Winterfell's training yard was lively despite the cold.
Near the archery range, Jon Snow patiently corrected Bran Stark's posture, guiding the younger boy on how to properly hold and draw a bow. Bran's face was filled with concentration as he struggled to imitate Jon's movents, though every attempt still looked sowhat clumsy.
Not far away, little Rickon Stark sat astride a wooden practice saddle, happily swinging a wooden sword through the air while pretending to be a gallant knight from Old Nan's stories. His childish laughter echoed across the yard, causing several passing servants to smile helplessly.
Beneath the wooden railings nearby, three direwolf pups crouched quietly in the snow. Their ears twitched from ti to ti as their sharp eyes followed the movents of their respective masters.
Along the edge of the yard, Theon Greyjoy leaned lazily against a stone wall with folded arms, his expression carrying obvious boredom as he watched Bran's archery practice.
"Loose."
At Jon's reminder, Bran released the bowstring once again.
The arrow flew through the air with a sharp whistle before missing the target completely and slamming into a nearby barrel instead.
The surrounding servants imdiately burst into restrained laughter.
Bran's face reddened in frustration as he stomped angrily in the snow.
Watching the scene, Garon could not help smiling faintly. Turning toward Robb beside him, he asked, "That must be Bran Stark?"
Robb nodded proudly. "That's him."
Then he raised his voice toward the yard.
"Bran!"
Hearing the call, Bran quickly turned around. His eyes first landed on Robb before shifting curiously toward the tall young man standing beside him.
"Robb?" Bran blinked in confusion, clearly not recognizing Garon.
Before Bran could say more, Rickon suddenly spotted Robb and imdiately beca excited.
"Brother Robb!"
The little boy waved his wooden sword enthusiastically from atop the practice saddle like a victorious knight greeting his lord.
Jon hurried over at once, worried Rickon might fall, and lifted him safely to the ground.
The mont his feet touched the snow, Rickon rushed straight toward Robb while his shaggy black direwolf pup bounded after him excitedly.
In only a few monts, Rickon had already wrapped himself around Robb's leg.
Laughing helplessly, Robb lowered his head and rubbed the boy's hair affectionately.
Standing nearby, Garon quietly observed the interaction between the Stark brothers with a faint smile.
After a mont, Robb looked back toward him and introduced proudly, "This is Rickon, my youngest brother."
Then Robb gently nudged the boy forward.
"Rickon, this is Garon Glover. He's Sansa's betrothed."
Rickon was still too young to understand what a betrothal truly ant.
He rely lifted his wooden sword high into the air and shouted happily, "Hello! I'm Rickon!"
Then he pointed proudly toward the direwolf pup at his feet.
"And this is my furry dog!"
The direwolf imdiately barked in response, causing several nearby servants to laugh softly.
Garon crouched slightly and smiled warmly at the child.
"Hello, Rickon. My na is Garon Glover."
Rickon blinked blankly, though it was unclear whether he truly understood who House Glover was.
However, Jon Snow's gaze subtly shifted toward Theon Greyjoy nearby, as though he had already sensed the tension beneath the introductions.
anwhile, Robb gently patted Rickon's shoulder before continuing the introductions.
"You already know Bran."
Then he gestured toward Jon.
"And this is Jon Snow. He's my brother."
Finally, Robb looked back toward Jon with a grin.
"This is Garon. Father has agreed to his betrothal with Sansa."
The last sentence was clearly directed toward Jon.
Hearing Robb openly call him brother in front of others caused warmth to rise unconsciously within Jon's chest. Nevertheless, he still stepped forward respectfully and bowed his head slightly toward Garon.
"Lord Garon. I'm Jon Snow."
"Welco to Winterfell."
A strange look briefly passed through Garon's eyes.
"I know your na, Jon."
The mont those words were spoken, Jon's expression stiffened slightly.
As a bastard, Jon had always been extrely sensitive regarding his identity. Hearing Garon speak in such a tone instinctively made him think he was about to be mocked.
