Hilda woke up later than usual, the warm sunlight streaming through the windows of their chamber. She stretched lazily, feeling the soft furs beneath her fingers. The air smelled fresh, carrying the faint scent of the fields and the distant sea.

As was her habit, she walked to the window and opened it, letting the cool morning breeze caress her face. The view of Moat Cailin greeted her—a fortress alive with purpose. Soldiers trained in the courtyards, their swords clashing rhythmically. Farmers tended to the fields that lay within the outer compound, the lifeblood of this self-sustaining fortress. Children laughed and played, their joy echoing through the stone walls.

For a moment, Hilda felt at peace, marveling at how much life thrived within the walls of what was once only a defensive stronghold. But then, her eyes caught a sight that sent a pang through her chest.

In the courtyard below, Jon stood with a woman. Hilda squinted to get a better look, and her heart clenched as she saw him laughing, his arms wrapped tightly around the stranger. He spun her around, her red hair catching the sunlight, and her delicate, perfect face glowing with happiness.

The scene played out like a moment from a song—effortless and joyful. The woman was beautiful, her grace undeniable, and Hilda couldn't help but feel a surge of jealousy twist in her chest.

Jon looked so genuinely happy, a carefree smile on his face. Hilda's mind raced. Who is she? Why is he holding her like that?

Hilda stepped back from the window, her thoughts a storm of insecurity. She glanced at her reflection in the polished steel mirror across the room. Her wild hair and strong, rugged features stared back at her. She had always been proud of her strength, her resilience, but now she felt inadequate.

"Val would laugh at me," she muttered under her breath, pacing the room. "She's so confident, so sure of herself. And now this…"

The image of the woman's perfect face haunted her. She looked like a lady from the South, delicate and refined in a way Hilda could never hope to be.

Val entered the chamber not long after, her sharp eyes immediately noticing Hilda's tense demeanor. She set down the bundle of furs she was carrying and crossed her arms.

"What's bothering you?" Val asked bluntly, her tone leaving no room for avoidance.

Hilda hesitated, biting her lip. "I saw Jon... with a woman. In the courtyard. He was holding her, laughing with her. She… she's beautiful, Val. Delicate and graceful, like a perfect lady. Not like me."

Val raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Let me guess—red hair, looks like she walked out of a lord's dream?"

Hilda nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes."

Val laughed, shaking her head. "That's Sansa Stark, Jon's sister. You have nothing to worry about, Hilda."

Hilda blinked in surprise. "His… sister?"

Val nodded, still smiling. "Yes, his sister. Jon adores her, but not in the way you're thinking. Sansa's a lady through and through, but she's also his family. He hasn't seen her in years—it's no wonder he's so happy to see her."

Relief flooded through Hilda, but it was quickly followed by embarrassment. "I feel so foolish. I thought—"

"You thought Jon was betraying you," Val finished, her tone softening. "It's not foolish, Hilda. You're new to this world, and it's natural to have doubts. But trust Jon. He promised to stay loyal to us, and he will. He's not the kind of man to break his word."

Hilda sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "It's just… sometimes I feel so out of place. Val, you're so confident and strong, and now this Sansa—she's everything I'm not."

Val knelt in front of her, placing a hand on her knee. "Hilda, listen to me. Jon chose you. Not just for your strength, but for your heart. You've stood beside him when others wouldn't. That means something. Don't let your insecurities cloud what you have with him."

Hilda nodded slowly, the weight of her emotions beginning to lift. "Thank you, Val. I needed to hear that."

Later that day, Hilda joined Jon and Val in the courtyard, where Sansa was still speaking animatedly with her brother. When Jon saw Hilda approach, his face lit up.

"Hilda, come here," he called, holding out a hand.

Hilda hesitated for a moment before walking over. Jon pulled her close, placing a kiss on her temple. "Sansa, this is Hilda, my wife."

Sansa turned to Hilda, her blue eyes warm. "It's so lovely to meet you," she said, offering a hand. "Jon's written about you. He's proud of you, you know."

Hilda took Sansa's hand, feeling a wave of relief and gratitude. "It's an honor to meet you. Jon speaks highly of his family as well."

Sansa smiled, her elegance radiating kindness. "We're all family now. And I hope we'll get to know each other better."

As the day went on, Hilda found herself more at ease. She watched as Jon and Sansa shared stories and laughter, their bond unmistakable.

