The First Step

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Jon

The snow fell relentlessly, blanketing the landscape in a thick layer of white. It piled up on the ground, reaching up to his neck as he trudged through it. Each step felt like he was wading through a frozen sea, the weight of the snow threatening to engulf him. He tilted his head back, gasping for air as he struggled to make his way through the sea of snow. He felt the cold on his fingers and his bones; his eyes felt heavy and cold, the sweetness of warmth moving away from his limbs, his heart beating on his ears like a trumpet, the snow's cruel grip on him, not wanting him to escape.

'Almost there,' he thought; he didn't know how long he had been walking; he could no longer feel his legs; he wasn't sure if it was because of exhaustion or the cold. His eyes looked at the sight before him; beyond the sea of snow, the most enormous Weirwood Tree he had ever seen stood in the distance. This one had the largest eyes he had ever seen, with a big hole below into the Tree like a large mouth, with thousands of body limbs inside, all frozen. The Tree's mouth twitched upwards, almost like a smile, happy with the feast presented to him.

Jon breathed heavily as he kept walking through the sea of snow. He didn't know why he was walking towards the Tree, but something told him he needed to reach it before it was too late.

When he felt it, the warmth returning slowly, he could move his fingers again, twitching like worms. The warmth slid inside his arms and fingers like a fire breathing inside him.

The snow was now just below his chest. He kept moving forward with more vigor, now only on his knees. The Weirwood Tree's crying red eyes looked at him with loathing. Its branches spread through the sky far and wide, almost covering the entire sky. Its branches were sharp like swords, and its skin was almost made of metal—a Tree of Suffering.

The sun was gone; all that remained was a black moon with a yellow outline around it. The moon had swallowed the sun, and blood dripped down from the bottom into the horizon far beyond.

Jon felt the winds of winter against his face, cold and sharp like knives. Now, the snow was only a foot deep. With his arms around his face as shields, he pushed forward.

He finally reached a large clearing around the enormous Weirwood Tree, falling on his knees from exhaustion.

His mouth was wide open when he saw her, beautiful and pale, with the bluest eyes he had ever seen and hair as white as snow. She held an ice spear in her hand and spared him a glance, and Jon felt a rush of cold in his body, the warmth leaving him once again.

Cold, too cold, he thought, panic, he tried to move, scream, cry, talk, but he couldn't move, he couldn't talk. But he could still see; he saw her, and now he saw more ice figures appearing from behind the Tree, wearing armor made of ice, but one caught his eye. One of them was different. This man wore a black cloak and had long dark hair; unlike the rest, his eyes were red like blood, and his skin wasn't pale. The man cupped the cheeks of the pale woman; their smiles sent a shiver in Jon's heart like a dagger.

They reached the front of the Weirwood Tree, edging towards the wide open mouth, and grabbed the human limbs inside.

Arms, Legs, Heads, and the upper body. Jon watched as they laid the limbs on the snowy ground. Slowly, a small pile of limbs formed, looking like a half ball, but what caught his eyes were the arms placed around the pile. The arms formed eight lines around the pile: four straight lines on the right side and the same on the left side. They seemed like eight long legs spreading from the pile of body pieces.

Jon breathed heavily when he felt a horn echoing through the world. The yellow outline around the dark moon disappeared, swallowed by the moon. The sky turned darker and darker until the World was No More.

Jon blinked his eyes open, and he felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder; in front of him was Lady Bella looking down on him; for a moment, he was confused as to why she was in his chamber; his Grandmother was always the one to wake him up when he felt his body shake once again, this time it wasn't her.

He looked around, only now remembering where he was. He lifted his head up, and for a moment, he feared he was back at the dream because of the snow that engulfed everything around them, but his eyes caught sight of the Breakstone Hill, the castle of House Flint, in the distance.

The castle was built on the bottom of a small hall on the northern mountains of the North near the Wall. Only the Last Hearth was further North.

The castle seemed like part of the hill, much taller than Winterfell, with bridges, watchtowers, and gates. While riding to the castle, they passed through many villages in the territory of House Flint. The villagers answered to the castle's ruler, his great-grandfather. While riding through them, he saw hundreds of houses, livestock eating grass from the fields, and snow removed by villagers so their livestock could eat.

"My lord, how do you feel about meeting Lord Flint?" Lady Bella's motherly voice made him escape his thoughts, but he found himself with no answer to give her.

Jon didn't know what to think of the man. His Grandmother had warned him to be respectful towards him and not be afraid of him. Jon wondered why he would be afraid of his own blood. His Grandmother was in her late forties, and his great-grandfather must be much older, perhaps in his early sixties, so why would he be afraid of an old man?

After passing through the villages, they entered a forest with no end. The trees were so tall that they seemed taller than the tallest tower of Winterfell.

He remembered his Grandmother telling him that there used to be houses built on top of trees many centuries ago. The Clan Flint used to live on top of trees. Jon had looked up until his neck started hurting in hopes of seeing a treehouse, but much to his disappointment, there was no treehouse in sight. Eventually, he got tired, and Lady Bella offered for him to rest his 'little' head on her lap, as she liked to call it sometimes.