However, Garon's next words imdiately shattered that assumption.
"Half a year ago, when I first t Robb during my father's funeral, he spoke of you often."
"He said your swordsmanship was excellent, your riding and archery surpassed many trueborn sons, and that the blood of the wolf ran strongly through your veins."
Garon's expression remained calm and sincere.
"At first, I assud Robb was rely praising his brother excessively."
"But after eting you today, I can see he spoke truthfully."
Jon froze montarily.
Then, slowly, surprise and joy appeared within his eyes.
Among the First n, the phrase "the blood of the wolf" was never spoken lightly. It was often used to describe the fierce spirit carried by the true bloodline of House Stark itself.
For Garon to say such words so naturally was almost equivalent to acknowledging Jon as a true son of the North rather than rely a bastard.
Jon opened his mouth slightly, unsure how to respond.
At that mont, Robb suddenly burst into laughter.
"Of course he was telling the truth."
Robb grinned confidently while throwing an arm around Jon's shoulder.
"In swordsmanship, even I lose to Jon more often than not."
Then he looked eagerly between the two of them.
"When there's ti, the two of you should spar properly."
"To be honest, I've always wondered which of you is stronger."
Garon laughed softly at the suggestion.
"Then perhaps all three of us should spar together soday."
He looked toward Robb teasingly.
"I also want to see whether your skills have improved during these past six months."
Robb imdiately revealed an embarrassed expression.
"Forget it."
Ever since returning from Galbart Glover's funeral, he had spent most of his days studying governance and lordly duties under Ned Stark's supervision.
Sword training had naturally beco less frequent.
"You should fight Jon instead," Robb admitted honestly.
Nearby, Bran looked at Garon with growing surprise.
He had not expected Robb to openly admit inferiority in swordsmanship.
As Bran stared at the tall young lord from Deepwood Motte, countless childish thoughts began racing through his mind.
"He's even taller than Robb."
"He must be really strong."
"But Sansa definitely won't like him."
"She likes princes from songs and stories."
"He's too big. He looks more like a bear than a knight."
"Wait…"
"Glover?"
"I thought he was one of the Mormonts…"
As Bran's imagination wandered wildly, Garon's gaze quietly shifted toward the boy's legs.
A trace of pity appeared deep within his eyes.
King Robert would arrive in Winterfell within three days.
And soon afterward, Bran would climb the broken tower and witness the incestuous relationship between Jai and Cersei Lannister.
Then Jai would push him from the tower window.
The fall would cripple Bran permanently and ignite the chain of events that would eventually plunge Westeros into war between wolf and lion.
Yet despite knowing all this, Garon had no intention of interfering.
On one hand, he needed events to unfold close enough to the original course of history so he could continue building his own influence safely.
On the other hand, he also wished to see Bran eventually beco the Three-Eyed Raven.
After all, Westeros was undeniably a world filled with ancient magic and mysterious gods.
The old gods beyond the weirwoods.
R'hllor, the Lord of Light.
The Great Other whispered of in the East.
Without fully understanding such forces, Garon did not dare interfere recklessly with fate itself.
A crippled Bran Stark was far easier to influence than a healthy one.
And through Bran, perhaps he could eventually gain insight into the true nature of the powers hidden behind the world.
Still, those thoughts remained buried deep within his heart.
On the surface, Garon rely smiled gently at Bran.
"Do you know why you kept missing the target just now?"
Bran blinked blankly and shook his head.
Garon stepped beside him and pointed toward the bow.
"You're relying too much on your eyes."
"When shooting, feeling matters just as much."
"Co. Try again."
Although confused, Bran obediently lifted the bow once more and placed another arrow against the string.
Garon carefully adjusted Bran's posture, slightly raising the boy's elbow and correcting the angle of his shoulders.
"Relax your arm."
"Raise the bow slightly higher."
"Good."
Only after helping Bran settle into a comfortable position did Garon step back.
