These chapters are about the past. If you already know what’s going to happen and don’t want to revisit it, I recommend skipping the next three chapters. I wanted to introduce some younger characters and show the dynamics of the Stark family from the previous generation. I’ll write two chapters about the tournament and one about the war. Remember, none of this is official—I’m making it up as I believe it would make sense.

[Chapter Size: 3600 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Arctic, 297 AC.

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The horses walked along the king’s road as the gray wolf banner was carried by the Stark soldiers, fluttering against the wind.

The horses’ steps trotted with the sound of the wind while the giant northern convoy was not only formed by House Stark but by many other houses following the Stark sigil. The entire North was heading to the tournament with its youngest lords, while some heads of families remained at home, such as Rickard Stark staying in Winterfell, affirming that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

“Hahaha! I can’t wait to show my sword, I’ll show everyone how a Northern Wolf fights.” A booming voice came from the front ranks.

“Are you drunk again, Brandon?! We just left the camp…” Another person roared among them as they continued in the front ranks.

“I only had a little wine, nothing more than what a fierce wolf needs to continue his journey. Hahaha!” Brandon Stark bellowed, riding ahead with his friends from other houses.

“Lady Lyanna, shouldn’t you be in a carriage?” A timid voice called back to the members behind them.

“Of course not, I know how to ride just fine, and I will do so, Lord Glover.” A stubborn teenage voice responded.

“Ethan, don’t insist with my sister, she certainly knows what she’s doing better than we do.” Brandon said calmly, while his squire, Ethan Glover, nodded to Brandon Stark.

“My apologies, my lady.” He turned back to Lyanna.

“No offense taken, Lord Glover. But you don’t have to call me ‘lady’,” Lyanna replied calmly.

Thus, they continued riding down the road for a few more minutes while Brandon Stark carried on with his conversations at the front of the convoy.

“Brother… do you think we’ll get to see how the great knights fight?” A younger voice emerged beside Lyanna.

“Of course we will, Benjen!” The girl replied to her brother at her side.

“I hope to learn something… I want my name to be remembered too, as a great knight, like Ser Duncan the Tall. Or even Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning—they say he’s the best swordsman to ever live in all of history!” He spoke with a dreamy tone.

“Maybe you’ll be Benjen Stark, the Wandering Wolf!” Lyanna exclaimed.

“That’s not funny, Lya. You make it sound like I’ll become a hedge knight. I want to join the Kingsguard, become a famous knight… maybe that way I can bring pride to the Stark name. If that doesn’t work…” He murmured, almost as a sigh that barely formed into words.

“Ben! I’ve told you to forget about that idea! I won’t let you join the Night’s Watch!” Lyanna seemed fierce as she said this to her younger brother.

“But… our house always sends members to the Watch. House Stark has always served the Night’s Watch, Lya… Father is pleased with my decision…” He murmured, looking at his sister with hesitation.

“I’ve already told you that’s not happening, Ben! The Night’s Watch is not your place, I refuse to allow my little brother to join them. They can survive without Benjen Stark, who will become a great knight and be recognized across the Seven Kingdoms…” The girl said, smiling at her brother. It wasn’t their first argument about this—after all, Lyanna didn’t like what the Night’s Watch was becoming, and she had immediately convinced her brother to choose another path, even though he was the third-born son to inherit Winterfell.

Upon hearing this, Benjen’s eyes widened—his sister had a unique way of cheering him up, as he could shift from sadness to evident joy in an instant.

“Really, Lya?” He murmured.

“Of course! I’m sure you’ll become a great name!” She said. Though it was rather vague, it still brightened her brother’s mood.

“I heard that Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, is finally releasing his squire to become a knight—if he proves himself worthy in this tournament.” A new voice chimed in, and both siblings turned to the side, hearing the somewhat timid tone.

He was a boy around Lya’s age, and he seemed shy. Immediately, both of them looked at the symbol on the man’s chest—a lizard-lion forming a circle with its own tail, completing it near its mouth and tongue, as if trying to bite itself.

“You are… Howland Reed, heir to Greywater Watch,” Benjen Stark immediately said, recognizing the symbol.

“I remember you from Winterfell, Lord Reed.” Lya offered him a friendly smile before continuing. “But what do you mean by Ser Brynden Tully dismissing his squire?” she asked.

“Perhaps you could speak with your brother. Since he is to take Catelyn Tully as his wife, maybe he can convince Lord Hoster Tully to speak with his brother. Perhaps he could accept Lord Benjen Stark as his new squire,” he suggested.

“That…” Benjen was surprised.