His Grandmother had warned him that she would wake him up if he didn't wake up himself when they reached the castle. Lady Bella had read a fairytale book until he fell asleep, but now that he was awake, he stood up on his little legs, trying to balance himself when the wagon passed through a hole in the road, shaking like a leaf. Jon almost fell with his face if it wasn't for Lady Bella, who quickly grabbed his arm, keeping him on his feet.

Soon, the Wagon passed through the terrain. Jon let out a yawn. Standing on his little legs, he felt someone's hand behind his back as if brushing something off. "Lady Bella?"

"Dirt on your back, Lord Jon." She said sweetly, turning him around before doing the same to his front.

Lady Bella was an attractive, fair-skinned woman of medium height with a slender build. She had large, dark eyes, long dark hair tied loosely hanging on her right shoulder with bangs on each side, and only a few short hairs kept loose on her forehead. She wore a cream-colored sweater with frilled sleeves, a long red skirt with a white apron, and small tan boots.

"Just Jon," he reminded her with a cheeky smile. She giggled before tenderly kissing his cheek. This was not the first time he had told her to call him by name instead of 'Lord Jon.'

I'm not a Lord, Jon thought bitterly. The excitement about visiting his Grandmother's home suddenly melted away like ice. He remembered why he was here: He had insulted Lady Stark. He hadn't meant to do that. He would never have played the stupid game if he had known what would have happened.

Because of that, he and Robb needed to split up; he wondered what his brother was doing right now. Jon wished he could play with him, talk to Maester Luwin about Dragons like they used to, and talk with his father about Winterfell and the North, but all that was taken away from him because he said the wrong thing.

It was just a game, he reminded himself. Lady Stark should have known he didn't really mean his words. Did he? Jon felt confused. He wanted the name Stark. He wanted that and more. He knew that the Southerners who worked in Winterfell always gave him looks as if he was a bomb that was about to go off.

But as if she could read his mind, Lady Bella took hold of his cheek and playfully pulled it, just enough to make him escape his gloomy thoughts; when he realized what she was doing, he quickly shook his head, trying to make her stop.

"I'm not a kid anymore." He shouted exasperated, trying to sound like his father. His father was the Lord of Winterfell; an example, he always wanted to sound like him, but being only four years old didn't do him any favors on sounding like the Lord of Winterfell; instead, Lady Bella thought he looked adorable instead of intimidating.

"You are right. You are a grown man. Soon, you will be old enough to ride your own horse and fight in battles like the Heroes of Westeros or Daeron Targaryen, the Young Dragon." Jon's face brightened. Daeron was his favourite Targaryen Prince. The Prince had no Dragons but still managed to conquer Dorne, even if only for three years.

Jon could almost imagine himself holding Ice, his father's Valyrian Steel sword, and riding to battle with Robb behind him.

"Yes, and I will defend the North from its enemies—the squid, the lions, and everyone." Jon agreed with her. Lady Bella's laughter echoed through the forest. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand when they both heard the sound of snow crunching. Only now did he realize the wagon had stopped moving.

Jon looked up. His Grandmother's grey eyes looked at him with warmth. She was riding her red horse until she was next to the wagon that Jon and Lady Bella had been using for some time now.

"We have arrived, Jon. Come. Lady Bella, make sure all Jon's clothes are brought to his chamber." Jon did as he was told; he grabbed the wooden barrier around the wagon, and with a push of his legs and hands, he jumped over it and down to the snow below; for a moment, he almost panicked when his legs sank one foot deep. His Grandmother had told him the snow was much deeper this far north, and the wind felt like it had teeth.

With a little difficulty, Jon walked up to his Grandmother, grabbing her hand, as they reached the gates of Breakstone Hill. The gate was a large old piece of wood, taller than the walls of Winterfell. With two watchtowers on the top, reaching fifteen meters high, and a much taller and larger watchtower a bit further away, this one reached thirty meters high.

"Who's there?" the guard shouted, his voice carried away by the cold wind. Jon felt a shudder; despite being raised on Winterfell, he had never felt so cold.

"I'm Lady Lyarra Stark Flint; open the gates before I smash your heads," his Grandmother shouted firmly, sounding like a bear. The guards laughed with one another before giving the signal.

For a moment, Jon feared they would rain them down with arrows, but all fear disappeared when he heard the sound of the gate opening. As the rusted gate creaked open, bits of snow cascaded down from its top, reminiscent of a slumbering beast finally awoken from its icy slumber. The sound of the gate's opening reverberated throughout the castle walls, reaching far beyond its boundaries.

Jon almost closed his ears, but as the door opened, many people appeared before them; they seemed to have been waiting for them.

Many looked like servants, soldiers, squires, and the old Maester, but this one seemed younger than Maester Luwin, with more hair on his head and fewer wrinkles on his face. But what caught his eyes was the man standing in front of all of them.