Bran narrowed his eyes in concentration before releasing the string.
The arrow shot forward instantly.
This ti, it struck directly into the target.
For a mont, Bran stared blankly at the arrow lodged in the wood, unable to believe what had happened.
Then excitent exploded across his face.
"I hit it!"
Bran nearly jumped into the air with joy.
"Haha! I finally hit it!"
Seeing Bran's excitent, Robb laughed loudly.
"We've taught him for so long without success, yet after only one lesson from you, he finally managed it."
Robb shook his head with admiration.
"As expected of a Glover raised in the Wolfswood."
Garon only smiled modestly while the surrounding servants also congratulated Bran warmly.
Only Theon Greyjoy remained leaning against the wall with obvious disdain written across his face.
"It's just one arrow."
"What's there to celebrate?"
His gaze swept coldly across Garon.
"And flattering a bastard by talking about wolf blood…"
"How ridiculous."
"How could Lord Stark possibly agree to let Sansa marry a man like that?"
As the heir of House Greyjoy in all but na, Theon naturally knew much about House Glover.
And because of that, he instinctively looked down on Garon.
After all, in his eyes, Deepwood Motte was rely another northern fortress standing in the way of Ironborn glory.
Pushing himself away from the wall, Theon strode toward the group arrogantly.
"Robb."
His voice interrupted the cheerful atmosphere imdiately.
Robb turned casually and introduced him without much thought.
"Garon, this is Theon Greyjoy, Father's ward."
Garon rely nodded indifferently before returning his attention to Bran entirely, as though Theon's existence was not even worth acknowledging.
"Rember the feeling from that shot," Garon continued calmly to Bran.
"Once your body rembers that instinct naturally, hitting the target will beco easy."
Jon Snow's expression subtly changed.
Having grown up beside Theon for years, Jon understood his temperant extrely well.
Theon Greyjoy could tolerate many things.
Being ignored was not one of them.
Sure enough, Theon's expression darkened instantly.
Jon considered speaking up to ease the tension, but after hesitating briefly, he abandoned the thought.
His own relationship with Theon had never been particularly good.
If he interfered now, matters would likely worsen instead.
Thus, Jon quietly looked toward Robb, signaling him with his eyes to smooth things over quickly.
Unfortunately, before Robb could speak, Theon's mocking voice had already echoed across the yard.
"A Glover teaching archery?"
Theon laughed coldly.
"I always thought the Glovers were just lumbern hiding inside their wooden castle deep in the Wolfswood."
"A family only good at chopping trees and squatting on wooden chamber pots."
After speaking, Theon deliberately laughed mockingly again.
The entire training yard instantly fell silent.
Even the servants stopped moving.
Every gaze unconsciously shifted toward Garon.
Hidden behind a nearby archway, Arya Stark had secretly snuck over to watch the excitent.
The mont she heard Theon's insult, her eyes widened imdiately.
"Theon's mouth is awful," Arya thought excitedly.
"How can he call Deepwood Motte a chamber pot?"
"If soone said that to , I'd punch them imdiately."
Still, she secretly glanced toward Garon's broad figure.
"But Garon's huge."
"Theon probably can't beat him…"
To Arya's disappointnt, however, Garon showed no anger whatsoever.
He did not even place a hand on his sword.
Instead, he rely turned calmly toward Robb.
"Robb."
His tone remained completely even.
"Perhaps you should continue showing the rest of Winterfell."
Then his eyes briefly shifted toward Theon.
"Preferably sowhere without outsiders."
The word outsiders was spoken with deliberate emphasis.
The implication was unmistakable.
Theon Greyjoy was not truly one of the Starks.
Theon's face instantly twisted with fury.
All these years, he had desperately sought recognition from Winterfell and House Stark.
Now Garon had openly denied his place with a single sentence.
His hand imdiately tightened around the hilt of the sword at his waist.
The atmosphere within the training yard instantly beca tense.
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