark guard had ridden throughout the land to bring in new guard recruits and Jon had ridden with them. The men they brought back, when added to the twenty-one smallfolk from the melee who agreed to join, gave them eighty-two new recruits needing to be trained. Ser Rodrik still led the group, but Jon walked amongst them giving advice and demonstrating what was being asked of them. If all of them made it through, they would bring the house guards number to above what they had been previously.
The training yard at Winterfell hadn't seen this amount of activity since King Robert and his giant retinue was there. Just like the last group of recruits, it would take over six months before the majority of these men were ready to properly join the house guard. Though Ser Rodrik believed the three war veterans who joined would be ready a lot sooner.
It was after a hard day of training that Jon had gone into the godswood and knelt down in front of the weirwood for prayer, as it had been a few months since he had last done so. However, before he could get his thoughts in order something jumped out of the water, startling him and making him fall backwards on his ass. Standing before him was the wildling Osha, who Robb had captured several months ago and had been working in Winterfell's kitchen. She was naked, her body lean and covered with scars.
Jon averted his eyes as Ghost came padding over in curiosity. The fact that Ghost wasn't baring his teeth meant Jon had no worries from this woman. Osha shook herself like a dog and Jon felt numerous water droplets land on him.
"Sorry m'lord," Osha said, finally noticing him. "Why you looking over there?"
"You are naked," Jon pointed out, cheeks flushed.
"You never seen a naked woman before?" Osha asked.
Jon felt her gaze on him and resisted the urge to meet her eyes.
"I have but it isn't polite to stare."
She laughed at him and Jon had to remind himself she was a wildling. They lived by a different set of rules beyond the Wall. For all he knew during the warmest months of the summer everyone walked around naked up there. The warm walls of Winterfell helped fight off the chill in the air and he imagined it was probably warmer where they stood then it had been north of the Wall when she had left those lands.
Jon pushed himself off the ground and wiped the dirt off his hands. He noticed the lack of shackles on her feet and had to remind himself that after six months of doing her job without causing any issue she had been given her freedom, but she still worked in the kitchens. She had been told that if she decided to leave and seek her fortune elsewhere, her spear would be returned to her, but it would take more than half a year of good behavior before she was allowed to carry a weapon within these walls. Theon told him that Osha and the head cook, Gage, were in some kind of relationship, or as Theon put it, "he's stabbing her with his pink sword every night, if you know what I mean Snow."
"Why are you still here?" Jon asked.
"Didn't realize this was your private godswood, m'lord."
Jon rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. "I mean at Winterfell. Robb has given you your freedom but still you remain. I would have thought you to have left by now."
She shrugged her shoulders as she walked to where her discarded clothes lay at the edge of the pool. "Don't know anyone and don't know where to go. 'Sides, have food and shelter here."
Jon remembered the story of her capture. She had been with several wildlings and two members of the Night's Watch. It was rare to see wildlings this far south, they were mostly stopped by the Umbers or the mounain clans, but they had caught deserters of the Watch in the surrounding lands many times. Most tended to stick to the Kingsroad until they reached the Wolfswood, and then tried to use the dense forest to skirt around Winterfell's view.
Ghost must have thought their conversation boring, for he went to explore the rest of the godswood again. One time a squirrel had erroneously wandered its way down from the trees and Ghost had set upon it and killed it with one quit bite, reminding Jon how dangerous direwolves could be. It had only been the one time but it seemed like Ghost was hoping another squirrel would be clueless enough to wander down to the ground with a direwolf near.
"Why come south at all? Why not stay beyond the Wall?"
Osha pulled the rough spun gray dress over her head and down her damp body. Rivulets of water still trailed down her face and neck. Not that Jon was staring of course. He wasn't lying, had seen naked females before but not one so close.
"Dark things stir beyond the forest and mountains of the north," she warned ominously, staring at him with a haunted look. "A cold that not even fire can warm you from creeps into your bones and the dead walk."
Jon knew she didn't mean the Wolfswood and the mountains where the mountain clans lived. She was talking about the forest and the mountains beyond the Wall, farther north than any known man had traveled; at least anyone who lived south of the Wall. He didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of the statement or ignore it as the ramblings of a crazy person.
"The dead walk?" Jon repeated, doubt leaking into his voice.
"Aye. That's why we burn our dead. If you don't, they come back with blue eyes and kill you. That's why I fled south. All the wildlings will try to flee south, that's why Mance is trying to unite them."
When Jon was at Castle Black he had heard whispers from some of the older men about a King-Beyond-the-Wall trying to unite the wildling clans. He supposed that's who the Mance person was.
"This Mance probably figures they'll have a better chance getting past the wall united than divided."
"That's what he said," she said with a nod. "I'll get back to the kitchens and leave you to your prayers."
Yet after she left he couldn't focus on prayer or the old gods. All he kept thinking about was a wave of wildlings swarming the North and the blue eyed corpses that shambled along behind them.