Jon was sure he was looking at a bear standing up on his back feet when he saw him but quickly noticed that it was just a large cloak made of bear fur; the upper jaw of the bear loomed over the head of this man, as if the bear was alive, and the man's head was inside the mouth. This man had a long dark beard; his head was bald, and he was so large and tall that he almost seemed like a wall.

He seemed three times as big as his father; this man was taller than Ice, the Valyrian Steel Sword, and had a large axe strapped to his back. His arms were hidden behind the bear cloak he was wearing, and his shoulders seemed large and muscular despite the cloak he was wearing to cover himself. His chest seemed enormous despite the boiled leather he was wearing to cover it. Jon didn't know how tall this man was, but he seemed to be at least three meters tall, as big and wide as a bear.

Jon felt a gentle push from behind, encouraging him to walk forward towards the group of strangers to introduce himself. He knew they wouldn't do anything to him, but the man in the front, his harsh face, looked nothing like he expected.

He expected someone with a kind, old, and wise face like Maester Luwin, but the man in front of him seemed like a bear made Man. Despite the gentle push from his Grandmother, he wasn't really sure if he wanted to get closer.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. He is just my father. He won't hurt you," Jon knew he could always believe his Grandmother, so taking a deep breath, he took the first step forward. The second one was easier, and the third one was even easier, as were the fourth and fifth ones.

Soon, he was right in front of the man; he cranked up his neck to the point that looking up at his face was uncomfortable for his neck.

"Father!" His Grandmother greeted him warmly and hugged him. The man kissed the crown of her head tenderly before turning his attention to Jon, who, despite being under the cold gaze of his red eyes, wasn't too afraid of him. His legs were shaking, but he wasn't sure who was at fault—the cold or this enormous man.

"Father, this is your great-grandson, Jon Snow." His Grandmother said with a smile of pride, but his great-grandfather didn't seem to share her pride; instead, he kneeled down to his level and looked him in the eyes.

"What is your name, boy?" His voice was harsh, firm, and very deep, like the roar of a beast deep inside a cave.

"Jon Snow, Great Grandfather," Jon answered right away like he was in front of a commander; the man stood up, once again looking like a wall instead of a man.

"Call me Great Grandfather, or use my name, Anden. Whatever you like. The food is served when it is served; your Grandmother will tell you when but don't expect to eat a scrap of food if you get late. And tomorrow, you will start your training. Do you hear me, Boy?" Jon was sure his great-grandfather didn't like him for some reason, but his voice was enough for him to straighten himself up like a soldier and nod repeatedly.

Jon was eagerly led through the towering gates of the castle, his heart racing with anticipation as he stepped inside. As he crossed the threshold, he was greeted by a grand hall, its high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings and sparkling chandeliers. In every direction, three grand staircases beckoned him. But it was the walls of the hall that truly captured Jon's attention, for they were adorned with vivid depictions of battles from a time long past. Amongst the chaos and destruction, one painting stood out amongst the rest - a portrayal of a man wielding a flaming sword, his intense gaze fixed upon a Weirwood Tree that he was slashing with his weapon.

Jon remembered the Tree from his dream, but this one was much smaller in comparison. A guard walked up to him, his face cloaked by the helmet, but he could see a smile behind his face.

"Follow me, my Lord. I Will lead you to your chamber," the soldier said. Jon looked at his Grandmother. He had hoped that she would show him the chamber, but it seemed she was discussing with her father on the other side of the hall, and from how red her face had gone, he figured it wasn't a pleasant one.

"Don't worry, my Lord. Lord Anden might appear harsh, but he's very kind." Jon doubted it; the man didn't seem kind to him, but he still followed the soldier behind. The walking to his Chamber felt like a fever dream; he kept looking around the castle, trying to memorize this place. He knew he would stay here for a year after all; he knew he needed to learn the castle. Otherwise, he could get lost and miss the food when it was served.

Eventually, they reached the castle's guest chambers. Once the door opened, Jon was a little taken aback. He had expected his great-grandfather to give him a bad room to sleep in, and the best-case scenario was a room as good as the one in Winterfell. But the room before him was even better than the one in Winterfell.

A neatly nestled bed occupies the far right corner. The bed was adorned with blankets crafted from the soft fur of forest creatures, such as deer and bear, providing both warmth and a touch of rustic charm. A plush pillow beckoned from atop the bed. The floor of the chamber was lined with a plush brown carpet. As the fire roared in the hearth, its flickering flames casting a warm glow across the room, Jon could not help but feel content. The embers danced playfully within the hearth's mouth while a stack of chopped wood stood nearby, ready to be added to the fire should Jon need to stoke its flames on a chilly night.

Two twin swords were attached to the Wall like a decoration; Jon wondered if they were still sharp. Reaching the ceiling on the far left side was a long shelf filled with books. Jon knew what he could do during the night. Maester Luwin had taught him how to read, and he had used that to his advantage many times against Robb.

The thought of Robb dropped Jon's mood a little, but Jon refused to feel down right now. He would be here for a whole year; there was no point in crying about it. As his great-grandmother had told him many times, he needed to make the best of every situation.

