"You're cheating." Hardyng said, after having been thrown onto his back once more, he sat up and crossed his arms, the edges of his blond hair caked in mud, only to see Jon and Mychel laughing at him. "I'm serious, you must be cheating."

"How would I cheat?" Jon asked, walking over and offering him a hand to help him to his feet. "Did I get some other man to wear my face to come and spar with you?"

"I can get you Ser Corbray for that if you wish." Mychel said from where he was sitting on a large rock to the side. "I'm to squire for him soon."

"Truly?" Jon asked, a hint of envy in his voice, he wouldn't trade the blackfish for anyone, but he would give anything to cross blades with Corbray and see the how high a ceiling someone could achieve. I might get the chance soon enough. He thought, the melee started at the end of the week, and with it, his gambit to enter under guise of mystery knight. "I heard that there are bad rumors are about him."

"He has a… colorful personality, but none can deny his prowess!" Redfort said, quick to defend his soon to be knight.

"Colorful is one way to put it." Hardyng said. "When he's drunk, he's getting into fights over nothing, when he's not drunk, he's spending fortunes on vanities, were he a lesser swordsman his lord brother would have washed his hands of him."

"He's not the most reliable man." Mychel said, raising his hands. "But my father's not sending me to learn reliability from him."

"Are those the worst of the rumors?" Jon asked. "Violence, drunkenness, profligacy?"

"I've not heard anything worse." Hardyng said, shrugging his shoulders, Mychel doing much the same. Then what was Brynden dithering about? "Enough about him, square up again, Snow."

"How many times must he put you in the dirt before you concede?" Redfort asked.

"Until I down the bastard even once." Hardyng said, but Jon ignored the insult, it would only make putting him down again all the sweeter.

"You're never going to scratch me that footwork." Jon responded, happy to tighten his grip on his sword and engage the boy once more.

"What footwork?" The man asked, suddenly stopping in place and resting his hands on his hips, much to Jon's disappointment. "The man at arms at Waynwood says it's good."

"It's not bad, just... sloppy," Jon said, Hardyng's movements were explosive and his attacks powerful, but he did not have the technical skill to support it, most of the time Jon could let him trip over himself. "It needs a lot of polish to contest any true knight."

"Sloppy?" Hardyng said, shaking his head. "I'm the most talented squire in Waynwood."

"Talent without work is just wasted potential." Jon said, shrugging.

"Nonsense." Hardyng said, squaring up again. "I have you now."

"How about a change of pace." Redfort said, rising to his feet. "How are your lances?"

"Exemplary." Hardyng said with confidence, raising his chin.

"Mediocre." Jon said, though that only prompted raised eyebrows from the two. "I'm not much of a horseman."

"Why?" Hardyng asked. "You talk of work, why not work on that then? There's more glory in the jousts than the melees."

"And there's more to surviving a battle than handling a lance." Jon argued but it seemed in this matter he was outvoted.

"That's still no excuse to neglect it." Redfort said. "It would be a shame to pair a swordhand like that with a bad lance."

"Let's go do a few tilts," Hardyng declared. "And we'll give you some advice for a change."

The three walked from where they were crossing blades near the grounds, with the contests starting soon, they were surrounded by legions of knights who were vigorously training for the tournament, it made finding good practice easy, Jon had made the acquaintance of countless knights through spars,and found himself feeling rather confident about his up-and-coming gambit considering how he performed against them.

He had expected some retaliation from the Freys after their stunt, but none came, not yet at least, he still saw them glare and glower, but no more than before, perhaps the boy they kidnapped was too embarrassed or terrified to tell anyone, perhaps he hadn't realized it was them, either way, Jon valued the peace of mind, he had no time for distractions.

The lists where the joust would actually be taking place in a few days had been taken over by Lord Symond Templton and his knights to train, the practice lists were in the hands of Ser Crakehall and his men and they would not be leaving for hours yet, and even the secondary and tertiary training lists were occupied by a band of Lord Arryn's knights who mindlessly dismissed them.

It was so crowded that they had to get their own horses and settle for a nearby forest road that Jon knew, on the way they talked of swordplay, mentors and horses.

"—and then my father caught me and Jasper returning to the castle at four in the morning and our horses were taken away for a month!" Mychel said.

"Lady Anya would have had my hide if that was me." Hardyng said. "She can be a real cunt."

"That's one way to describe a foster mother." Jon said, he was rather fond of Donnel Waynwood, who served at the Bloody Gates as Brynden's right hand man, and to hear such vile words about his friend's mother irked him, Mychel had also given him a similar look. Jon couldn't imagine even thinking that way about Lady Stark and she had always been harsh with him, but then again, he knew he wasn't as vulgar or as boorish as Hardyng.

