It was a serene morning in the wolfswood near Winterfell, beyond the horizon cowered the morning sun and the song of sparrow and crow breathed life into the tall pines and low fog, while the cool morning air nibbled softly at his face.
But then there thundered through the mud and dried leaves a small red headed boy on a pony, kicking up dirt and twigs in his path, while behind him his older brothers pretended to fall behind.
There wasn't much pretending to do on Bran's part, he liked to climb and run, but galloping on horseback left him both nervous and nauseous, but Robb and Jon both told him that he would grow out of it, and this excursion was for his sake as much Rickon's.
Arya on the other hand was half horse, and she was too young to pretend to lose, rather, in an effort to show her brothers how good a horsewoman she was, she passed Rickon and blazed a trail through dirt and stone.
They had not come alone, with them had come two guards, Tywell and Olaf, as well as their horsemaster Harwin, nothing malicious dared wonder the wolfswood so close to Winterfell, but they had come none the less come to look after the young ones.
Harwin ran ahead of the others, to make sure Arya didn't get too excited, and he ordered their horses stop and be led to a nearby pond for a quick drink.
"Will we go any further?" She asked, jumping off her white horse and grabbing its lead, it was still a young mare, not a pony like Bran and Rickon rode, but nothing like Robb's stallion or the massive grey warhorse Jon had brought back from Borrowton.
"I think we should head back." Bran said, trying to mask the nervousness of his tone.
"I agree, brother." Jon said.
"What do you think Rickon?" Robb asked, kneeling next to the young boy with a smile.
"I want a bigger pony like Arya." He said, crossing both his eyebrows and his arms. "Can I go on your horses? Please?"
"I remember back when Robb was scared of his pony when he was your age." Jon said, laughing under his breath. "Looked at it as thought it was a bear rather than a fletching."
"The beast was rabid." Robb said, laughing along with him, then turned back to Harwin. "Back me up here, did you not have her put down?"
"Aye." The older man said, scratch his chin and laughing. "Almost took a bite from my nephews shoulder when he was feeding her."
Meanwhile Arya came up to her brothers, her own steed forgotten.
"Can I try?" She asked, gesturing at their horses, but the sight of her next to their horses was almost comical, like a tomcat and a mouse.
"Maybe in the stables." Jon said with a soft smile, her eyes lit up as they came upon the pond, and the horses bend down their necks to drink.
"How far do the woods go?" Rickon asked, looking out at the endless trees stretching around them. "How big is the North?"
"Too big by half." Jon responded, gazing off into the distance, before turning back to them. "But beautiful, the people kind and the air clean, the sunrises and sunsets more jaw dropping on every mountain peak, I cannot wait to see it all, and the rest of the kingdoms as well."
"Planning on leaving us again soon, brother?" Robb asked, a small smile on his face, but Bran could see his uneasiness, he understood, he didn't want Jon to go on another trip either.
"Not soon, but I cannot remain in Winterfell forever." Jon said, shrugging.
"Why not?" Arya said, frowning.
"There is too much beyond our walls, I remember White Harbor," He said, "A great monument of white stone and mortar, maybe a hundred times the size of Winterfell, and still filled to bursting with people, Lord Manderly hosted Rodrick and I in Castle White, and I got to train with his best knights while Rodrick discussed business with the lord. They… they were astonishing, they fought so differently than anyone I had ever seen, there's so many people out there to learn from."
"Father always said he was a jovial and generous man." Robb said, with every tale of the trip, he seemed more regretful that he had not been allowed to go. "Is it true about his size?"
"I doubt even Grey could carry him, his sons are slightly smaller, but still great round men, his granddaughters are a different story however…" Jon said, nudging Robb on the shoulder. "They were very interested in stories about the Heir of Winterfell, though you might need to grow a foot taller if you do not wish to paint me a liar."
Robb's face turned beet red at that, that was a rather common thing between his brothers, though Bran did not understand it.
"What about the Mormonts?" Arya asked. "Do the girls fight?"
