[Chapter Size: 3300 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Winterfell, 292 AC, Next Morning.

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Jon arrived at the Winterfell training yard, where the Stark men were in full exercise, training with vigor and determination. Around him, a mix of experienced veterans and young adolescent soldiers were striving against each other.

The sound of clashing swords, shouts of command, and the noise of feet stomping hard on the ground echoed through the yard, creating an intense and energetic atmosphere. Jon paused for a moment to observe, his eyes scanning the Winterfell training with interest.

He noticed the dedication and effort of the young soldiers, reminiscent of his own training days there. Jon remained at a respectful distance, observing the training. He noticed one young fighter fighting with a high guard, another with an unstable stance.

“More firmness in your shoulders!” He saw the corrections of Ser Rodrik, efficient and timely, and how the youths responded, sometimes with frustration, other times with renewed determination.

Jon now set his eyes on Ser Rodrik, with the authority of an experienced master-at-arms, moving among the soldiers with an attentive look and a presence that commanded respect. He paused for a moment to adjust the posture of a young man, his hands firm yet gentle, guiding the boy’s shoulders into the correct position.

“It’s not just strength, boys, but technique and perception. Pay attention to your opponent, anticipate their moves,” he instructed, his voice resonating through the yard.

He approached another group, watching them exchange blows with wooden swords. “Controlling the sword is like controlling the mind. Both must be sharp and focused,” he said, scrutinizing each movement carefully.

“Move, move! A battle is not a dance, it’s survival, it’s instinct,” Ser Rodrik exclaimed, inciting more energy and aggressiveness in the young ones’ movements.

“Your enemies won’t give you time to think. You must always be two steps ahead,” he continued, his tone of voice alternating between severity and encouragement.

With each instruction, the soldiers responded, some with more skill and confidence, others still hesitant, but all attentive to the master-at-arms’ words. Ser Rodrik was teaching not just how to fight, but also how to think and react under pressure.

Jon, wearing a simple leather outfit that gave him a more discreet and less imposing air than his armor that had arrived at the castle yesterday, walked towards the training yard.

As he approached, the soldiers and young recruits began to notice his presence. Conversations in whispers and curious glances turned towards him, recognizing the young man who had returned to Winterfell with so much mystery and glory.

Ser Rodrik soon noticed Jon approaching. He paused his instructions for a moment, watching Jon with a look of interest and perhaps a hint of surprise. After all, the last time he saw Jon, he was just a boy learning the fundamentals of fighting; now, he returned with the air of an experienced warrior as he walked.

“Boy,” Ser Rodrik greeted him with a nod, a sign of recognition for the young man who had grown so much. “Welcome to the training yard. Good to see you here again after years away.”

Jon returned the nod, “Thank you, Ser Rodrik. It seems the training is going well,” Jon commented, observing the soldiers and recruits around.

Ser Rodrik nodded, “We are preparing as always. The North needs to be ready for any eventuality and the winter. Maybe you want to join us, Jon? It would be interesting to see how your skills have developed after I heard that you lived north of the wall.”

Jon nodded. “Of course, it would be an honor to train under your supervision again, Ser Rodrik.”

The soldiers and recruits watched, some eager to see Jon in action, others perhaps apprehensive about facing someone with a reputation that Jon had created beyond possessing a giant wolf in the woods covered in armor and possessing a Valyrian steel sword, all heard of little Jon years ago. Jon, however, seemed calm, ready to blend in with the others and participate in the training like any other Northern soldier.

Jon went to the yard’s warehouse and picked up a training sword, feeling its weight and balance, and began to demonstrate some stretches with the sword, he also wore some protective pieces as Rodrick required. As Jon prepared to join the training, his presence in the yard did not go unnoticed. Beyond the soldiers and recruits, whose looks varied between admiration and nervousness, other members of the Stark family and the castle began to gather around to observe.

Sansa, accompanied by her elegantly dressed friends in garments they had embroidered themselves, found a high spot from where they could have a clear view of the yard. They whispered among themselves, clearly interested in Jon, whose return to Winterfell was the subject of many rumors and stories.

