A year had passed since Jon Snow had begun his training, and in that time, his progress had been nothing short of remarkable. By the time he turned six, Jon had become the strongest and most skilled with a sword among the young boys of Winterfell. His natural talent, combined with an intense determination to prove himself, had set him apart, earning the quiet admiration of those who watched him train.

It was on a cold morning in Winterfell, the kind of morning that seemed to freeze the breath in one's lungs, that Robb Stark first took to the practice yard with his own wooden sword. He was eager to begin his training, spurred on by the sight of Jon, his brother in all but name, mastering the basics with a speed that left even the most experienced soldiers impressed.

Robb had always looked up to Jon. Though Jon was technically the younger of the two but Robb had seen something in his brother that inspired both admiration and a fierce determination to keep pace. When Eddard Stark had agreed to start Robb's training alongside Jon's, Robb had been filled with excitement and a bit of apprehension. He knew that Jon was already ahead of him, but Robb was not one to shy away from a challenge.

"Ready, Jon?" Robb asked, gripping his new wooden sword tightly, his breath visible in the crisp morning air.

Jon nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. He was clad in a simple tunic and breeches, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he took his stance. Jon's eyes were sharp, focused, betraying a maturity beyond his years. He moved with a fluidity that came naturally, a sign of the many hours he had already spent in the yard.

"Always," Jon replied, his voice steady.

They circled each other slowly, the snow crunching beneath their boots. The rest of the courtyard seemed to fade away as they focused on each other, the bond between them as strong as the walls of Winterfell itself.

Robb was the first to strike, his movements quick and determined, but Jon was faster. With a practiced ease, Jon sidestepped the blow and brought his own sword down in a controlled arc, stopping just short of Robb's shoulder. Robb froze, momentarily stunned by Jon's speed.

"You're getting better," Jon said, his tone encouraging as he stepped back to allow Robb to reset. "But you need to be quicker. Think about where you're going to strike before you move."

Robb nodded, his expression serious as he absorbed Jon's advice. He was not used to being the one who needed guidance, but Jon's skill with the sword was undeniable. And though it stung a bit to be bested by his younger brother, Robb found that it only made him more determined to catch up.

They resumed their sparring, and though Robb put up a valiant effort, Jon's natural talent shone through. Jon was stronger, his strikes more precise, and his movements more fluid. Each time Robb attempted a new tactic, Jon was there to counter it, offering quiet corrections and encouragement along the way.

Robb, for his part, refused to let his frustration show. He was competitive, yes, but more than that, he was determined to keep up with Jon. As they sparred, he pushed himself harder, trying to mimic Jon's movements, to anticipate his strikes, to match his brother's skill.

After several rounds, both boys were panting, their breath coming in short bursts as they lowered their swords. Jon had won each match, but Robb's spirit was far from broken. If anything, the challenge only fueled his desire to improve.

"You're really good, Jon," Robb said, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. There was no jealousy in his voice, only a deep respect for his brother's smiled, though it was a modest smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "So are you, Robb. You're just starting. You'll get better."

Robb nodded, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the physical exertion. Jon's words were sincere, and that meant more to Robb than any victory could. They were brothers, after all, and in this, as in everything, they would push each other to be the best they could be.

The morning continued with more practice, but as the sun climbed higher in the sky, it was clear that Jon was in a league of his own. Even the older boys who had come to the yard to train began to take notice, watching Jon with a mixture of awe and curiosity. It was not every day that they saw someone so young move with such skill and confidence.

When the training session finally ended, both boys were exhausted but content. They trudged back to the Great Hall together, their wooden swords slung over their shoulders, the bond between them stronger than ever.

As they entered the warmth of Winterfell's halls, they were met by Catelyn Stark, who looked at them with a mixture of affection and concern. She had always had mixed feelings about Jon, but seeing him and Robb together like this, she couldn't deny the bond they shared. They were more than just boys—they were brothers, forged in the cold of the North and tempered by their shared experiences.

"Come on, let's get you both cleaned up," she said, ushering them toward the baths. "You're not tracking all that snow through my halls."

Robb laughed, elbowing Jon playfully as they followed her. "Next time, I'm going to beat you," he said, a determined grin on his face.

Jon chuckled, his dark eyes gleaming with the challenge. "We'll see, Robb. We'll see."

And as they disappeared down the hallway, their laughter echoing behind them, Eddard Stark stood by the fire, watching them with a sense of peace. He knew that whatever the future held, his sons would face it together, as brothers in every way that mattered.