"Bear Island is on the other end of the North from Castle White sister." Robb said, laughing. "But people speak highly of Dacey Mormont's swordsmanship in the North, mayhaps Jon is planning a trip there, show the bear women his sword."
It was Jon's turn to glow red and punch Robb in the arm.
It was at the moment they heard a sharp hiss; Bran thought it a flying insect that had come too close to his ear, but then he saw Jon withdrawing his sword, soon, Robb and the guards followed, he looked towards Harwin was, but the man was gone, then he followed his sister's widen eyes as she stared at the ground, and there he was, with an arrow in his eye and his skull shattered across rocks.
Is he dead!? Bran thought and immediately he felt something rising in his stomach, he vomited his breakfast on the ground, but when he looked up, there was terror painted across Arya and Rickon's faces, and that only made him panic even more, those two were usually fearless.
He heard another, and he almost closed his eyes to pretend nothing was wrong, but before he could, he saw the arrow flying towards Jon, he opened his mouth to scream, but his brother casually flicked his blade and cut the arrow apart in the air.
That was something Ser Rodrik always said, when he was reprimanding them and comparing them to Jon during training, his reactions were beyond human, closer to that of a fly or a bee than a man, often it felt like he knew what his opponents were doing before they did it.
"Leave!" Jon yelled, so loud and commanding that it sent a shiver down Bran's spine. "You will find no easy prey here!"
Just as he finished, Bran spotted a dark shadow in the corner of his eyes, and a moment later, its arms seized Jon from behind and his brother's greatsword clattered to the ground, two more shadows came, taking hold Robb and Olaf, while the younger children were standing frozen in fear.
Tywell rushed towards Robb, and with both his hands he grabbed the assailer's arm before it could run a dagger across his brother's throat, he heard gurgling on his right, and when he turned, he saw Olaf collapsing to the ground with blood flooding out of his throat, and he instinctually averted his eyes.
For a moment he worried that Jon had befallen the same fate, but when he looked to his brother, he found him facing the man who had grabbed him, having somehow broken out of his grasp, the man tried to slash his dagger, but Jon flowed out of its path, avoiding the dagger with a hair between the steel and his flesh, then threw forth a punch that both Bran and the shadow had barely anytime to see, much less react to, there was a thud as the man collapsed to the ground.
But Jon did not stop, and Bran could barely believe his movements, he sprinted over the body and jumped towards the man who had murdered Olaf and had been approaching Bran and his siblings with a shortsword, the man instinctually tried to stab forward, but he was too slow, and a flying knee caught him directly in the jaw, Jon stomped his face into the dirt one more time for good measure.
He turned towards Robb and Tywell, and found that they were stomping the last man on the ground, but Jon ran forwards, and with a devastating kick to the face, the man stopped struggling.
At that moment his mind had accepted what had happened, and just as he was beginning to hope that it was over, more figures slunk out from behind the trees, four, five, six, seven of them, their faces were ugly, broken and scarred, their hair wild and unkept, and their clothes far too thick for spring and summer. Wildlings.
Jon moved to stand between them and his family, picking up his sword as he ran, the blade now extended towards the attackers, Bran was still too terrified to think, but as long as Jon was still standing, part of him felt safe.
"Stay behind me." He heard him mutter, though it seemed more directed at Robb than anyone.
"I can fight too, Snow." Robb said, Bran distantly remembered when he was a few years of age, and he would watch the contests between his older brothers, and whisper and gossip was on every servant and guard's lips, wondering and arguing over which of them was better, but that was years ago, today, no one wondered and there was little room left to argue.
"I know, Stark, but I need you two to watch my back." He said, to both Tywell and Robb, then he shifted his focus back on the attackers and yelled once more. "Let us mount our steeds and leave, there are softer folk for you to prey on."
"Aye." The one in the middle said, the wildling was bald and towered over the rest, and looked to a normal man what Grey looked to horses. "But the hardier the prey, the sweeter the bounty."
"Are you mad?" a man next to him said, then gestured towards the bodies on their feet.