Bran, Jon’s younger brother, emerged among the crowd, his eyes shining with admiration. Jon had always been his favorite brother, and now, seeing him in the yard, ready to train, was a moment of pride and excitement for Bran.

Robb and Theon Greyjoy, on the other hand, had more serious and perhaps slightly sullen expressions. They watched Jon from a distance, mixing feelings of resentment and curiosity. The transformation of Jon left them uncomfortable and perhaps even a bit insecure about their own status.

Ser Rodrik Cassel saw an opportunity to test Jon’s skills in front of the watchful eyes of the observers. He decided to pit Jon against one of the adolescent recruits, a young lad who showed promise but was still learning the ways of the sword with 13 namedays.

Jon walked to the center of the yard with many wondering how he, the bastard who returned riding a giant wolf and carrying incredible stories, would fare in combat. There was a mix of expectation and skepticism in the air.

Jon, aware of the gazes upon him, chose not to display arrogance or overconfidence against his opponent. He had left his Valyrian swords in his room, but this did not bother him; he had learned to turn anything in his hand into a deadly weapon.

The young recruit seemed nervous but determined, knowing he was facing someone who was already considered a living legend in Winterfell. Jon, for his part, maintained a calm and balanced posture, displaying the serenity of an experienced warrior, causing Ser Rodrick to raise an eyebrow.

The fight began under everyone’s watchful eye. Jon moved with impressive skill, each strike and parry demonstrating not just strength but also a deep understanding of the art of the sword. He was not aggressive or careless; on the contrary, he seemed more interested in teaching the recruit than in defeating him.

For the spectators, the demonstration was a revelation. Here was Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, exhibiting skills few expected. His return was not just a story of adventures beyond the Wall, but also a testament to the growth and development of a true Northern warrior.

The fight between Jon and the young recruit intensified, with each rapid movement and calculated blow. Jon, demonstrating skill and precision, disarmed the boy, but with surprising dexterity, even causing the boy to fall to the ground.

Jon approached him, offering his hand. “You have a good stance, but still need to work with your feet,” Jon said, extending his hand as a gesture of respect, even earning approval from Ser Rodrick.

The young lad looked at him for a few seconds before accepting his hand, gripping it firmly. “Thank you, Milord,” he said timidly.

“What’s your name?” Jon asked, not seeming to be talking to a boy 2 years older than him.

“Karte, Milord,” he responded.

“Karte, don’t call me Milord, I’m not a noble here,” Jon advised with a small smile, and the recruit nodded before picking up the sword from the ground and leaving.

“Well done, Jon. And you too, lad,” Ser Rodrik praised, indicating both Jon and the young recruit.

“Jon, don’t think about leaving yet, let’s continue with another challenge, I’m interested in your fencing.” After the recruit moved away, allowing another to take his place. Jon prepared for the next challenge, adjusting his stance and holding firm his wooden sword.

The new opponent advanced cautiously, aware of the skill demonstrated by Jon. The yard fell silent, with all eyes focused on the duel unfolding. Jon, staying calm and concentrated, faced the new adversary with the same serenity and skill, eventually earning Jon the victory against the older opponent. Again showing why his return to Winterfell was a matter of such fascination and respect.

As Ser Rodrik continued to challenge Jon with new opponents, the young man’s fencing skills became increasingly evident. With each adversary he faced, no matter the age, Jon displayed a mix of strength, agility, and tactical intelligence, overcoming them with a combination of quick strikes and precise defensive moves. His performance in the training yard was becoming an impressive display of his abilities, attracting even more spectators.

Arya, fascinated and full of admiration for her brother, couldn’t take her eyes off the fight after she came to the yard. She watched every movement of Jon with enthusiasm, absorbing every detail that she could learn and emulate in her own hidden fencing practices.

Catelyn and Ned appeared at the top of the castle, looking down at the yard. Ned watched with a mix of pride and surprise, realizing how much Jon had grown and developed in his battle skills since he left Winterfell. Catelyn, on the other hand, watched with a more restrained expression, her gaze revealing a complexity of emotions – surprise, perhaps a bit of worry, and a reluctance to admit how capable the bastard had become.