"If you are in a bad situation, crying about it will not fix it. Always try to make the best of every situation you are in."

With that in mind, Jon walked into the chamber; he could feel the warmth on his face from the fire; he walked up to the bed; it was almost as tall as him, and with a push of his legs and hands, he climbed up with a little difficulty.

"Thank you for leading me here, good ser, but where's my grandmother's chamber?" Jon asked if he needed her. This was a new castle; what if he got scared during the night?

"Lady Flint's chamber is down the hall to the right, and Lady Bella's chamber is to the left, up a staircase, and there you should find her chamber." The soldier answered; Jon nodded in understanding. He was feeling better now but still had other questions.

"Where's my great grandfather's chamber?" Jon asked. He didn't want to go there by mistake, and knowing where it was would help him avoid it.

"Lord Flint's chamber is on the Lord's Tower, my Lord. You need to walk down the hall, and turn right. You should walk across a bridge that leads to another part of the castle, in that part, there's a large tower, and the round staircase should lead you to his chamber." The soldier answered without missing a beat. Jon breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he couldn't accidentally walk by his chamber.

"What's your name?" Jon suddenly asked, wanting to know the name of the kind soldier. The man chuckled, and a smile grew on his face.

"My name is Derek, my Lord. I'm the Maester At Arms of Breakstone Hill. So I can't wait to train you tomorrow. It's been some time since I trained someone so young." The man answered. He lingered for a moment longer, waiting to see if Jon wanted to ask more questions, but he told him that he could leave now, and he did as he was told, closing the door before he left.

Now that he was alone, Jon repeated the word he had heard. Train tomorrow, he thought. His Grandmother had told him that he would train here for the future; she had even told him that his great-grandfather would watch over and train him.

Jon remembered how he looked and wondered if he could ever become as big as him. Jon tried to imagine himself like him but quickly got rid of such thoughts. While being so strong might have its uses, he always preferred speed over strength; Robb was the one who liked strength, not him.

Knowing he had nothing better to do, Jon stood up from the bed and walked over to the shelf. It was so tall that there was a ladder to help with the books he couldn't reach, but the one he wanted was within his reach.

"The Dragons of Valyria." As he opened the book, his eyes brightened, and the book had drawings of dragons. His little legs ran towards his bed; soon enough, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the book resting on his lap as he read page after page. The book said that it is suspected that some people from Old Valyria went through rituals to control the dragons like their own, and some resorted to dark magic, including the consumption of Dragon hearts that were said to give the person the ability to talk with the Dragons of Old.

Jon wondered what a Dragon heart would taste like. It might taste worse than lemons, he thought as he flipped through the pages, but something on the next page caught his eye.

The Drawing of this one Dragon was strange. Usually, the dragons of House Targaryen and even those in Valyria had the same body structure: two back Legs, wings that could be used to stand on, a tail, and a head.

But this Dragon had two sets of legs and wings, and his head had long spikes at the back. Who are you? Jon wondered, but the moment he heard the door opening, he closed the book and turned to see Lady Bella walking inside.

While he enjoyed her company, he wondered where his Grandmother was, and as if she could read his mind, she smiled sweetly as always.

"Lady Stark is still discussing with her father, my Lord. I'm sure you can talk with her when we go to the common hall." She said with a motherly voice. Jon wondered if she knew what they were talking about but decided to ask his Grandmother himself once he had the chance.

He looked around and saw a piece of thin wood. He placed it on the page he had been reading before closing the book and letting it rest on the bed. He could continue once he was done eating.

Reaching the common hall took longer than it did back in Winterfell. The castle had three main structures built inside the Walls of the Castle, the center one being the most important one. Jon and Lady Bella had to walk through many corridors to reach the common hall finally. Upon entering, Jon couldn't help but notice that this one seemed much simpler than the one in Winterfell but still quite beautiful.

Tapestries ran across the walls, with drawings of places of the North, but the one that caught his eye was the drawing of a woman with long black hair; her drawing was the one right above his great grandfather's head.

He sat above everyone else on the high table. Two tables were set on the right and left sides, and the high tables stood three stairs higher than the lower tables.

His great-grandfather sat on top of an enormous chair-like throne; this time, he wasn't wearing his bear cloak but much simpler clothes, but still, his size baffled Jon. He wondered how the chair could even handle his weight. Now that he wasn't the bear cloak, he could see the man wasn't fat. All his size was all muscle.

As he walked across the hall, he noticed that everyone's eyes were on him; since they were all eating, no one was wearing a helmet.

He could see that almost every man here had a dark and brown beard. The servants had sat on a lower table, but even they paused to look at him.

Jon wondered why. He was no Prince. Hell, he wasn't even a Lord, so why so much attention on him? Without saying a word, Jon walked upstairs. His Grandmother was sitting beside her father. Jon breathed in relief, knowing he could talk with her and, perhaps with her help, have a conversation with his great-grandfather.

A servant was ready to scoot out a chair for him, but he quickly dismissed her with a wave of his hand, still giving her a smile of appreciation.