Catelyn Stark stood by the window of her solar, watching the courtyard below where her sons, Robb and Jon, had just finished their morning training. Snow fell softly, covering the stone walls and the ground in a blanket of white, and for a moment, the world outside seemed peaceful, almost serene. But within her heart, there was no such peace.

She had always been a practical woman, raised in the traditions of her house, House Tully. Duty, honor, family—those were the words she lived by, the words that had shaped her life since she was a girl. When she had married Eddard Stark, it was with the understanding that her life would be one of duty, that she would be the Lady of Winterfell, the mother of the Stark children, and that she would raise her sons to be strong, honorable men.

But Jon Snow had always complicated that vision.

Jon was not her son, though he lived under her roof, shared her husband's blood, and was being raised alongside her children. He was a Stark in every way that mattered, yet he was not. And that, more than anything, had been the source of her unease. They were so close in age, just few months apart, and though they had been raised as brothers, Catelyn could not help but notice the differences between them.

Robb was a true Tully, with his auburn hair and blue eyes, his features reflecting those of her own family. He was the heir to Winterfell, the son of Eddard Stark and the one who would carry on the Stark name. But Jon—Jon looked more like his father than Robb ever would. He had Eddard's dark hair, his grey eyes, and even his quiet, brooding nature. Jon was a constant reminder of the past, of the secrets Eddard had brought home from the war.

For years, Catelyn had feared that Jon's resemblance to Eddard would one day lead to Robb being overshadowed, that the people of Winterfell might see Jon as the true Stark, as the one who should inherit Winterfell. It was a fear that had grown in her heart with each passing year, a fear that had turned into resentment, not because she hated Jon, but because she loved her son so fiercely.

Yet there had been a time, when Jon was five years old, that her feelings had begun to shift. It was then that Eddard had come to her, his voice quiet, his eyes filled with a sadness she had not understood at the time.

"Catelyn," he had said, taking her hand in his, "there is something you need to know about Jon's mother."

Catelyn had braced herself, expecting to hear the name of some woman from the North, a name that would forever be a thorn in her heart. But what Eddard told her was different, unexpected.

"She was an Essosi woman," he had explained, his voice heavy with the weight of old memories. "A woman from across the Narrow Sea. I promised to marry her, but the war… it changed everything."

An Essosi woman. The words had taken Catelyn by surprise, and for a moment, she had felt a strange sense of relief. Jon's mother was not some northern noblewoman or a lady from the Vale who might use Jon to claim to Winterfell. She was from a distant land, a place that was foreign and far removed from the world Catelyn knew.

"You were betrothed to my brother Brandon," Eddard had continued, his voice soft. "But when he died and the war started , the promise I had made to her could not be kept. She had to return to her people, and I had to return to mine."

It was a revelation that had eased some of Catelyn's fears, though not all. But when Eddard had told her that Jon would eventually go to Essos to live with his mother, that Jon's future lay across the sea, in a land far from Winterfell, she had felt a burden lift from her heart.

"Jon has a different path," Eddard had assured her. "When he comes of age, he will go to Essos to be with his mother. He will have opportunities there, a future that I cannot give him here. You have nothing to fear, Catelyn."

And for the first time since Jon had come into her life, Catelyn had felt a sense of peace. Jon would not replace Robb; he would not be a threat to her son's future. He had his own destiny, one that did not involve Winterfell or the North.

In the days and weeks that followed, Catelyn found that her resentment toward Jon began to fade. She still struggled with the knowledge of his existence, but it no longer consumed her. She began to see him as a child, a boy who, despite his circumstances, was just as deserving of care and kindness as her own children.

She treated him better, not with the cold distance she had once kept, but with a quiet, reserved affection. It was not easy—there were still moments when she felt the old fears creeping back, when she looked at Jon and saw too much of Eddard in him. But she reminded herself that Jon would one day leave Winterfell, that he had a different path, and that she had nothing to fear.

As she watched Jon and Robb disappear into the castle, their laughter echoing in the corridors, Catelyn felt a strange mixture of emotions. She loved Robb more than anything, and she would always protect his future, but she had come to understand that Jon was not her enemy. He was a child of circumstances beyond his control, and he had his own path to follow.

Eddard had promised her that Jon's mother had better prospects for him in Essos, that one day Jon would leave to pursue a life that was beyond anything he could have in the North. It was a promise that had brought her comfort, even if she did not know all the details.

Now, as she stood by the window, watching the snow fall gently outside, Catelyn felt a sense of resolution. She would continue to love and protect her children, to prepare Robb for the responsibilities he would one day inherit, but she would see Jon as her own son. He was a part of their lives and she don't like to make unnecessary enimies. His destiny lay across the sea, in a land where he would find his own place in the world.

And in that, Catelyn found peace.