The Great Hall of Winterfell groaned under the weight of boisterous laughter and the clatter of silver platters, but outside, silence reigned supreme. I made my way toward the side training yard, away from the banquet's roar, and there I found Jon Snow. He wasn't watching the stars; instead, he was pouring his energy and bitterness into a practice dummy made of sand and rope. His strikes with the wooden sword were swift and brutal, as if he were fighting a destiny he had never chosen.
As I approached him, I caught sight of a small shadow moving near the perimeter wall. It was Tyrion Lannister, perched atop a massive tree stump, holding a goblet of wine that looked far too large for his small hand.
"Good strikes, lad," Tyrion said in his rhythmic, mocking voice. "But you're fighting that sack as if you blame it for your name."
Jon stopped, his breath coming in clouds of vapor in the frigid air. "Lord Tyrion."
Tyrion clambered down from the stump with some effort, looking first at Jon and then at me. "A Lord's son and a master-at-arms' son... both fleeing the King's banquet. Is the wine truly that foul inside?"
I looked at Tyrion with appreciation; I knew how razor-sharp his intellect was. "The wine is excellent, Lord Tyrion, but some prefer the silence of the North over the din of the South."
Tyrion smirked and turned toward Jon. "Let me give you some advice, 'Snow.' Never forget what you are, for the rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."
The Imp left us, swaying slightly with his characteristic chuckle, leaving Jon in a state of deep reflection.
"Jon, enough training," I said, placing a hand on his tense shoulder. "The frost is starting to cover your eyelashes."
"Your place is inside, Alex. You don't have to stay here with me," Jon replied, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"I won't go in without you," I said firmly. "I've arranged it with Lord Ned. There's a table in the corner, near the hearth and far from the Queen's gaze. Benjen Stark will ask for you, and Robb is searching for you with his eyes. Don't let a 'title' rob you of a night that may never come again."
Jon hesitated, but our friendship and my persistence were stronger. "Fine. But if Lady Catelyn so much as looks at me, I'm leaving
We entered the hall and were greeted by a wave of warmth and savory aromas. Roasted venison with garlic, pumpkin pies, and mulled wine. I seated Jon beside me, and he began to look around with a childish wonder that he tried to hide behind his stoic mask.
As time passed, the bellies filled, and the wine flowed, Jon began to forget. I saw him laughing with a guard over a crude joke; I saw him tasting lemon cakes with his eyes closed. This was the moment I had hoped for—to see Jon Snow as a seventeen-year-old boy, not as a sin walking on two legs.
But my happiness was incomplete. I sat beside him, yet my heart felt as though an iron fist were squeezing it. I was watching the high table; there sat Sansa. She looked like an unattainable dream, but that dream was sitting next to Joffrey.
I saw Joffrey whispering to her, saw her shy smile and the flush on her cheeks. She looked at him as if he were the "Enchanted Knight" from her stories. I felt a murderous jealousy—not just because I loved her, but because I knew that "Prince" was a dagger that would later pierce her heart. I gripped my goblet so hard my knuckles turned white, wishing I were the one sitting there, protecting her innocence from this world
Suddenly, a muffled shriek erupted from Sansa's direction. I looked over to find a glob of pea soup staining the collar of Sansa's exquisite gown. Arya was hiding behind a massive platter of fruit, her face wearing an expression of "criminal innocence."
I saw Lady Catelyn inhale deeply, struggling to suppress her rage in front of the Queen. Her eyes searched the hall until they landed on me. She signaled with her hand; I understood the mission immediately.
I slipped behind the tables and caught Arya before she could hurl another piece of bread. "To the dungeons with you, little she-wolf," I whispered in her ear.
"Alex! Let me go! She's being boring and acting as if she were born in the Red Keep!" Arya protested, trying to kick my shins.
"Come with me. Jon is waiting, and we have meat pies that no one has touched yet," I said with a smile. I pulled her along to sit between Jon and me.
The atmosphere at our table shifted instantly. Arya began mimicking Queen Cersei's haughty walk, and Jon laughed so hard he nearly choked on his drink. We spent hours talking and laughing. Arya told us of her desire to learn true combat, and I promised her secret lessons away from her mother's eyes. It was a perfect family moment, making me feel as though we were in a "bubble" of happiness, far from the conspiracies of the Southerners.
Amidst our laughter, a tall shadow fell over us. We looked up to find Benjen Stark in his imposing black garb, the scent of snow clinging to him.
"So, this is where the true men of the North are hiding?" Benjen said in a warm, gravelly voice.
We all stood respectfully. Benjen hugged Jon warmly, then looked at me intently. "You're Alex. Rodrik hasn't stopped talking about you. Says you've developed speed beyond imagination in the yard."
"Ser Benjen, it's a great honor," I replied. "We're just trying to keep Arya from starting a revolution in the hall."
Benjen laughed and sat with us for a short while. He spoke of the Wall and the "Walkers" in the night. I saw Jon listening with his whole soul, and I saw in his eyes that spark I feared—the desire to leave. But I intervened subtly, shifting the conversation to childhood memories of Winterfell to bind Jon closer to his home.
As the hours passed, the hall began to empty. King Robert was staggering out, singing in a hoarse voice, and Sansa left, casting one last dreamy look toward Joffrey—who didn't even bother to look back.
I stood with Jon and Arya at the hall's exit. Arya was rubbing her eyes from exhaustion, so I lifted her and carried her on my shoulder.
"Thank you, Alex," Jon said, looking at the dying embers in the great hearth. "If not for you, this night would have been just another painful memory. But now... I feel like I belong somewhere."
"You belong with us, Jon," I told him sincerely. "Always remember that."
The party was over. I handed Arya to her nurse and bid Jon goodnight. I headed to my room, and the silence that settled over the castle was haunting. Tomorrow, the chapter that changed everything would begin. Tomorrow, Bran would climb, and I would be there to face destiny.
I closed my door and drew my steel sword. Its touch was cold, but my heart was boiling. "Let the morning come," I whispered to myself. "The time for feasting is over; the time for war has begun."