"Lord Flint, you have a very beautiful castle." Jon said with courtesy the moment he sat down, remembering what both Lady Bella and his Grandmother had told him to say every time he talked with a lord.

"You haven't seen everything, Boy. You should one day come to my chambers. It's the highest tower of this ugly castle, but the view is one you can see only from the top of the Wall." His great-grandfather said with a smile so small that he couldn't tell if he was really smiling.

Jon wasn't sure if he wanted to go to his chambers. A side of him told him that he had no reason to fear his own great-grandfather, his own blood, but the man was huge and scary. He quickly noticed that he had brought the axe with him, which was hanging upside down from the back of the chair, kept floating by a thin leather band that went from the top to the bottom of the axe.

However, one thing that caught his attention was his words about the Wall. "Have you been to the Wall, Great Grandfather?" His Grandmother didn't seem pleased that he seemed so interested, but he ignored her as his great-grandfather took a large bite of a chicken leg.

For a moment, Jon was sure he would eat the bone, too, but instead, he threw the bone to three hounds guarding the hall. The three quickly started fighting one another for the bone, but their little fight was immediately stopped the moment Anden slammed his hand on the table; the hounds stopped right away, and the entire table shook under the strength of his fist.

"Yeah, climbed the damn thing from bottom to the top. The Old Bear wasn't happy with me, though, saying they had mistaken me for a Free Folk." The man explained before letting out a fit of laughter, which was quickly followed by many other soldiers who slammed the bottom of their cups on the table. Jon couldn't fathom how someone could climb a two-hundred-meter wall and knew the man wasn't lying.

"You climbed the Wall?!" Jon shouted, astonished.

"So did your grandmother when she was only twelve name days." He boasted, and for the first time, he looked proud. Jon was even more shocked; he looked at her with a look of betrayal; why she hadn't told him before?

"We from House Flint learn to climb first before walking Jon. Trust me, you will be able to climb the Wall too by the time you reach twelve name days." The hall roared with cheers, reaching the high ceiling upon hearing her declaration about Jon climbing the Wall by himself.

"To Jon. To Jon. To Jon." Everyone shouted the windows shook with their voice, and Jon found himself sinking in his seat; having so many people shouting his name, his face burned like flames, and his little heart swelled with joy.

He wondered if this was how Robb felt as the Heir of Winterfell. Jon liked this feeling, having so many people shout his name like this; no one here looked at him like some looked at him at Winterfell; instead of disdain, doubt, and suspicion, they all looked at him like he was one of them, despite not knowing him.

Eventually, the cheers quieted down, and Jon's stomach growled with hunger as he gazed at the succulent chicken baked in clay before him, adorned with juicy lemons, fragrant green herbs, and a dash of fiery red powder. With a determined hunger, he reached for a leg and sank his teeth into the tender meat, savoring the burst of flavors that danced on his tongue - a perfect blend of sweetness, spiciness, and bitterness akin to a refreshing lemon. As the taste of garlic lingered on his lips, Jon couldn't help but relish in the melting sensation of the delicious morsel in his mouth.

But as he was eating, he wondered how he would be able to climb the Wall.

"Boy, have you ever used any weapon?" Jon swallowed the piece of chicken meat before answering.

"No. The Maester At Arms, Ser Rodrik at Winterfell said that we are not ready until we are six years old." Jon answered. His great-grandfather rolled his large eyes. Drinking wine from the cup in front of him, he wiped his lips with his sleeve before looking at him once again.

"Well, that changes tomorrow. Derek is my Maester At Arms. He will show you how to handle a blade and train you to become a man. Lady Bella will teach you how to cook, and you will help Ana with the apples tomorrow." Jon opened his mouth to protest. That sounded like a lot, but he quickly closed it. He didn't want to disappoint him; this was his castle, he didn't want to anger him.

Jon's only answer was silence. The rest of the dinner went smoothly. One of the guards started telling them how one day he had fought against a Long-Faced Bear, but Jon was sure he was lying. Long-Faced Bears were three meters to five meters tall, but the soldier quickly showed everyone a nasty wound under his shirt; five slash marks went from his waist to his right shoulder, and the skin had darkened near the slash marks.

Soon enough, the time to go to bed came, and Jon was led there by his great-grandfather, who loomed over him like a giant. His footsteps felt heavy and loud.

Jon had heard tales of giants beyond the Wall; he had thought of them as nothing but fairy tales, but now, looking at his great-grandfather, he wasn't so sure anymore. After all, the man was three meters tall and as wide as a bear. Their walk was done in silence; Jon preferred it this way: he expected the man to leave the chamber once he walked inside his chamber. Instead, he closed the door, grabbed a nearby chair, and placed it beside his bed.

"Tell me, boy, are you afraid of me?" Jon opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out. Whatever he had wanted to say was stuck in his throat; what was he supposed to say? He knew he shouldn't say 'Yes,' but it seemed his great-grandfather knew what he was thinking.

"Tell me, Boy. What do you think makes a Prince, a Prince?" The question felt a little random, and Jon wondered why he was asking that. It was not like he was a prince or anything.