“Of course! That’s a great idea!” Lyanna exclaimed immediately. “Did you hear that, Ben? You know how the man known as the Blackfish is famous for his work in eliminating banditry in the Riverlands. Besides, he is an excellent commander—if the rumors are true,” she said, looking at her brother. Benjen was a little taken aback by the idea, but in the end, his eyes lit up with excitement.

Quickly, the conversation involved the three of them while Brandon continued on ahead with his friends, leaving the two siblings and Howland engaged in their discussion.

“Father…” Another voice murmured as someone struggled to stay steady on his horse.

“You’re not very good at riding, are you?” A voice, authoritative by nature after years of commanding men, spoke beside him.

“Forgive me for that, King of Artica. I was never much of a rider,” Jojen muttered as he tried to keep his horse steady alongside the others.

Jon and Jojen suddenly found themselves riding within the Stark retinue, a bit behind. At first, they were both stunned, listening to all the conversation ahead of them.

Jojen had difficulty handling his horse—he had never trained much in riding due to being a resident of a floating island.

“Do you think they can see us?” Jojen was bewildered. He had some fear of Jon, but here, that fear faded as he took in the sight before him. He had never been in a place like this, only able to see flashes of the future before. But nothing had ever been as vivid as this.

“No. If they could, they wouldn’t be so calm while I’m wearing Valyrian steel armor and a Targaryen sword at my waist,” Jon said. He was equally surprised to be here—not that he hadn’t been through something like this before. But seeing the sixteen-year-old girl in front of him, talking and laughing, her hair flowing in the wind as she rode as if she had been born for it, even made him lose his composure as the King of Artica.

“But… are we safe here?” Jojen couldn’t help but ask, still looking at his father ahead of them, appearing as a somewhat shy and quiet teenager.

“Of course.” Jon didn’t take his eyes off his mother as he pressed his legs against his horse, moving forward. He passed all the others effortlessly, avoiding them with ease. Even without being able to use Warg here, he was an excellent rider. Perhaps he was now seeing from whom he had inherited that skill. He quickly reached the three, leaving Jojen behind.

No one could see him as he stood there, watching them, his gaze fixed on his mother laughing and chatting. He ignored the thousands of people in this convoy—all he saw was her, taking in her true appearance.

“You wanted to see your mother very much, didn’t you, Your Majesty?” Jojen’s voice sounded beside Jon. Jon looked at him for a moment. There was no need for him to call him that, but he simply nodded.

“Yes… I’ve always wanted to meet her…” Jon murmured, turning his gaze back to her.

“Hey, brothers! We’re finally arriving in Riverrun. My fiancée’s family will soon be there to welcome us!” Brandon approached his two younger siblings, informing them to get ready.

They continued for another ten minutes, passing through the forest along the road beside the river, while the ghosts of the future stood there, watching as the banner of the trout finally emerged, accompanied by several knights.

Soon, a man bearing the sigil of a leaping black trout emerged. The mounted men halted as someone stepped forward, accompanied by a young boy. Brandon signaled for his convoy to stop before moving ahead to meet them, his squire following closely behind.

Brynden “Blackfish” Tully sat atop his black horse, his helmet tucked under his arm and a firm expression on his face. Beside him, a young boy held the reins of his own horse, his unruly red hair tousled by the wind—Edmure Tully, still an adolescent of fourteen namedays, attempted to maintain his posture while observing the approach of Winterfell’s heir.

The boy seemed ready to take a few more steps, but he was stopped by Brynden raising his hand.

“Maintain your composure, boy. Your father expects you to represent House Tully well.”

Edmure swallowed hard and nodded. He was not yet a knight but served as the squire to Ser Desmond Grell, master-at-arms of Riverrun, who sat mounted among the other men just behind him. Though he did not yet carry a sword as a full warrior, he knew this was his opportunity to prove his worth before the Northern lords and, most importantly, his father.

Beside Brandon, Ethan Glover, his squire, remained attentive, while all the other Northern lords waited in silence.

“Welcome to our lands, Lord Stark. I am here to guide you to Riverrun, if you don’t mind. After all, we will soon be family,” Brynden said, eyeing the young man.

Brandon grinned.

“Blackfish! I hope you have enough wine for a thirsty Stark! We will be in no better hands than yours, Ser Brynden Tully.”

Brynden raised an eyebrow and let out a slight grunt before nodding.

“Let’s go. I’m sure my brother is eager to see the man who will take his daughter.” He turned his horse. “Introduce yourself, boy,” he added, looking at young Edmure.

“Of course! Lord Stark, it is a pleasure to meet you!” The boy spoke, attempting to sound like a grown man.

“Lord Tully, the pleasure is mine. I am eager to see your home and meet your family—especially my betrothed,” Brandon said with confidence.

After that, they resumed their journey along the road, with the Tullys leading the way and the Northern convoy following behind.