And he gets to be a trueborn heir and I'm a bastard. He thought bitterly, remembering the proclivities and nasty habits of Greyjoy as well, if Jon behaved even half as bad as they did, he'd have drawn a hundred times the scorn. What taints my blood so?

"She deserves it." Hardyng said, waving him off. "What about you? How's squireship under the blackfish?"

"He's lenient." Jon said, "I'm too old for a strict guardian, I can take care of myself for the most part."

"I wish Anya saw it so." Hardyng said.

"You could also afford to get into fewer mishaps." Jon said, the boy had randomly started a fight with him on the word of a lying Frey he just met, he must not be unfamiliar with trouble.

"He's not wrong." Redfort said, "She expects a lot from the second in line for the entire kingdom."

"At least I was weaned before I could walk." Hardyng said.

"That's a nasty rumor and untrue." Redfort said, leaving Jon confused.

"What rumor?" Jon asked, he had been in the kingdom for months, but it seemed he had missed all the gossip.

"The little lord Robert Arryn still nurses from his mother, and he's a boy of six." Hardyng said, Jon scowled in response, the boy was his siblings' cousin, and at that age Robb was terrorizing the training yard, Sansa was acting a proper lady, Arya was playing with swords and bows and Bran was scaling walls, their lives in Winterfell were sheltered, and yet all of them had been tempered by age. "And it's no rumor, Mya and I saw it with our own eyes, you can ask her when we see her."

"Lord Arryn would not allow it!" Redfort said.

"What choice does he have? When the boy is too sickly and stunted to leave his mother's side?" Hardyng said, opening his arms. "Such terrible luck he's had with his sons, it's why I say I will be lord of the Vale one day, not that I might be, that boy will never see his sixteenth name day."

"Keep dreaming, Hardyng." Redfort said, rolling his eyes.

"At least I'm likely to inherit something, how many healthy brothers do you have to go through to inherit the Redfort? Two? Three?" Hardyng said. "What about our bastard friend here? Will it be the Wall for you or do you intend to usurp your trueborn brother?"

"Only one of us has ambitions of being a supplanter, and it's neither me or Redfort." Jon said, slapping him gently on the back, then looked off into the cobblestone road leading into the mass of thickets and trunks and fog ahead of them, he truly had no clue of what to do after he received his knighthood. "And it won't be the Wall for me either, my future is mine to grasp, mayhaps it is a lifetime on the roads that await, mayhaps a place at my brother's side or a holdfast so small it's not drawn on any maps, but I do not worry about it, I will be the best sword on the continent, and after that, come what may."

"Now you're the one dreaming." Hardyng said, but Jon only looked him in the eye and smirked with confidence, which only caused the other boy to scowl.

"The Wall would be a waste of your talents and your knighthood in either case." Redfort said. "If you've no options, come to Redfort, my house can use knights like you."

"No, no, no, the incoming invasion of icespiders and wildlings simply need him at the Wall." Hardyng said.

"Don't believe in icespiders?" Jon asked.

"Of course not!"

"My sweet summer child, to deny the existence of icespiders who clamber the Wall, giants who quake the mountains with their voice and wyverns who fell armies with breaths of ice." Jon said, he didn't believe any of that either, but he was hoping to get some reaction from the boy who only dismissively rolled his eyes. "Fear the children of the old gods, Hardyng, fear them."

"If the old gods and their children were so powerful, they would have stopped the Andals." Hardyng declared, his mouth turning to a smug grin. "But now the clansmen are all that remains of the First Men, savages who live like animals in the mountains and come down to steal goats and women."

"Clansmen and the North." Jon said, somewhat somber, sometimes he wished he had born in those times, given the chance to match arms with the Andals when they invaded. Theon the Hungry Wolf had the right idea. "As well as House Redfort, Royce, Blackwood, Bracken, Dayne, and anyone who's married them, I imagine you've more blood from the First Men than I do."

"We've evolved past worshiping trees at least." Hardyng said. "You better dispel all these notions of old gods and giants if you're to become a true knight. Did the Blackfish kneel before a tree when he earned his knighthood or before the altar of the Warrior?"

"A slab of marble is what it is." Jon said.

Hardyng looked ready to yell back, but Redfort got between the two and waved for them to stop.

"You two would make better maesters than knights!" Mychel said, a cross look on his face. "We're here to practice our jousting, not debate theology, and this spot looks good enough for me."

He wasn't wrong, the trees stood some ways from the cobblestone path and would allow them to hang up any targets they needed. If the day went well, they had also brought some armor to practice some tilts against each other, and the path was wide enough to allow for multiple horsemen.