"...Ahh, being born in the Royal Family," Jon answered with a slight shrug; everyone knew that.

"Yes, and according to the rules of our society. The sons and daughters of the King and the Queen are Prince and Princess, but do you think that is enough to make them worthy of that title?" Jon didn't know how to answer that. His mind went to Robb. Well, he wasn't a prince, but he was the Heir of Winterfell, almost a Prince. Jon was sure Robb was worthy of Winterfell; if not him, who else?

"...well, they are born-" "I know that, Boy, but being born as the Heir doesn't make you or anyone worthy of anything; you were born lucky enough. That's all. Luck was on your side. Prince Joffrey Baratheon will one day become King, and even if he's a moron and a coward, he will still become the King because he was Lucky to be born as Heir, as you were born lucky, Boy." His words made him stand up on his legs; his eyes burned, remembering all the bad words, the stares, the glare of Lady Stark, and the way she had slapped him.

"How am I Lucky?! I'm a Bastard, a Stain-" "Silence," His great grandfather spoke firmly; Jon closed his mouth right away, his eyes burned again, now looking down at his legs as he sank on his knees.

"Look at me." Jon shook his head, hugging his legs, and felt a shudder as if one of the windows was open and letting the cold wind of the North inside. His eyes burned with unshed tears.

"Boy. When I said you are born lucky. I Meant it, tell me how many bastards have you meet?"

"...I haven't met any my Lord, Robb is the only one of my age that I know."

"Right, and how do you think they are raised? Do you think they all have a castle where they are raised along with the true-born siblings of their fathers?" His tone, Jon knew he was mocking him, but his words made him look up at him. He never really thought of that; he knew there were other Bastards out there, but he had never really thought about how they were raised; he figured their father had made sure to take care of them as his own father had done.

"They are raised in the streets, Boy. There are thousands of bastards in Westeros, not counting Dorne. And they all need to fight every day for every scrap of food, and meat, many of them have never taste it. Who teaches them how to fight, do you think they all have a Maester At Arms ready to teach them once they reach six years old." Jon didn't know what to say, and he couldn't help but feel ashamed. Only now realizing that his life could have been much harsher if his father had left him on his own, he would have never met Robb, Maester Luwin, his Grandmother, and everyone else; he might not have even known that Lord Stark was his father, he would have never learned how to talk with manners, read and write.

"They have no one to teach them how to read, so becoming Maesters is out of the question. They are not taught anything, not how to even grow their own food. This forces them to steal from people, they might escape the justice for some time, but eventually, they will make the Mistake, and they will be given two options. Loosing the arm they used to steal, or to The Wall, and guess which one they choose." Jon listened to his every word.

"You, you are born more lucky than most people in Westeros, boy, you have the chance to show that you have more than just luck on your side, that you are willing to put in the work. If you think that everything should be given to you on a silver platter, then you are wrong. Aegon and his sister wives conquered Westeros, but The Dance of the Dragons, The Blackfyre Rebellion, The Mad King proved that being born the Heir doesn't make you worthy of anything. King Viserys made foolish decisions, and Rhaenyra made the people hate her because she raised taxes and let them starve, and the many people that died during the War. Aegon the Fourth, he was jealous of his Heir, so in his death bed made a decision that he knew would start a war, but he did it because of how much he hated that his Heir was everything he wanted to be but wasn't. The Mad King, well, I don't think I need to tell you what that man did." Jon had fallen silent; he didn't know what to say until he felt his big hand on top of his head; his hand alone was bigger than his hand.

"I made this for you, consider it your first weapon." On his left hand was a small hunting knife with a wooden handle, the blade sharp, and the tip glittered under the light of the fire. Reluctantly, Jon grabbed the handle. Despite its small size, it was quite heavy.

"Thank you, Great Grandfather." Jon said, for the first time, he smiled at him. Now that his face was in front of him, he could see his neck had slash marks across its skin, as did his forehead, his right ear missing the tip.

"Tomorrow, I will wake you up personally, it's time for you to know how this world works. Good Night, Boy." Jon felt a little annoyed that he did not want to call him anything but 'Boy.'

Jon could hear nothing but the fire roaring in the hearth. He was ready to lie down when he heard approaching footsteps. He wondered why his great-grandfather was returning when the door opened. An arm holding a tea light candle slid inside through the opening, and his Grandmother's grey eyes looked at him as she walked inside.

"Grandma." Jon was overjoyed as they shared a hug. They hadn't really talked much the whole day, and only now had he realized that he had missed her.

"My sweet Boy. Do you like your new chamber?" She kissed both of his cheeks as she asked. Before placing the tealight candle on top of the table near his bed, she sat beside him, his head resting on her shoulder, her hand playing with his hair, something he enjoyed.

"Yes, Grandmother. But is he angry with me?" Jon asked, wondering if he had done something to offend him. His Grandmother immediately knew who he was talking about as she heaved a weary sigh.

"No, my sweet Boy, he is not mad at you, he is mad at...father is simply too old. That's all." Jon didn't know why, but he was sure she was lying to him, or at least not telling him the whole truth.