The fights continued, with Jon defeating each challenger that Ser Rodrik placed before him. With each victory, more people looked with a certain admiration at the 11-year-old boy. Even those who initially had doubts or reservations about Jon began to admit that the boy had the potential to be a great warrior.

As the atmosphere in the training yard intensified, Ser Rodrik decided to put Theon Greyjoy against Jon. Theon, with a mocking smile on his face, approached Jon. He looked at Jon with disdain, clearly underestimating him.

“Let’s see what the bastard can do,” Theon said loudly enough for others to hear, his voice laden with sarcasm.

The two positioned themselves, each wielding a training sword. When the duel began, it was clear that Jon’s skill far surpassed Theon’s. Jon didn’t show anything with Theon’s mockery, just took initiative and attacked him; he moved with a grace and efficiency that starkly contrasted with Theon’s more clumsy movements.

In a few moments, Jon disarmed Theon and, with a quick and precise blow, made him fall to the ground. Theon’s fall was swift and somewhat humiliating, leaving many of the spectators surprised at how easily Jon had won the fight. Theon got up grumbling curses at Jon, but the King in the North didn’t even care.

The training yard became even more agitated with expectation when Ser Rodrik called Robb Stark to face Jon. Robb, clearly driven by accumulated anger and jealousy, advanced towards Jon with fierce determination.

Robb attacked Jon with a series of rapid and aggressive blows, his sword cutting the air with force, his strong point. However, Jon demonstrated superior skill, managing the fight with impressive calmness. He dodged and blocked every attack of Robb with ease.

As the fight unfolded, Jon found an opening. With a quick and precise movement, he unbalanced Robb and softly kicked him, making him fall to the ground. Jon looked at the fallen Robb with an indifferent gaze, an expression that hid any sign of triumph or vanity.

From the top of the castle, Catelyn watched the scene with a frowning expression. Robb’s defeat at the hands of Jon only intensified her antipathy towards the bastard, who now demonstrated skills superior to the heir of Winterfell.

Meanwhile, Sansa’s friends, gathered at a privileged observation point, commented excitedly about the fight. “Did you see how Jon moved? It was like he was dancing with the sword!” one of them exclaimed, clearly delighted.

“Yes, he’s so skilled… and that look when he defeated Robb!” another added, her tone revealing obvious admiration for Jon.

Sansa remained silent, unsure how to react. On one side, she maintained her disdain for her half-brother, on the other, she had to admit that he was skilled.

“Jon won them all!” On the other side, Arya shouted excitedly with little Bran by her side.

“I think that’s enough. You’ve improved a lot, lad, I’ve never seen anything like it at your age.” Rodrick went to congratulate Jon, who nodded calmly.

After leaving the training field, Jon, under the watchful eyes of everyone, put away his training sword and protective clothing. His performance had left an indelible impression on the spectators, who continued to watch him as he walked away.

Jon walked through the castle with a clear purpose in mind, Arya quickly joined him. Their destination was a specific place where he knew he would find Hodor. Upon arrival, he saw the gentle giant finishing his work for the morning. “Hodor!” Jon greeted him with a friendly smile.

Hodor, recognizing Jon, responded with a smiling and resounding “Hodor!” and an enthusiastic wave. He hadn’t seen Jon for years, and seeing him here was very exciting for the giant. Jon’s presence seemed to bring genuine joy to Hodor, who, despite his limited speech, expressed evident affection for Jon.

“Shall we go see Old Nan, Hodor?” Jon suggested. Hodor nodded his head vigorously in agreement, clearly excited about the idea. Together, they walked through the castle area until they reached a small house where Old Nan resided near the abandoned tower of the castle.

Upon entering the room, they found Old Nan sitting in her chair, her still agile fingers working on some embroidery. Seeing Jon and Hodor, her wrinkled face lit up with a warm smile.

“Ah, if it isn’t the white wolf and Hodor!” exclaimed Old Nan, setting aside her work. “Come, sit down. I have many stories to tell, and I’m sure Jon has some new ones to add.”

“It’s been a long time, Nan, how are you?” Jon asked with a smile.