"And look, some cut down weirwoods, so what's left of your gods can watch you fail." Hardyng said, pointing to some stumps nearby.

"Hardyng!" Redfort yelled at the older boy, who scoffed and mounted his horse, going to tie their targets, bags of pebbles and dirt to the branches above them.

Jon looked at the stumps in question, and was pained to admit that the older boy was right, he'd been to the godswood enough times to recognize the texture and color of the bark, the size and width of the base, but most importantly the weary feeling they evoked.

Even as a stump, it felt like he was standing in the presence of something greater than any king or lord or dragon, if he focused enough, everything faded away, and he could almost see the tree whole, towering over the forest and enveloping him completely under its red canopy, completely alone with no company but the piercing blood red eyes.

"Jon?" Redfort asked, waking him for his reverie, when he looked, the great tree was a stump again. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I apologize, I…"

"Hardyng was being an ass." Redfort said waved him off. "But he has a good lance, you can find worse practice partners."

"I won't turn down practice, even if it's from a prick." Jon said, he threw his armor from the back of his horse then mounted Grey and slowly brushed her mane, so much of his success would depend on how well he could communicate with her.

"Riding is the most important skill a jouster can have." Hardyng said flatly. "It's not just avoiding getting thrown off or knowing how to gallop, you need to be one with your horse, to control it without your hands, to give you a burst of speed or bounce up whenever you need to."

"I don't remember agreeing to a lecture." Mychel said, jumping atop his own black steed. "Let's just take turns and see how many targets we can get."

Hardyng looked annoyed at the interruption, but conceded, Redfort went first while Jon and Hardyng took their horses off the road and watched, he galloped down the path, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him, yet despite his speed, his lance found target after target, he had managed to strike all ten of the targets Hardyng had placed.

That boy is more competent than I give him credit for. Jon thought. And he's a fourth son? Will Rickon grow to be as strong one day?

He rode back to them with a satisfied smile, Hardyng went next, he was slower, his lance missed a bag and scraped against another, but he managed eight out of the ten, which left only Jon to go.

He guided his horse to one side of the road, then kicked it into a trot then a gallop, he never hesitated, not even when he did not know what he was doing. He managed his first target well enough, but Grey was too fast for the second one and too slow for the third, he missed the fourth by virtue of missing the last two, but managed to find the fifth well enough.

If Grey was cooperating, he had the coordination to strike his lance true, his skill with the blade was proof enough of that, but his horse knew little more than to gallop or trot, and he knew little of how to keep his balance on her back.

In the end he only struck four of the ten targets, and braced himself for Hardyng.

"Surely your old gods could have nudged a branch or something?"

"Leave him be Hardyng, he already said he wasn't much of a jouster." Redfort said.

"No, no, no, I endured too much humiliation in that sparring circle to be silent now." Hardyng said.

"I'll lay you out again if you wish." Jon said.

"Not with a lance, you won't." Hardyng said, crossing his arms smugly. "But we can test it."

Jon huffed and jumped off his horse and brushed Grey's hair, it's equitine eyes were looking off, he tried to decipher what the horse must have been thinking, how to get her to work with him, then gave an accusatory glance at Hardyng's own steed.

"Horse whispering isn't going to help." He heard Hardyng say, with the same conceited edge to his tone. "You need discipline and technique, communicating things with a small kick or pull, it takes years an—"

But then his voice disappeared into the background, more akin to the bark of a distant dog or a conversation just outside his hearing, like the hum of a fly or the twittering of a bird, all he could pay attention to now was the clash, it felt greater than any war or any tilt of any joust, it wasn't real yet it was all consuming, it was like grinding down granite, like he was trying to crush steel in his hand.

He had four legs now, but that was no matter, he was jumping about franticly trying to escape something, he tried to control it, but anytime a region came under his sway another escaped it, his head, now long and horse-like was waving around in the air, his mane dancing as he tried to come under control.

It was stalemate, like trying to swimming up a river or hike up an avalanche, he could hold, but there was no progress, every time he shifted focus, what he had consumed crumbled behind him, from the legs to the mouth until he eventually found the eyes, he saw himself galloping forward, in his path a boy he would knock over, the boy was, well, wait, it was…

"JON!" He heard suddenly as he was doused awake as if by a splash of cold water, it was Mychel looking down on him, his eyes panicked and scared, his head hurt, they were in the woods… and… "Oh thank the Seven."

He heard the sound of hooves disappearing in the distance, and turned to see Hardyng's horse galloping towards the horizon, but its rider was not in the saddle, he turned and saw the moaning figure of Hardyng on the ground.