Jon wanted to ask what she wasn't telling him, but he held his tongue. He knew she would tell him everything eventually.

"Ahh, I see. So, you climbed the Wall when you were twelve?" Jon asked with a look of awe. He had never been to the Wall, but he was old enough to know that what she had done was beyond amazing.

His Grandmother giggled, almost like a little girl. "Is almost like a tradition for our House, for the Heir of House Flint to climb the Wall alone. My father first climbed the Wall when he was fourteen years old, and I did it on my twelve name day because I thought I would impress House Stark more if I had climbed the Wall. My father was proud of me, saying I was the youngest wall climber of House Flint, a title we get only after climbing the Wall." She explained with a distant look as if remembering a time when things were simpler.

"Will I have to climb the Wall, too?" Jon asked with a slight stutter. He tried to imagine it, but he had no idea how much was two hundred meters; it sounded like a lot.

"Only if you want to, Jon. My father won't force you; no one will. Now, it's time for you to sleep, and don't worry. You are safe here." She kissed his forehead as he lay down on the bed on his back.

"Good night, grandmother." Jon closed his eyes, quickly falling into a deep slumber.

Tomorrow

"Boy." Jon opened his eyes right away. His legs moved on their own, and before he realized it, he had stood up from the bed. His great-grandfather seemed pleased that he had no complaints.

"Follow me." Jon yawned. His limbs felt a little tired, but he quickly changed his clothes before running outside.

Soon, they walked into the Training Yard. Jon heard the cry of a rooster from afar. Since it was so early in the morning, no one else was in the Training Yard except him, the Maester At Arms, and his great-grandfather. Jon felt his eyes heavy, but he tried hard to ignore them as he walked deeper into the training yard.

The Training Yard was a sprawling expanse divided into five distinct round fields, each dedicated to a unique form of training. Towering three meters high, a formidable wall of bricks and mortar bisected the fields, providing a clear separation between the various practices. Strategically placed within the wall were sturdy doors, the only means of accessing the neighboring fields and their specialized exercises.

On this side of the field, there stood nine wooden boards with a desk in front of them full of items to clean the weapons; the weapons were held there on the boards like decorations, from swords, shields, knives, axes, hammers, hatches, bows, and other weapons.

"Jon, are you right-handed or left-handed?" Jon was happy that Derek didn't call him 'Lord Jon' like Lady Bella called him.

"Right-handed, Derek," Jon answered with a friendly smile as he walked up to one of the boards, looking at the weapons; they all seemed pretty. Jon wished Robb had been here right now to see all of this with him; it would have been funny to see his face.

"Lucky you; I'm right-handed, too. Today is your first day, so I Want you to choose a weapon you like and hit that dummy over there," Derek instructed before pointing at the straw-made dummy with a smile drawn on its face.

Jon couldn't keep a smile from his face. He was certain that Robb would only train with weapons once he reached six years old. Jon could already imagine his expression when he showed how much he had advanced within a year. With that in mind, Jon tried to grab a longsword from the board but could hardly move it an inch.

"Try the dagger I gave you, that sword is bigger than you, boy." Jon did as he was told; he walked up to the dummy and started hitting different places. He expected them to say something, to tell him when he needed to stop, but they never said anything. Instead, he kept using the dagger; with every stab, bits of straw left the dummy until his hands got exhausted, his hands felt sore, and his fingers felt like they had frozen around the wooden handle; he kept using the dagger for a whole hour, only then he was interrupted.

"Good job, boy, now your duty is to hit Derek with that dagger." Jon whirled around, looking at the Lord like he had gone mad.

"But I-I might hurt him." Jon didn't want to think it, the thought of his dagger accidentally stabbing his stomach; he could almost see the blood when Derek gave him a wink with his friendly smile.

"No worries, little warrior; you won't hit me." Jon still was unsure about this, but he decided to do what he was told.

He tried to hit him with less speed than usual, but Derek quickly avoided the attack without any problem. Jon arched an eyebrow. His moves were fast, moves that one would expect from a dancer, not a fighter, before he tried again, again, and again.

Now, using almost all his speed, Derek easily avoided all his attacks. At one point, his eyes were closed entirely, and he was still dodging every attack. Jon tried to be faster. Suddenly, Derek grabbed his right hand, and with a quick kick from behind, Jon fell on his back. Thankfully, the one-foot-deep snow was a blessing. His back didn't hurt, but he couldn't help but feel frustrated. Derek was toying with him.

He is mocking me, Jon thought.

"You know if the dummy had a mouth, he would be laughing with you right now." Derek japed as he extended his hand towards Jon, but he stood up by himself. His hands burned badly from using the knife for so long.

"Boy, you are still afraid that you might harm the moron. Take this one." Jon looked up to see a wooden knife; the design was the same. Jon grabbed it with shaky hands; his skin had torn a little around his thumb and palm from holding the knife and using it for one hour without stopping.

"Now, try again." The next three hours were a complete humiliation.