"Did I flee south with a band of cravens?" the tall wildling said with fire in his eyes. "We need their steel and their horses you fools."
At that Jon shrugged, he was as confident here facing wildlings and death as he always was, the confidence fed Robb and the guard, even stopped him and his siblings from shaking.
One of the wildlings took a step forward, and soon another followed, and another, they slowly spread out trying to encircle them.
But Jon did not hesitate, he never did, he rushed forward towards their leader, the man laughed and brought down his sword with a vicious slash, but even to Bran's eyes the movement was sloppy, relying on raw strength and savagery alone, it might have worked on some men, but it would take far more to meet Jon's measure, he effortlessly dashed the blade aside, then with practiced, nigh unstoppable speed, he carved apart the man's chest near slicing him in half, then buried his steel in his exposed heart.
The whole thing had happened in less than a second, faster than even the other wildlings could react, when they could, two dashed towards Jon, but he batted their blades aside and sliced their arms and chests into ribbons for their effort.
He wildly swung his sword at the rest, it was dripping in blood, he was outnumbered, but in the same way a wolf would be outnumbered in a flock of sheep.
"Is this worth your lives?" He yelled. "Leave!"
The band stopped in its tracks at that, even Robb and the guard's eyes widen in fear, Jon took advantage of the lull to slow back away towards his family, sword still pointed at the wildlings, eyes still darting between them, none of them seemed eager to rush ahead, a few turned to their friends with the cuts and bruises.
"Mount your horses." He whispered behind him, while still facing the wildlings. "Quickly, Robb, take Rickon on your horse, Tywell, take Bran."
"But my pony…" Rickon whined, but was silenced with a look from Jon.
They hurried to do as Jon ordered, opposite them, the wildlings simply watched, hands on their weapons, but none eager to try anything, not after they had seen Jon in action, one spit on the ground at them, but Jon was atop his horse in an instant.
Bran rode with the guard's arms around him and his cloak covering his head, he could smell his sweat and vomit, ahead of him, he saw Robb and Arya's backs, but not Jon's, he turned and saw his brother galloping behind them with his sword drawn and his eyes surveying the forests, he met Bran's eyes and smiled.
He tried to survey the forests with his brother, but a moment later he heard gargling behind him, Jon also emptied his breakfast onto the road and turned one side of his horse's grey fur green.
Their arrival at Winterfell turned the whole castle upside-down as word of the attack spread like wildfire, and the more times Bran heard it, the less accurate the tale became.
His mother had come for him, then for the rest of his younger siblings, she held them as they cried and wailed and barfed and whispered comforting words into their ears, even Robb seemed shaken by the whole ordeal, and servants would randomly burst into tears as they crossed path with Bran.
That same evening, his father had ridden out with a small party, he returned sometime after Bran had gone to sleep, in the morning he informed them that the band of wildlings were dealt with and that Harwin and Olaf's bodies were retrieved.
He still saw Harwin's skull scattered across the rocks when he closed his eyes sometimes, still saw Olaf futilely trying to hold in the blood pouring from his throat, he saw his brother tearing through the wildlings to protect them, and with no patience for people's pity nor their tall tales, he turned to his one comfort and escape from everyone in the castle, one he found upon the tall ancient walls of his family's castle.
He reached every peak and every roof, crossed rooms filled with people and others abandoned by time, drowning with voices and covered in dust, but he still couldn't shake the images from his head.
But then he passed the window to his father's solar, and there was one account he cared to hear.
"— a great service, Jon." His father said. "But I know that look in your eyes, it is one I saw far too often during the rebellion."
"The man I killed, I..." Jon said, and come to think of it, Bran had not heard or seen him since they arrived. "I didn't just kill him, I butchered him like a pig."
"It was your first." His father said, sighing. "Do not regret the life you took, yesterday you shed blood for your family, just as I did a decade before, and there is no cause more honorable."
"I understand that." Jon said. "If it was a choice between Arya and that brute, then the brute will die a hundred times over."
