"Ned, you come too!"
After patting Garon on the shoulder, Robert suddenly turned and called out to Eddard beside him.
After the earlier spar, Robert already had a very clear understanding of Garon's strength, speed, and technique. Garon's raw power was only slightly below Ned's, but in terms of speed and agility, he was no worse at all. Their swordsmanship was comparable, yet Garon's combat intuition was clearly superior.
Overall, Robert felt that Garon and Ned were evenly matched — and deep down, he suspected that Garon might even have a better chance of winning.
Since he had already been humiliated himself, Robert absolutely refused to let Ned stand aside and watch. Otherwise, he would never hear the end of it.
Hearing Robert's words, Ned curled his lips helplessly.
He was fourteen years old, while Garon was only ten.
Winning would be expected.But losing?
That would be devastating.
To be honest, Ned didn't want to fight.
But faced with Robert's malicious grin and Garon's calm yet eager expression, Ned knew there was no escape.
With a sigh, he bent down and pulled Robert's wooden sword from the ground.
Garon brushed the dust from his knees, took a few steps forward, and faced Ned from a short distance away.
For a moment, the two stood facing each other, wooden swords in hand.
Robert, now transformed from victim to spectator, grinned excitedly.
"Same rules as before," he declared. "First hit loses!"
"Ready—go!"
At Robert's signal, both Garon and Ned sharpened their gazes.
Compared to facing Robert, Garon felt far less pressure against Ned.
Ned did not possess Robert's terrifying natural strength.
House Stark might also carry a legendary bloodline — something like the "Blood of the Running Wolf" — but it was clear that Ned had not awakened it. His talent was, at best, average.
In the original history, Ned had received elite education from childhood, trained at Winterfell and later under Jon Arryn in the Vale. Even so, his martial achievements were… unremarkable.
At the Tower of Joy, seven Northmen fought three Kingsguard and were nearly wiped out by Arthur Dayne alone. If not for Howland Reed's decisive intervention, none of them would have survived.
Later, as Hand of the King, Ned was besieged by Jaime Lannister's men and performed even worse — captured alive, leg broken, thrown into the dungeon.
If combat prowess in Westeros were ranked:
Arthur Dayne and a young Barristan Selmy stood at the peak.Robert at his prime, Jaime Lannister, Gregor Clegane, and Oberyn Martell ranked just below.Brienne, the Hound, and Bronn belonged to the high tier.
As for Ned?
At best, slightly below that.
With this in mind, Garon remained calm.
Bang!
Their wooden swords collided, producing a crisp sound.
The rebound force immediately confirmed Garon's judgment.
Ned's strength was slightly higher — but only slightly.
If Garon's current strength was around 8.7, then Ned's was perhaps just above 9.
Impressive for a fourteen-year-old, but not overwhelming.
The two exchanged blows rapidly.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Within a few breaths, their swords had clashed seven or eight times.
Ned's expression grew serious.
Garon's, however, became calmer with every exchange.
Ned felt as though Garon could predict every strike in advance. His defense was airtight, blocking each attack effortlessly.
This was far more frustrating than sparring with Robert.
Robert was strong but clumsy, with obvious flaws.
Garon had none.
He was fast, agile, precise — and strong enough to back it up.
How was this even fair?
Sweat began to form on Ned's brow.
He finally understood what Robert had felt earlier.
There was no way out.
Both he and Robert couldn't possibly lose to a ten-year-old… right?
Yet reality was cruel.
After several more failed attacks, Ned gritted his teeth.
"Enough. I'll gamble everything!"
Adjusting his footing, he twisted his body, shifting his center of gravity. Gripping the sword with both hands, he spun forward in a powerful, full-bodied strike.
It was an excellent move.
If Garon chose to block head-on, he would lose.
But Garon had been waiting for this.
As Ned rotated, Garon shifted his weight to his right foot.
The moment Ned's sword came crashing down, Garon stepped aside.
The attack missed.
Ned lost balance.
Crack!
Garon's wooden sword struck Ned's shoulder and side.
The sound of wood hitting flesh echoed clearly.
Ned froze.
"Hahahahaha!"
Robert's triumphant laughter exploded across the yard.
"Ned, you lost!"
Robert clapped Ned on the shoulder, laughing so hard he nearly choked.
Now that Ned had lost too, Robert felt perfectly balanced again.
Eddard flushed in embarrassment.
Losing to a ten-year-old was bad enough.
Losing alongside Robert?
Even worse.
"Garon, you win," Ned said sincerely after a moment. "I'm no match for you."
"No, Ned," Garon replied modestly. "You almost hit me just now."
Which was true — but Garon knew the outcome would never change.
Ned shook his head.
Garon was only ten.
What would he become in a few years?
The thought made his heart sink.
Robert slung an arm around Garon's neck, laughing loudly.
"You're terrifying. Truly terrifying."
Garon scratched his head, embarrassed.
"Stop exaggerating."
"Come on," Garon said, smiling. "I'll take you to the sea. The Glass Sea of Tarth is the most beautiful on the eastern coast."
Robert and Ned followed him downhill toward the shoreline.
The private beach lay nestled between two cliffs, protected like a natural cradle. The sea was calm, clear, and impossibly blue.
Compared to places Garon remembered from his previous life, this felt like paradise.
The three of them quickly shed their shoes and plunged into the water.
Laughter echoed.
They splashed, wrestled, and played until exhaustion claimed them.
Eventually, they floated lazily beneath the shade of ancient trees.
"Robert. Ned," Garon said suddenly. "How about grilled fish?"
"Shooting fish," Garon corrected with a grin. "With bows."
Robert's eyes lit up.
Competition was inevitable.
And it was only just beginning.