Now that he was using a wooden knife, Jon didn't hold back, but despite everything he tried, he couldn't hit Derek, who kept his eyes closed all the time. By the end, Jon was at the end of his rope, his hands burned, and he had made no progress.

Until, eventually he lost his temper and attacked with all the strength he had left, screaming in anger, but Derek quickly kicked him behind the legs once again. Jon found himself feeling shameful. He had done nothing and showed nothing.

"You have done well, boy." Jon didn't know how, but he stood up, ignoring the burning sensation he felt on every part of his body, his face red with anger as he looked up at him with fury.

"I Failed. I FAILED." Jon screamed, hot tears running down his cheeks. He quickly looked away, wiping them away with his sleeve.

"Yes, you failed. So. Do you think we never failed? When I was your age, I was still afraid to look under the bed because I thought a monster lived there." His great-grandfather said sincerely and with a look of understanding. Jon didn't know why, but he laughed out loud at the thought. How could a man as big as him ever be afraid? He figured his great-grandfather wasn't always like a bear.

"Now, try again, but this time, think about what you are doing. Let your mind be calm." Jon swallowed a breath, his eyes burning, before turning to face Derek, whose eyes were still closed. Jon almost took a step forward right away when he noticed something. The snow was scattered around them from their movements.

He can hear the snow crunching, Jon concluded. Now, he looked at the footprints left and noticed that some areas had barely any snow left.

Jon quickly moved around him, swinging his wooden knife at him. Derek still easily dodged all of them, but Jon wiped away the snow with his feet, using it like a shovel, until there was a piece of land without snow. Jon quickly stepped heavily on the snow to his left, using all his weight on that step, causing Derek to move his head to his own left, ready to dodge, but his right step was on the land without snow and much quicker.

"What?!" Derek yelled in surprise when he felt a sharp pain on his arm; he quickly opened his eyes to see a fresh cut with droplets of blood leaking out.

"I DID IT!!" Jon shouted, jumping up and down. He looked at his great-grandfather, who gave him a nod of approval, while Derek used a napkin with alcohol to clean the cut.

"Good job, Jon. I Will be honest. I Didn't think you would have done this for at least a week." Derek praised him. Jon felt all the exhaustion melt away. His hands still ached badly, but what he was feeling right now was all worth it. It felt better than when his birthday came.

"Indeed, now, it's time to break our fast." His great-grandfather ordered them both. Jon followed behind, still feeling joy from his small victory.

When he sat down to eat, the food had never tasted sweeter.

Night

' Jon couldn't really tell where he was as he opened his eyes, looking around in confusion, in one moment he was sleeping in his chamber, now he was in a strange chamber. This one seemed much grander than any other chamber he had ever been, with too many tapestries decorating the walls, carpets covered the entire floor. He expected to feel the cold on his bare feet, instead he felt warmth, like a warm blanket hugging him, the air itself felt much warmer than that of the North. This chamber had two large windows that looked like the 'U' letter.

"Grandmother!?" Jon called her out, waiting for her to answer, when he heard a gasp, he quickly whirled around, he hadn't noticed the large canopy bed behind him, and on top of it was a girl, older than him.

"Who are you, how did you get here?" The girl shouted, using her blanket to cover herself, like a way of defending herself.

"I Don't know, have you seen my grandmother? I don't know how I got here." Jon pleaded, as he looked around, wherever he was, it was night, and the only source of light was the candle on top of the candle holders on the walls near the bed.

"Your grandmother!" The girl said in confusion letting go of the blade she had been holding, but this time, Jon noticed something, her accent, she didn't sound Northern. Jon looked at her again, and this time she wasn't hiding, instead she had crawled to the front of the bed, looking at him from upclose, only now, they both saw each other's purple eyes.

"You have eyes like mine, mine are purple too." Jon quickly pointed out excitedly, the girl giggled, now no longer feeling wary of him, she stood up from the bed, her clothes didn't seem like the kind of clothes a Northern girl would wear, if he didn't know any better, based on her olive skin, she wore clothes from Dorne. Jon quickly remembered that he had yet to introduce himself.

"My name is Jon." He said, extending his hand towards her in a friendly way. The girl looked at him, before looking down at his hand.

"I'm still not sure if I'm dreaming, but your eyes remind me of Kepa." The girl said with a sad smile, pointing at his eyes, Jon knew Valyrian enough to know she said 'Father.' But this confused him even more, his father's eyes were grey, not purple.

"Who are you?" Jon asked once again, still looking around, he saw a door that most likely lead outside. He quickly walked up to it, but as he grabbed the handle, it wasn't opening no matter how hard he tried.

"My name is Rhae, Rhae Sand." She said sweetly from behind him as he stopped trying to open the door, he turned around to face her, Jon couldn't help but smile back, he didn't know why, but he felt like he had seen her before.

"Do you want to become friends?" Jon was certain this whole thing was a dream, but this girl, she felt real, he was sure she truly existed and it wasn't just his imagination.

"Sure. We can play."

Jon is getting stronger, the training had just started. His strength and skill with swords will cause havoc on Westeros.

Let me know in the comments which characters you think should be in the Harem.