Jon watched it all with curiosity. He certainly did not like the Tullys, but he had no choice but to endure their company for this time. Still, his eyes remained fixed on his mother more than anyone else. He did not care to listen to the conversations around him—this was his only chance to truly observe her.

Before long, Riverrun appeared on the horizon, its drawbridge lowered to allow them entry into the castle. As they passed through the gates and the guards, they were welcomed by the Tullys. The Stark party would reside within the castle along with the principal Northern nobles, while the rest of their large entourage would camp outside the gates.

Jon glanced at the young Catelyn and had to admit—she was beautiful. He and Jojen followed the group into the castle. Jon positioned himself in front of the great hall, watching the interaction unfold. Nobody noticed his presence, even though any other man behaving as he was—standing among lords and heirs of great houses—would have been immediately thrown into the dungeons.

“She truly looks enamored with my late uncle…” Jon murmured, while Jojen stood beside him, watching with equal curiosity.

The young Catelyn gazed at Brandon Stark with shining eyes as he made a bold introduction. But far from being displeased, even Lord Hoster Tully seemed satisfied.

Jon dismounted as the group proceeded, easily slipping into the castle. Jojen remained silent the entire time, finding it strange to witness scenes of the past while standing beside a king, dressed in royal armor with a legendary sword at his hip, observing everything without being noticed. The same was true for Jojen himself—but compared to Jon, he appeared only as his father’s son, dressed in simple leather garments.

A grand feast was held in Riverrun that night as Hoster welcomed Lord Stark and the Northern lords in his great hall. Brandon sat at the high table alongside his brothers.

“We’ve been here for so long now… Yet we feel no hunger or fatigue…” Jojen approached Jon, who leaned against a pillar in the hall, his eyes still fixed on his mother at the high table.

“Be grateful for that. It would be worse if we felt hunger and thirst and couldn’t even touch the food,” Jon said. After all, they couldn’t touch anything there—their bodies simply passed through objects. They had no physical form in this place. Other than the horse that had come with them, nothing else could be felt or grasped.

Without waiting for Jojen to respond, Jon tore his gaze away from his mother and looked toward the Tully family—Hoster, Brynden, Edmure, Catelyn, and, finally, her younger sister. He had never seen Catelyn’s sister before.

His gaze shifted downward to the lower tables, where he spotted a young man glaring at the high table. And if Jon was right, his uncle Brandon was the target of that burning stare.

“That’s Petyr Baelish, and he hates Brandon for stealing Catelyn Tully from him…” Jon easily deduced what was happening.

“I heard she didn’t treat you well in Winterfell,” Jojen’s voice interrupted Jon’s thoughts as they both watched the scene unfold.

Jon smirked.

“This young Lady Stark certainly looks nothing like the damned woman I met in Winterfell as a child…” he said. “Maybe because there are no bastards here.” He sneered at the thought.

“You know…” Jojen continued, drawing Jon’s attention back from his mother. “My father always wanted to take you into his care…” he revealed, making Jon momentarily stop and look at him in surprise.

“…” Jon stared at him, and the younger boy seemed to shrink under his gaze.

“Why?” Jon asked at last.

“My father knew of your conditions in Winterfell. He wanted to take you in and raise you properly. For your mother. He said he owed it to her,” Jojen explained.

“…” Jon studied him for a few more moments before sighing.

“It’s good to hear something like that,” Jon admitted. “But it wouldn’t have changed anything, honestly. I am who I am because I left Winterfell and went to the Wall in the first place.”

The future was a dangerous thing—perhaps he would never have become Jon Artica if his past had been different.

“I understand…” Jojen murmured, and they both fell silent, continuing to watch the hall.

The feast carried on—people drank, ate, laughed, talked, and even argued. At one point, Brandon took Catelyn to dance, and Jon could see the seething look from the young man who would one day become the Master of Coin. Petyr’s eyes never left the Northern wolf, while Catelyn’s sister, Lysa Tully, moved to his side, trying to console him.

“What a strange relationship…” Jon murmured, watching as his mother was called to dance several times but refused every lord, preferring to stay in conversation with young Benjen instead.

The banquet eventually ended, but Jon and Jojen remained in the hall, watching as the servants cleaned up the mess left by the guests.

“Aren’t we going to sleep?” Jojen asked curiously. He had never experienced a vision like this and was surprised by how it all worked.

“We don’t need to. But we’ll stay here a little longer, waiting for everyone to wake up,” Jon replied. “Why don’t you tell me about your land and your life there? We need to pass the time, and I’m not going to spy on my mother while she sleeps—that seems wrong.”

Jojen nodded in agreement, and together, they left the castle to stand beneath the night sky.

