The Greyjoy Rebellion had cast a shadow over Winterfell. The air buzzed with urgency as ravens brought news of the Ironborn's sudden and brutal attacks on the western coast. Lord Eddard Stark, ever the protector of the North, had summoned his bannermen to Winterfell. The once peaceful castle now bustled with activity as warriors from every corner of the North gathered to answer their liege lord's call.
Jon Snow, only seven years old, stood at the edge of the training yard, watching with wide eyes as the Northern lords and their men-at-arms arrived in waves. The sound of hooves clattering on the cobblestones, the clink of armor, and the murmur of voices filled the air, a cacophony of war. Jon had never seen so many men in one place before, and the sight both thrilled and terrified him.
Robb Stark, his brother in all but name, stood beside him. Though only a year apart, Robb had a way of carrying himself that made him seem older, more confident. But even Robb's bravado was tempered by the seriousness of the situation. The two boys exchanged glances, their usual playful banter replaced with a shared, silent understanding that something monumental was about to happen.
As the men gathered in the courtyard, Jon couldn't help but notice how many of them eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and respect. He had trained diligently under Ser Rodrik Cassel, mastering the sword and bow with a determination that belied his years. Though he was still small for his age, Jon's skill with the sword had earned him the admiration of many within Winterfell. The lords of the North, hardened men with battle scars and grim expressions, nodded in approval as they watched him practice, their eyes lingering on the boy who bore such a strong resemblance to Eddard Stark.
"He's a natural," one of the lords muttered to another as they passed by. "Quick on his feet, and sharp as a direwolf's tooth."
Jon overheard the words and felt a flush of pride, though he did his best to hide it. He had always wanted to make his father proud, to prove that he was more than just a bastard. And yet, there was a part of him that longed to join the men on the battlefield, to stand beside his father and fight for the honor of the North. But he knew that such thoughts were foolish; he was still a child, no matter how skilled he was with a sword.
As the preparations for war continued, Jon and Robb found themselves caught up in the excitement. They watched as the men prepared their horses, sharpened their blades, and readied their shields. The banners of the great Northern houses fluttered in the breeze, a sea of grey direwolves, white bears, and green branches. Jon could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation of battle, and it stirred something deep within him—a fierce, almost primal urge to prove himself, to take his place among the warriors of the North.
But for all their eagerness, the boys were reminded time and again that they were too young to join the fight. "You have your own battles to fight," Ser Rodrik had told them sternly. "Your time will come, but for now, you must stay here and protect Winterfell."
And so, when the time came for the men to depart, Jon and Robb stood on the battlements, watching as the Northern host marched out of Winterfell's gates. The sound of the warhorns echoed through the courtyard, and the men raised their swords in salute as they rode off to war. Eddard Stark, riding at the head of the column, turned back once to look at his sons, his expression inscrutable. Jon watched him go, a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach.
As the last of the men disappeared into the distance, Winterfell seemed to grow quiet, almost eerily so. The courtyard, once filled with the noise and bustle of warriors, was now empty, save for a few stragglers and servants. Jon and Robb exchanged a glance, both feeling the weight of their new responsibility. They were the ones who would protect Winterfell now, even if their battles would be fought with words and decisions rather than swords.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the courtyard, Jon found himself standing alone, staring out at the horizon where his father and the men of the North had vanished. He wondered what battles they would face, what dangers they would encounter. He wondered if they would all return.
And he wondered, too, about the promise he had made to his mother—the promise to train harder, to become stronger, so that one day, he could take his place as the King of Sarnor. The path before him was uncertain, fraught with danger and challenges. But Jon Snow was nothing if not determined. He would train, he would learn, and one day, he would prove to everyone—his father, his mother, and himself—that he was worthy of the legacy that had been thrust upon him.
For now, though, Winterfell was his battlefield, and he would fight to protect it with every ounce of strength he had.
With Lord Eddard Stark and most of Winterfell's men away fighting in the Greyjoy Rebellion, the ancient castle fell into a quieter, more disciplined rhythm. The absence of the men was keenly felt, but life had to go on. Lady Catelyn Stark, despite her lingering concerns about Jon and her son Robb's future, rose to the occasion, managing the affairs of Winterfell with the steady hand of Maester Luwin at her side. The keep ran smoothly under her guidance, and the people of Winterfell respected her strength in such uncertain times.