"Good." His father said, Bran thought the conversation was over, but he heard no chairs shuffle nor any words of goodbye. "Jon… you've more potential for bladework than I've ever seen, not since I last sparred with Robert Baratheon, but you must understand that this is what swordsmanship is for, all of the training, the sores and the exhaustion, it is no game, no matter what any summer knight will tell you, it is for war and battle, it is for the slaughter of men, and if you're lucky, you will do it in the name of a just cause."
"I accept that," Jon said after a pause. "For myself and Robb and all the little ones, I will not turn my back on my bladework, not when it can keep everyone safe."
There was some silence after that and his father sighted again.
"One day, you will be sitting where I am now, and wonder where all the time went, when your children were still children." His father said. "You still wish to go south?"
"I do, regardless of what happened yesterday." Jon said, and Bran's eyes widened outside. He's leaving!? "You've given me the best life and family that any bastard could ask for, and training under the finest knight in the North, but I must find my own worth in the world, I've not the wits for a maester's chain, nor do I stand inherit any titles or land, and I doubt I'll find my match at the Wall, but I wish to grow into a fighter who could down a man like the Lord Royce, and I don't believe I can do that if I stay here."
"Then, I have some good news for you at least." His father said. "My lady wife… I know there has always been a tension between the two of you, but I told her of your wishes to go south, and after what you did for your siblings, she spoke to her uncle."
"Her uncle?" Jon asked. "The blackfish?"
"Aye, the Knight of the Gate, Jon Arryn gave him command of the Bloody Gates near the Gates of the Moon and the Eyrie, the castle where I was fostered, a castle of knights, all masters of the Andal style, all hardened by the countless clashes with the mountain men, she wrote to him of what you did and asked him to take you for a squire, so that you might one day attain a knighthood."
"Truly!?" Jon asked. "The blackfish? I… thank you, thank her, this is far more than I ever dreamed of."
"You deserve nothing less." His father said. "I assume you accept?"
"Yes, thank your lady wife again for me, father." Jon said, then Bran heard chairs shuffle. "When I ride through the gates of Winterfell again, it will be as the greatest sword of the age."
"I do not care for that." His father said. "I only wish that you return alive, bear no shame in when or how."
"Damn it." She said, quickly bringing her thumb to her mouth to try and quell the bleeding.
"Arya!" The septa yelled from across the room, the crone rose to her feet, her face wearing a familiar grimace. "Who taught you such foul language? It is unbecoming of a young lady, and by the gods girl what is this needlework?"
She looked up to the hag and resigned herself to her reprimand, it was unlucky that she heard her swear, but her needlework had been especially poor today.
Not like perfect Sansa. She thought bitterly, looking over to her sister and her goons, each time she got yelled at their smugness only grew. Idiots.
"Just… try harder." The septa said, sighing and returning to her seat, much to the disappointment of her sister.
If there was one upside to those wildlings attacking them, it was that the septa and her mother were far less eager to reprimand her, it didn't mean Arya liked the looks of pity she received however, if anything it ate away at her.
I did nothing. She thought, Jon fought like a man possessed to protect them, and she had just stood there crying with baby Rickon. I must get stronger, would Jon train me?
It can't be true. Her thoughts suddenly shifted; the news Bran had told her this morning seemed like a terrible dream. He can't be leaving, he can't be, father won't allow it, I will not allow it.
Arya threw a glance out of the small window, and desperately prayed for the sun to hurry along.
Sansa and Poole tried to engage in some light barbs, but she paid them even less mind than she usually did, and rushed through her embroidery as quickly as possible, until finally, mercifully, the Septa let them go.
She eyed Cassel leaving, the girl had also told Arya that Jon had come to see her father Ser Rodrik late last night, she considered catching up with her and demanding some clarification, then thought better of it, she would hear it straight from the horse's mouth.