The next morning, new banners approached Riverrun. The crowned stag and the falcon of Arryn rode side by side with the direwolf of Winterfell. The small party advanced directly through the open gates of the fortress. It was only a small group, having left their larger convoy behind, but three great houses were represented.

Lord Hoster Tully stepped forward to greet them as Jon Arryn dismounted, followed closely by a young Robert Baratheon and an equally young Eddard Stark.

Robert grinned widely, while Ned looked much more reserved.

“So this is what my uncle was like?” Jon thought, slightly surprised. He hadn’t expected his uncle to be so withdrawn.

“Lord Hoster, Lady Catelyn, Lady Lysa, Lord Edmure, Lord Brynden Tully!” Lord Arryn greeted them all respectfully.

His gaze lingered for a moment on Lysa Tully. The houses of Tully and Arryn were negotiating a betrothal between them.

“Lysa Arryn does not look happy with this arrangement at all…” Jon observed. She was trying to maintain her composure, but anyone could see the disgust in her eyes.

Robert Baratheon, a young, muscular, and rather bold man, greeted Hoster Tully and his family before heading straight for the Starks, where Brandon stood. Ned, more reserved, arrived last, offering the Tullys a brief nod and a few quiet words.

Robert and Brandon seemed quite cheerful as they greeted each other. Jon watched in silence.

“Strange… after all, at this time, Robert Baratheon was my mother’s betrothed,” he thought, remembering what he knew of history.

“Lyanna! Lyanna! You look as beautiful as you always must be!” Robert exclaimed excitedly when he finally saw her.

She lowered her head slightly, holding her dress as she gave a formal curtsy, but Jon noticed the same look of displeasure he had seen in Lysa. She was smiling only for appearances’ sake and did not seem at all excited to see her betrothed.

“She doesn’t like this betrothal…” Jon murmured to himself, while Jojen remained silent, watching the scene a few meters away.

Robert, however, seemed oblivious to her feelings and continued smiling, showering Lyanna with compliments. Before stepping away, he also greeted Benjen with a friendly pat on the shoulder.

With Ned, the reception was quite different. Not only did Brandon greet him enthusiastically, but Lyanna also disregarded decorum entirely and threw her arms around her older brother, embracing him tightly.

“I’ve missed you so much, Ned!” she exclaimed, as if it were a complaint, completely ignoring the watching eyes around them.

Benjen was no different. Though he was naturally reserved, Ned looked genuinely happy to see all his siblings again after years of living in the Vale with Jon Arryn.

By the end of the day, another banquet was held at Riverrun.

Jon observed everything carefully, analyzing his mother’s behavior. It was easy to see that Lyanna did not like her betrothed as she sat at the high table once more. During the feast, Robert was already drunk, shamelessly grabbing one serving girl after another right in front of her.

The She-Wolf of the North frowned, visibly irritated.

Jon sighed, feeling something stir inside him as he watched. He had heard many stories about his mother and Robert, but now he was seeing with his own eyes how it had never been a love story.

“That bastard… he’s humiliating her. Does he not see it?” Jon muttered with some anger, causing the young Jojen to glance at him cautiously.

In the end, they spent four days in Riverrun, with Lord Tully and Lord Arryn discussing plans. Jon overheard some of their conversations, and for the first time, his focus shifted slightly away from his mother. He frowned as he listened more carefully—there was more happening here than just a simple gathering of noble houses.

Regardless, on the fifth day, they finally left Riverrun, making their way toward Harrenhal. The convoy, now larger, moved forward with the Vale’s forces marching alongside the Northern lords, all heading for the great tournament.

Jon and Jojen followed, their horses returning to them as if by magic as the party set out. They remained close, listening to all the interactions between the lords and knights.

Jon found himself not only intrigued by his mother but also by the way all his uncles lived and behaved when they were young. It was far more vivid than the cold, distant stories Lord Stark had told him and Robb as children—stories about a family that had once been close and full of life.

Several days later, the towering ruins of Harrenhal finally appeared on the horizon. Two days after that, they arrived at the site where the grand tournament would take place.

A vast expanse of land surrounding the ruined castle, still bearing the scars of the fire Aegon the Conqueror had left upon it nearly three hundred years ago, had been overtaken by tents and camps of noble houses from all over Westeros.

Here, lords would meet, secret schemes would be forged, promises made, intrigues woven, and even unexpected romances would bloom.

————-Nexts Chapters —————-

Chapter 237 – Entering the Dothraki Sea.

Chapter 242 – Artican Army vs Khal Drogo’s Khalasar 01.

Chapter 252 – Free Folk vs Dead Army 01.

Chapter 261 – The Faceless Man.

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