That night, as she sat with Jon in their chambers, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I saw you with Sansa this morning," she admitted. "I felt jealous at first, but Val set me straight."

Jon chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around her. "Sansa's my sister, Hilda. You have nothing to worry about."

Hilda smiled, her heart finally at peace. "I know. And I'll trust you, Jon. Always."

Jon kissed her forehead, his voice gentle. "That's all I could ever ask for."

The preparations for the arrival of Jon's siblings were in full swing. The halls of Moat Cailin were buzzing with activity, servants ensuring every detail was perfect. Hilda and Val had taken on the task of overseeing the arrangements, while Jon moved between Moat Cailin and Frostmore, making sure everything was in order.

Sansa had arrived a day early, her presence bringing a lightness to the fortress. She had spent much of her time in Frostmore, exploring its markets and selecting fine garments for the Northern Games.

"They'll be here tomorrow," Sansa informed Jon during dinner. "Bran, Arya, and Rickon are traveling with a large company. They're bringing some of Riverland's best warriors to participate in the games."

Jon's face lit up at the news. "It's been too long. I can't wait to see them."

The next morning, a horn sounded, announcing the arrival of the company from Winterfell. Jon, Val, Hilda, and Sansa stood on the battlements of Moat Cailin, watching as the large procession approached.

The company was impressive, a mix of Stark bannermen, guards, and carriages. At the center rode Jon's siblings—Bran on a well-trained horse, Arya with a sword strapped to her side, and Rickon astride a shaggy pony, his face alight with excitement.

Ghost, Jon's direwolf, let out a low, pleased growl as the procession drew closer. He stood beside Jon, his red eyes scanning the approaching group.

When the company entered Moat Cailin, Jon was the first to greet them. He pulled each of his siblings into a warm embrace, his heart full.

"Bran," Jon said, his voice filled with emotion as he hugged his younger brother. "You've grown so much."

Bran smiled faintly, his eyes sharp and knowing. "And so have you, Jon."

Next was Arya, who grinned mischievously as she hugged him. "I've missed you, Jon. But you better not think you can beat me in the games. I've been training a lot."

Jon laughed. "We'll see about that."

Finally, he knelt to embrace Rickon, who launched himself into Jon's arms. "I missed you, Jon!" the boy exclaimed.

"And I missed you, little wolf," Jon replied, ruffling Rickon's wild hair.

Inside Moat Cailin, the siblings gathered in the great hall, sharing stories and laughter. The years apart seemed to melt away as they reconnected. Ghost roamed among them, his tail wagging as he sniffed at Bran, Arya, and Rickon, clearly pleased to see his pack again.

Hilda and Val watched from a distance, smiling at the reunion.

"It's good to see him like this," Hilda said softly. "With his family."

Val nodded, her arms crossed. "They mean everything to him. And they'll see what he's built here—they'll be proud."

As the evening wore on, the conversation turned to the upcoming Northern Games.

"We've brought our best warriors," Bran said. "They're eager to compete and prove Winterfell's strength."

Arya grinned. "I'm entering the archery and sparring competitions. I'll show them what a Stark can do."

Jon smirked. "Just don't get too cocky, Arya. There are plenty of skilled fighters in the North."

Rickon, sitting beside Ghost, looked up eagerly. "Can I compete, Jon? I've been practicing with Shaggydog!"

Jon chuckled, his affection for his youngest brother clear. "We'll see, Rickon. But for now, let's enjoy being together."

That night, the great hall of Moat Cailin was filled with music, laughter, and the clinking of cups. The Starks, along with Val, Hilda, and the lords and ladies of the North, celebrated their reunion.

Sansa, dressed in one of her new Frostmore gowns, sat beside Hilda and Val, sharing stories of her time in Summer Castle. Arya challenged a few soldiers to sparring matches, while Bran quietly observed, his keen mind taking in everything.

Jon stood at the head of the table, his heart full as he watched his family together. The Northern Games were just ahead, but for now, this moment of unity and joy was all that mattered.

Ghost sat beside him, his presence a silent reminder of the bond that tied them all together—a bond of family, strength, and the enduring spirit of the North.

Jon stood in the courtyard of Moat Cailin, his dark cloak billowing in the northern wind. The Stark banners fluttered above him as he addressed Vorran, one of his most trusted man.