For Jon Snow and Robb Stark, the departure of their father and the Northern host brought a change in their daily lives as well. The training yard, once filled with the sounds of clashing swords and bellowing warriors, was now much quieter, but this gave the two boys more space and time to focus on their own growth.
Every morning, Jon and Robb would rise early to continue their martial training. Ser Rodrik Cassel, who remained behind to oversee Winterfell's defenses and train the boys, was relentless in his instruction. Jon, already skilled with a sword, pushed himself even harder, perfecting his footwork, refining his technique, and increasing his strength. Robb, determined not to be outdone by his brother, matched Jon's efforts with equal fervor. They sparred with wooden swords until their arms ached, practiced archery until their fingers were sore, and ran the length of the courtyard until they could barely catch their breath.
Yet, it wasn't just physical strength that Jon sought to cultivate. With the weight of his mother's words and the promise he had made to her in the back of his mind, Jon began to hunger for more knowledge—particularly about the North, his ancestral heritage, and the mysterious Old Tongue, the language of the First Men. He knew that to be a true Stark, to understand the roots of his family and the land they ruled, he needed to learn the language that once echoed through the forests and mountains of the North.
It was during a quiet afternoon in the library that Jon first approached Maester Luwin with his request. The maester, a kindly and knowledgeable man with a deep understanding of the North's history, raised an eyebrow at the boy's unusual interest.
"The Old Tongue is not an easy language to learn," Maester Luwin warned, his voice gentle but firm. "It is ancient, complex, and not widely spoken anymore. Most of the knowledge written in it has been lost to time."
"I want to learn it," Jon insisted, his grey eyes filled with determination. "I want to know how the Starks of old ruled the North, and what it truly means to be a Stark."
Maester Luwin regarded Jon thoughtfully before nodding. "Very well, Jon. I will teach you what I can."
Word of Jon's interest quickly reached Robb, who was always eager to join his brother in whatever endeavor he pursued. The idea of learning the Old Tongue intrigued Robb as well, not just because it was a link to their ancestors, but because it was a way to understand the legacy they were both a part of. The Stark name carried weight in the North, and both boys wanted to honor that name by understanding the full breadth of their heritage.
The two boys began their studies with Maester Luwin, who introduced them to the basic structure of the Old Tongue. The language was difficult, with guttural sounds and harsh syllables that rolled off the tongue in a way that was both foreign and familiar. But Jon and Robb were diligent students, and they soon found themselves able to read the old tomes stored deep within Winterfell's library. These ancient texts, filled with stories of the First Men, the building of Winterfell, and the early days of the Stark lineage, fascinated the boys. Each new word they learned was a key to unlocking the mysteries of their past.
But books were not their only source of knowledge. Old Nan, the ancient storyteller who had spent her entire life within the walls of Winterfell, became another valuable resource. Though her body was frail, her mind was sharp, filled with the lore and traditions of the North. Jon and Robb began spending more time with her, listening to her tales of the Long Night, the Children of the Forest, and the ancient rituals that once governed life in the North.
Old Nan's stories, rich with the history and customs of the North, captivated the boys. She spoke of the sacrifices made to the old gods, the significance of the weirwoods, and the ancient kings who ruled before the Andals arrived. She also knew much about the Old Tongue, having heard it spoken in her youth, and she helped Jon and Robb practice the language, correcting their pronunciation and teaching them old songs and sayings that had been passed down through generations.
As the days turned into weeks, Jon and Robb found themselves growing closer, not just as brothers, but as students of their shared heritage. They would spend hours together, pouring over ancient texts, practicing their swordplay, and discussing what they had learned from Maester Luwin and Old Nan. Their bond, forged in the fires of their training and tempered by their mutual respect for the Stark legacy, grew stronger with each passing day.
For Jon, these studies were more than just a way to pass the time while his father was at war. They were a means of preparing himself for the future, for the day when he would have to step out of his father's shadow and take his place in the world. The Old Tongue, the history of the Starks, the customs of the North—all of these were tools he would need to forge his own path.
And Robb, though destined to be the Lord of Winterfell, shared in Jon's passion. He too felt the weight of their family's legacy, and he wanted to be the kind of Stark that the North could respect and follow. Together, they pushed each other to be better, to learn more, and to honor the name they both carried.
