The morning bell woke me from a dreamless sleep.
I rose, dressed in the grey wool tunic I had been given, and strapped my bastard sword to my hip. The Stark cloak I left folded on the straw mattress—it was too conspicuous for the training yard, and I didn't need the added attention. The torc stayed hidden beneath my tunic, a warm weight against my chest.
Through the bond, I felt Frost. He was still in the godswood, his golden eyes fixed on the heart tree. He had kept vigil all night. I sent a pulse of reassurance—Stay. Watch.—and felt his acknowledgment in return.
The yard was already alive when I arrived.
Rodrik Cassel stood at the center, barking orders at a group of young men. Robb Stark was among them, his auburn hair tied back, a practice sword in his hand. Theon Greyjoy lounged against a wooden post, his cocky grin firmly in place. A handful of other squires and guardsmen rounded out the group—boys my age or slightly older, their faces a mix of curiosity and wariness.
"Snow," Rodrik called out. "You're late."
"The bell just rang, ser."
"Then you should have been here before it rang." He gestured to the rack of practice swords. "Arm yourself. Today we see if you can do more than survive."
I selected a blunted blade—similar weight to my own sword, balanced if not elegant—and joined the circle.
Robb caught my eye and gave a small nod. Theon's grin widened. "Try not to embarrass yourself, Snow. The ladies are watching."
He jerked his chin toward the covered walkway that ran along the inner wall. Three figures stood there, half-hidden in the shadows of the stone arches. Sansa Stark, her auburn hair glowing even in the grey morning light. Arya Stark, smaller and darker, fidgeting with barely contained energy. And Jeyne Poole, the steward's daughter, whispering something in Sansa's ear.
The ladies are watching.
I ignored Theon and focused on Rodrik.
"Pair off," the old master-at-arms commanded. "Robb, you're with Snow. Theon, with Harwin. The rest of you, find a partner. I want to see footwork, not flailing. If I see anyone swinging that blade like a farmer's scythe, you'll run the walls until your legs fall off."
Robb stepped forward, his blue eyes meeting mine. "Ready?"
I raised my practice sword. "Ready."
We circled each other.
Robb was good. Better than good—he had been trained by Rodrik Cassel since he could hold a sword. His footwork was precise, his strikes controlled. He tested me with quick, probing attacks, watching how I responded.
I parried. Dodged. Gave ground when I needed to. My muscles burned, but Endurance 9 kept me standing. Perception 16 let me read the subtle shifts in his stance, the flicker of his eyes before he committed to a strike.
He lunged. I sidestepped and brought my blade around in a lateral cut. He blocked, but the impact jarred his arm. His eyes widened slightly.
"You're faster than you look," he said.
"I've had to be."
We clashed again. This time, he pressed harder. A flurry of strikes—high, low, thrust, slash. I blocked most, dodged the rest. One got through, glancing off my shoulder. The blunted steel stung, but I didn't fall.
Good. I'm learning.
In my mind, the ancient page flickered.
[Combat Training: Sparring with Robb Stark.]
[Skill Assessment: Defensive instincts improving. Offensive capabilities limited.]
[Progress: Novice Swordsman → Novice (Improved).]
[Hint: You are learning to read your opponent. Continue sparring with skilled partners to accelerate growth.]
Rodrik's voice cut through the yard. "Enough."
We broke apart, both breathing hard. Robb grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "You're not bad, Snow."
"Neither are you."
Theon sauntered over, his own sparring finished. "Not bad? He barely landed a hit."
"He blocked most of mine," Robb said. "That's more than you did last week."
Theon's grin faltered, then returned, sharper. "I was going easy on you."
"Of course you were."
Rodrik approached, his weathered face unreadable. He studied me for a long moment, then grunted. "Your footwork is still sloppy. You drop your left shoulder when you parry. And you think too much—by the time you've decided on a response, a faster opponent would have already killed you."
I nodded. "I'll work on it."
He grunted again. "See that you do. But..." He paused, as if the words cost him something. "You've got instincts. Raw, but there. With proper training, you might amount to something, Snow."
High praise from Rodrik Cassel.
"Thank you, ser."
"Don't thank me. Prove me right." He turned and barked at the other trainees. "What are you all standing around for? Back to work!"
The yard erupted into motion again.
I caught my breath near the water barrel, splashing cold water on my face. The sting was refreshing, grounding.
Robb joined me, his expression thoughtful. "Rodrik doesn't compliment people. Ever. He told me I swung like a girl with a broom for three years before he said anything positive."
"Maybe he's getting soft."
Robb laughed. "Don't let him hear you say that."
We stood in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Robb's eyes drifted toward the covered walkway, where the three girls still watched.
"Sansa's been asking about you," he said.
I kept my face neutral. "Asking what?"
"Who you are. Where you came from. Why you have a direwolf." He shrugged. "She's curious. She's always loved stories about mysterious strangers."
Curious. That's a start.
"And Arya?"
Robb's grin returned. "Arya wants to know if you'll teach her to fight. She saw you in the yard yesterday and hasn't stopped talking about it. Mother is furious."
I allowed myself a small smile. "I'm not sure your mother would approve of me teaching her daughter to fight."
"She doesn't approve of anything Arya does. That's half the reason Arya does it."
I looked up at the walkway. Sansa's eyes met mine for a brief moment—blue, curious, guarded. Then she looked away, whispering something to Jeyne Poole. Arya, meanwhile, was staring at me with undisguised fascination. When she saw me looking, she grinned and made a crude swinging motion with an imaginary sword.
The wolf blood, Ned had called it. Arya had it in abundance.
In my mind, the ancient page flickered.
[Relationship Update: Robb Stark.]
[Impression: Respectful, Curious, Friendly.]
[Hint: Robb values competence and honesty. He is open to friendship.]
[Relationship Update: Sansa Stark.]
[Impression: Curious, Guarded.]
[Hint: Sansa is drawn to mystery but wary of anything that might disrupt her world. Patience is required.]
[Relationship Update: Arya Stark.]
[Impression: Fascinated, Eager.]
[Hint: Arya sees in you a kindred spirit—someone who defies expectations. She will seek you out.]
I closed the notifications and looked at Robb. "Your sisters are... interesting."
He laughed. "That's one word for them." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Come on. Rodrik will have our heads if we stand around much longer."
We returned to the yard.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of steel and sweat. I sparred with Harwin, one of the older squires—a solid, methodical fighter who exposed more of my weaknesses. Then with Theon, who fought with flash and arrogance, trying to humiliate me. I held my own, though he landed more hits than I did.
He's skilled. But he's also predictable. He wants to look good more than he wants to win.
I filed that away for future use.
By the time Rodrik called an end to the session, my arms ached and my legs trembled. But beneath the exhaustion was something else. Satisfaction. I was learning. Growing. Becoming stronger.
This is how I'll survive. Not just by hiding and running. By fighting.
I returned my practice sword to the rack and splashed more water on my face. When I looked up, the walkway was empty. The girls were gone.
But I knew they would be back.
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