“I’m well, boy. When I saw you arrive yesterday atop a wolf, I saw a true Stark triumphing, it was comforting to see someone so connected to the ways of the North in this family…” She said, but Jon understood what she meant by that, as the Stark family is currently following the ways of the southerners.

Jon and Hodor settled in, and for a moment, the cabin seemed a warmer and more welcoming place.

“There must still be Starks greater than me, Nan, and I’m not a Stark,” Jon tried to be humble, but couldn’t help thinking, ‘I’m not a Stark, I’m an artican now,’ he said to himself.

“I saw your creature, child. You put the last thirty Lord Starks to shame with that beast,” she said, laughing.

Jon smiled. “I’m glad you liked Ghost.”

“Now tell me about your years, I’ve heard a lot about little Jon facing bandits, commanding giants, and giant beasts, but I know nothing about what happened to that boy beyond the Wall,” she said, looking at Jon with some expectation.

“It’s been nothing out of the ordinary, Old Nan, just facing White Walkers and dealing with the Children of the Forest, and building a sacred grove around the world’s largest weirwood tree,” he replied casually, while Arya listened with eyes full of admiration by his side.

Old Nan fixed her eyes on Jon, her expression reflecting a mix of skepticism and interest. “White Walkers and Children of the Forest, you say?” she murmured, pondering Jon’s words. “Those are stories I tell the children, Jon. They are legends of the North, tales to scare the little ones.”

Jon, keeping his serious expression, nodded. “I know they are stories for you, Nan, but for me, they have become reality. I’ve seen the White Walkers with my own eyes, fought against them. And the Children of the Forest… they are valuable and wise allies.”

Arya, sitting by the side, watched the conversation with fascination. “Jon doesn’t lie, Old Nan,” she intervened. “He’s a hero!”

Nan looked at Arya, then back to Jon. “And this story of the sacred grove and the largest weirwood? That sounds like something out of the old tales.”

Jon smiled slightly. “It’s as real as you and me, Nan. I helped build that grove, to protect the weirwood and our people. It’s a place of power and magic.”

There was a glint in Jon’s eyes that Nan had never seen before. It was the look of someone who had lived extraordinary experiences and spoke the truth believing in his words unwaveringly.

Old Nan sighed, putting her sewing aside. “You’ve always been a special boy, Jon. But this… this is beyond my understanding. Maybe I’m getting too old for these new adventures.”

“Maybe not, Nan, I want to take you and your family with me, I need someone to help the next generation know the North, I know of your wildling stories, but my people are different from what you tell here, and I need people to educate them, you will have a much more dignified life than here, I promise,” Jon added with a smile. Nan looked into his eyes, astonished, not by the stories he told, but she felt dizzy when she saw that unique green in his eyes that she had never seen in any Stark before.

Old Nan stopped sewing, her eyes fixed on Jon. The astonishment on her face was evident, not so much because of the stories he had told, but because of the intensity of his gaze, those gray eyes with a touch of green that she had never seen in any Stark. For a moment, the room seemed to spin as she tried to process Jon’s words.

“Take me with you?” she repeated, her voice trembling slightly. “Beyond the Wall? Oh, Jon, you’ve always been a dreamy boy, but this… this is too much.”

Jon gently held her hand, offering comfort. “It’s not a dream, Old Nan. It’s reality. And it’s a better life that I can offer you and your family. You’ve been more than a nursemaid to me and many Starks. You deserve peace and respect in your remaining days, away from the constraints of this castle.”

Nan looked at Arya, who was listening attentively by the side, her eyes full of admiration for her brother. Then, her gaze returned to Jon. “And the wildlings, the giants… all of that is real?”

Jon nodded seriously. “All real, Nan. And they are my people now. We’ve built a community, a kingdom called Arctica. And we need someone like you, who knows the old stories, to guide us.”

Old Nan remained silent for a long moment, absorbing each word. The idea of leaving Winterfell, her home for so many years, was frightening, but at the same time, Jon’s offer brought a sense of adventure and purpose that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I… I need to think, boy,” she finally said, her voice steadier. “It’s a big change, but… but I’m honored by your offer.”

Jon smiled, understanding. “Of course, Nan. Take the time you need while you’re here. I’m just offering a choice, a chance for a new life.”

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