Winterfell, with its ancient walls and timeless traditions, became their classroom, their training ground, and their home in a deeper sense than ever before. And though they were still young, Jon and Robb understood that they were being shaped by more than just the swords they wielded and the books they read. They were being shaped by the very history of the North, by the blood of the First Men that ran through their veins, and by the promise of a future that awaited them both.
Sansa, three years younger than Jon, is a sweet, well-behaved child. She is the epitome of a little lady, much like their mother, Catelyn Stark. With her flowing auburn hair and blue eyes, she resembles the Tully side of the family more than the Stark side. Sansa adores their mother and spends most of her time with her, mimicking her every move. To Jon, Sansa is like a younger version of Lady Stark, always proper and composed. They have a good relationship, but it's not particularly deep. Sansa is pleasant and kind to Jon, but their conversations are often brief and polite. She seems content to stay in the background, and Jon, while fond of her, finds it hard to get to know her better since she is always by their mother's side.
Arya, on the other hand, is Jon's kindred spirit. Despite being only two years old, she is already a whirlwind of energy and curiosity. Arya was born when Jon was five, and from the moment she entered the world, she seemed to have a special connection with him. Her birth had been difficult, and she came out of the womb screaming at the top of her lungs. No one could calm her down—no one except Jon. Whenever Arya was placed in Jon's arms, her cries would cease, and she would settle into a peaceful calm. It was as if, even as a newborn, Arya knew that Jon was someone she could trust completely.
This bond between them only grew stronger as Arya became more aware of the world around her. Jon became her favorite person in the world, and she followed him everywhere, toddling after him on unsteady legs. Jon found immense joy in Arya's company. Despite her young age, she had a fierce, spirited personality that set her apart from the rest of the family. Arya was not interested in the things Sansa liked—sewing, singing, or learning how to be a proper lady. Instead, she wanted to be where the action was, watching Jon and Robb as they trained, and sometimes even trying to mimic their moves with a stick in hand.
Jon loved Arya's wild spirit. He saw in her a reflection of the Stark blood that ran through their veins, something raw and untamed that connected them to the ancient Starks of the past. Arya's fierce independence and her refusal to conform to the expectations placed on her made Jon feel protective of her in a way he hadn't expected. He admired her stubbornness and the way she defied the expectations of those around her. To Arya, Jon was a hero, someone who could do no wrong. She clung to him whenever she could, and Jon, in turn, took pride in the fact that Arya seemed to need him in a way no one else did.
As Jon and Robb grew more mischievous, Arya, ever eager to be part of their adventures, became their constant shadow. She watched with wide eyes as they pulled pranks on the servants or snuck out of the castle at night to explore the woods surrounding Winterfell. And, much to Catelyn Stark's dismay, Arya began to copy their behavior. She would often be found with muddy clothes and tangled hair, much to the frustration of her mother, who was heavily pregnant with her fifth child. Despite Catelyn's attempts to mold Arya into a proper young lady, Arya resisted, preferring the freedom of running wild with her brothers over the constraints of the sewing circle.
Jon often found himself laughing at Arya's antics, encouraging her mischievous behavior even though he knew it would earn him a scolding from Lady Stark. But in Arya, Jon saw someone who accepted him completely, without question or hesitation. She didn't care that he was a Snow and not a Stark, that he was a bastard, and not a trueborn son. To Arya, Jon was simply her brother, the one she looked up to and adored. And for Jon, that unconditional love was a source of comfort and strength.
As the days passed and Lady Stark's pregnancy progressed, Jon found himself spending even more time with Arya, knowing that soon, there would be another Stark child in Winterfell. He worried about what the arrival of a new sibling would mean for his relationship with Arya, but for now, he focused on making the most of the time they had together. Whether they were sneaking out of the castle to explore the godswood or sitting by the fire while Jon read stories to her, Jon cherished every moment with Arya.
In Arya, Jon found a sense of belonging he had never quite felt with anyone else in Winterfell. She was his little sister, his shadow, and in many ways, the light in his life. Even as he grappled with the complexities of his place in the Stark family, Jon knew that Arya would always be his closest ally, the one who saw him not as a bastard but as her brother and protector. And for that, Jon would always be grateful.