She ran to the Great Keep for supper, the hall already drowning in the sounds of idle chatter and the warmth of the hearth, on the high table her entire family was gathered, even her father and mother had found time between their duties to enjoy the meal with them, the table was stacked with onions and sausages, smoked fish and roasted boar, with butter and bread to the side, Rickon eagerly stuffed his mouth, he was still half her height but his eyes were twice as wide, Robb and Theon were mindlessly laughing about something or other, her parents looked content, but Bran only sullenly poked at his food, everyone was there, everyone except Jon.
Did he leave without even saying goodbye?
"Is Jon gone?" She blurted out, and everyone turned to her with furrowed brows.
"What are you talking about? I saw him a moment ago." Theon said. "He went to talk to Rodrik."
"So, he isn't leaving?" She asked, her tone a slightly higher pitch than usual.
"Where would he be going?" Robb said, but his comforting smile soon faded when he looked to their father. "Father?"
"Your uncle the Blackfish has offered him a squireship." Their father said somberly, his face frozen and his tone stern. "But even before then, your brother had been asking me to allow him south for months, he wishes learn what more he can of swordplay."
"As if he needs it." Robb said, "You refused him father? Surely you refused him."
"He is five and ten, soon a man grown with incredible talent and no future in Winterfell." Father said. "I did not."
"Then may I join him?" Robb asked, but Arya only turned to him in shock. Why is everyone leaving!? She half expected Bran and Rickon to jump at the chance and leave her alone with Sansa. "For the trip at least?"
"You cannot afford to be gone for long as he does." Her father said. "Your uncle is visiting soon enough to escort him regardless."
"No!" Arya yelled. "Neither of you!"
"Yeah!" Bran said. "Winterfell would be so empty without you, you cannot!"
Her father only shook his head, and she stomped away in a rage, soon after her stomach churned with hunger, but she continued forward regardless.
I'll just convince Jon. She thought, nodding confidently to herself and running up and down the castle for what felt like hours looking for him, he wasn't in his rooms, he wasn't in the training fields, he wasn't with the smith nor in the stables, Arya started to worry he had just left behind their backs, but soon, she did finally find him.
He sat peacefully beneath a tall oak along a well-trodden path in the Godswood, behind stretched a thicket of trunks and branches drowning in a low fog, he was mindlessly running a whetstone along his blade while the cold evening wind blew at his long hair, he looked almost identical to her father, only his hair was darker, his eyes were lighter and his face bore far less weight.
She remembered how he would make her giggle and laugh since before she could even walk, the warm moments and conversations they shared their entire lives, she remembered his own smile when she cheered for him when he was young, the hours he spent teaching her the basics of archery and swordplay, and the steel in his spine when he was all that stood between her and a dozen wildlings.
"You can't leave!" She said, stomping her foot into the mud.
"Ah." He said, turning to her a moment later, he bore a bittersweet smile, one he had very few occasions to wear and gestured for her to come sit next to him, but she stood firm. "I was dreading telling you the most."
"Liar!" She said, crossing her arms and shaking her head, part of her realized how childish it made her look, another part of her did not care. "You were going to leave without even telling me!"
"Do you really think I would do that?" He asked, his smile turning geniune.
"So you're going to stay?" She said, trying to suppress her smile.
"I cannot."
"Why not!?" She said, almost screaming. "Is it mother? Is it father? Who's forcing you to leave?"
"It's me Arya." He said, frowning and shifting to kneel in front of her. "I have to leave for my own sake."
"Why?" she said, tears now freely running down her face, he moved to hug her and she didn't resist, burying her face in his shoulder.
She didn't know how long she cried, but when she was done, she bitterly wiped the tears from her eyes, she wasn't like Rickon, she didn't cry at the smallest, silliest thing, but when she looked up at Jon, she saw his eyes had watered as well, and suddenly felt no shame.
"I have to go." He said finally. "There is nothing for me in Winterfell."
"But why now?" She said pleadingly. "It's so sudden, you can just stay here, not forever, just another year or two, until you're grown up, then you can go to the Vale and the blackfish and…"
"Life is simple, sister." He said finally, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gestured at the falling leaves above them, and the sea of stars behind them still, they were so beautiful tonight. "You either take the shot or you miss your chance."