"What happened to him?" Jon asked.

"His horse went feral and bucked him off, then it nearly trampled you to the ground, did you hit your head or spine?"

He did have a headache, but it was from the jolt more than from a direct impact, he felt a pain in his chest and shoulder from where the horse had collided into him, but no broken ribs or raptured lungs, he just had the air knocked out of him, he would recover in time for the melee.

"Oh no, the horse has made him even more simple." Hardyng said, finally sitting up, Jon could only chuckle and roll his eyes.

"Eat shit, Hardyng." Jon said, rising to his feet and offering the boy a hand. "Are you alright?"

"My pride was only thing hurt." He said, taking the hand and pulling himself up.

"It was rather funny to get bucked off in the middle of a sermon about how to control a horse." Mychel said.

"Yes Redfort, we got that." Hardyng said.

"It was really funny though." Jon said, trying, and failing to contain his laughter. "I can't wait to tell Mya."

"If you she hears word of this…"

The three eventually found their way back to the tourney grounds, they looked for Hardyng's horse for some time, but could not find it, they settled for putting the word out with the guards and went to buy spiced nuts, pies and mead, then found a table to eat and drink and play a game of Fortune's Flush, Mya eventually joined them, having finished whatever work Myranda Royce, Nestor's daughter, had required of her, and Mychel told her the story of Hardyng horse, to her laughter and the other man's objections and justifications.

But Jon's mind was elsewhere entirely, he only offered a comment or forced laugh from time to time, and he ended up losing quite a bit of coin gambling, but the dreamlike state he entered, the feral horse and what he saw were all he could think about.

Eventually they said their good nights and split off, and Jon began the twenty-minute walk towards the Bloody Gates, his mind still torturing itself with what happened.

It can't have been nothing. He thought. What a coincidence it would be for Hardying's horse to grow untamed while I saw myself through its eyes.

It was rather late at night, but he didn't mind it, it was a full moon, making the path he was walking along rather well lit, his steel had his on his back and his newly bought dagger on his belt, he could handle anything malicious he came across.

He stared up at the full moon, trying to replicate what he had done, his mind would wander and search, even as he tried to focus it back to the subject of the dream, until eventually he saw something fly over the moon.

Everything disappeared again, and he was back in his dream, except this time, there was no clash, no conflict, it might have happened, but it was so minor that he remembered it less like crushing steel and more like snapping a twig.

He was flying through the sky, in full control of his small body and wings, he had wings now he noticed, he flapped them eagerly, but some instinct overran him, allowing him to spread them and glid through the night sky.

It felt like the entire Vale of Arryn revealed itself to him as he peered down, he saw distant rocky mountains and the verdant evergreen fields they nestled, he ascended the Giant's Lance and it's three castles in a blink, and found himself circling the Eyrie, it stood dead and silent above the clouds, sitting regally on the highest mountain for miles, like a lost castle or city with only ghosts wandering its halls.

Soon he turned and dived, he should have been afraid but it felt like second nature, he flew to the Gates of the Moon and the tourney grounds surrounding, he saw the worn Frey tent as well countless other pavilions of every color and house, he found the river where they had dumped the Frey, soon he even saw the rowdy knights up to their old tricks, he saw the man he had bested swearing and handing over coins to his friends.

He scanned a hundred faces again until he found Mya and Redfort sitting around a campfire talking, laughing and drinking the night away, he found Hardying completely drunk out of his mind while a scantily dressed woman cuddled with him and whispered sweet nothings into his ear.

He fluttered his wings and rose again, the trees and dirt passing under him at a frightening pace. He flew into the Gates of the Moon, the mighty fortress asleep at this time a night, even the night lookouts had found slumber on their posts, at the tip of the castle the Lord Arryn was sleeping soundly while his wife was still awake looking conflicted.

He then circled around and headed to the Bloody Gates, many an army had been shattered trying to cross it, but he easily flew over it in this form, he even found Brynden's solar where the knight was yet awake, but not in any work, rather he was gently sipping wine and reading some book, the knight caught sight of him for a moment, his expression turned confused, before he threw something at him and Jon flew off.

He saw the courtyard where he sweat and bled every day, he saw the maester's quarters and library, he even found the site of the squire's wargames he dominated, he was flying back towards the tourney grounds, but on the cobblestone path connecting both castles, he spotted a young man standing still, he dove through the branches and leaves and landed on his shoulder.

When he opened his eyes again there was large bird on his shoulder, one that felt familiar, bearing a mixture of brown and white feathers, if he'd seen it in the wild, he might guess it was a hawk, its eyes looked at his curiously.

"Huh."