"Vorran," Jon said, his tone firm yet respectful, "I'm leaving Moat Cailin in your hands. Maintain order, ensure the council's decisions are fair, and keep an eye on Frostmore and Snow Harbor. If anything happens, send word immediately."

Vorran bowed deeply. "You can count on me, Lord Frost. Moat Cailin will be as strong when you return as it is now."

Jon placed a hand on Vorran's shoulder. "I know it will be. Thank you, Vorran."

With that, Jon turned to his siblings, Val, and Hilda, all waiting by their horses. The procession was smaller than the one that had arrived at Moat Cailin but no less impressive. The Starks rode together, accompanied by a contingent of loyal guards and a supply caravan.

Ghost padded silently beside Jon's horse, his red eyes scanning the horizon.

The ride to Winterfell was filled with stories and laughter. Arya regaled everyone with tales of her training with Bryden, acting out exaggerated versions of her sword fights. Rickon rode alongside Jon, asking endless questions about the Northern Games and the mountains they were traveling to.

"Do you think I'll win anything, Jon?" Rickon asked, his eyes bright with excitement.

Jon smiled at his youngest brother. "If you put in the effort and stay focused, Rickon, you'll do well. The games are about testing your skills, not just winning."

Bran, riding a little ahead with Hilda, observed the landscape quietly. "It feels good to be on the road again," he said softly. "Winterfell is home, but it's important to see the rest of the North. It reminds us of what we're protecting."

Hilda nodded, her admiration for Bran growing. "You're wise for your age, Bran. Jon has spoken highly of you."

Bran smiled faintly. "He's the one who's shown us what it means to lead."

Winterfell's towering walls came into view as the group approached. The familiar sight of the ancient Stark stronghold filled Jon with a sense of nostalgia and pride. This was where he had grown up, where he had learned the values of family and honor.

As they entered through the gates, the people of Winterfell greeted them with cheers. Robb Stark stood at the steps of the great hall, his expression breaking into a wide grin as he saw his siblings and Jon.

"Jon!" Robb called, striding forward to clasp his brother's arm. "It's been too long."

Jon returned the gesture, a rare smile on his face. "Too long indeed. You've done well here, Robb. Winterfell looks stronger than ever."

Robb laughed. "I could say the same about you. Moat Cailin and Frostmore have become legends in the North. And I see you've brought everyone."

Robb embraced Bran, ruffled Rickon's hair, and exchanged a warm greeting with Arya. He greeted Sansa with a kiss on the cheek and a fond smile.

Turning to Val and Hilda, Robb inclined his head respectfully. "It's an honor to meet you both. Jon's been busy, hasn't he?"

Val smirked. "You have no idea."

Hilda blushed slightly but returned Robb's warm smile. "It's good to be here, Lord Stark."

Inside Winterfell, the family gathered around the great table in the hall to discuss the journey to the mountains for the Northern Games.

"We've prepared a large company," Robb explained. "The games are a chance to show the strength of Winterfell and the North. We'll bring our best warriors, archers, and horses."

Arya grinned. "And me. Don't forget, I'm competing too."

Robb chuckled. "How could I forget? But don't expect me to go easy on you."

Rickon piped up. "I want to compete too!"

Jon raised a hand, his tone gentle but firm. "The games are about skill and discipline, Rickon. We'll see how you do during the journey. If you're ready, you'll compete."

Robb leaned back, his gaze settling on Jon. "It'll be good to travel together again. It feels like the old days, before everything changed."

Jon nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It's different now, Robb. But we're still Starks. Together, we're stronger."

The next morning, the combined company of Winterfell and Moat Cailin set out for the mountains. The banners of House Stark flew high, and the sound of hooves and chatter filled the air.

As they rode, Jon glanced at his siblings, his heart full. This journey wasn't just about the Northern Games—it was about family, unity, and the future they were building together.

Val rode beside him, her confidence unwavering. "The North will never forget this, Jon. You're building something they'll sing about for generations."

Jon glanced at her, his expression steady. "It's not just me. It's all of us. The North is strong because of its people, its families. And we'll prove that at the games."

As the mountains loomed in the distance, Jon felt a sense of purpose and pride. Together, they were unstoppable—a family bound by honor, love, and the enduring spirit of the North.

Author's Note:

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