This time, Old York managed to keep himself awake. Instead of dozing off in camp, he volunteered for the safer of Jon's tasks: digging along the riverbank.It was hardly glorious work. No one would cheer him for moving earth, and no reward would come of it. But at least there would be no blame. In war, sometimes survival was reward enough.So, at Jon's order, York led men to the Green Fork's edge to begin their "civil engineering." They would dig channels and raise earthen banks, preparing a dam that could later be unleashed in flood to hinder the enemy.Meanwhile, Jon gathered two hundred men, Tommen, and Ser Lelan Horode for the reconnaissance mission.Tommen was an obvious choice. He wasn't clever, but he was a knight encased in steel. In a charge, his weight and armor were as useful as any half dozen men.But Jon wasn't relying only on swords or shields. His true confidence came from his Golden Finger—his ability to peer beyond human sight.That night, he placed his final upgrade point into God's Perspective.The change was immediate. The entry shifted from blue to purple, and his perception expanded outward like a wave.Where before he had sensed the world within a mile, now his awareness stretched seven or eight kilometers in every direction. He could feel movement, numbers, intent. Within five kilometers, he could see clearly enough to count men and even taste their emotions.Jon tested the range at once.To the west stood the towers of the Twins. The walls hid the true count within, but he sensed the patrols—more than two hundred men pacing the battlements.He turned his focus northward, toward Roose Bolton's host.Bolton had boasted of four thousand five hundred Dreadfort men. Jon's perception told a different truth: nearer to thirty-seven hundred."Cunning old fox," Jon muttered.It was no surprise. Lords often claimed more than they had, padding their numbers for prestige or withholding troops for private schemes.The Blackwoods and Manderlys were little better; their levies, too, fell short.Yet not all houses were deceitful. Karstark's men were full in number, even swollen beyond their levy, and the Umbers had brought every last warrior who could stand.That was the nature of feudal levies: some houses generous, others cautious, and all coordination clumsy.Still, for Jon, the power of perception was enough. A diameter of ten kilometers meant he could watch an army of twenty thousand as they moved. For reconnaissance, it was a weapon beyond price.There would be no ambushes, not while his eyes reached this far.---When dawn came, Jon, Tommen, and Lelan Horode rode out together."Ser Hodor," Jon greeted."Jon," the elder replied, his gaze sharp as he studied the younger man. Those eyes—so green, so piercing—searched Jon's face as if they expected to find dragon's fire hidden beneath the Stark features.If Jon noticed, he gave no sign. A raven perched upon his saddle drew more attention than he did, its dark wings shifting restlessly."You train ravens?" Lelan asked, seizing on it as an opening."Learned it from the Lord Commander at Castle Black," Jon said lightly. "This one can carry messages, even find men at need."That admission startled the old knight. Few men outside the Night's Watch knew how to handle ravens, let alone tame them to such obedience.But Lelan let the matter drop, falling into step beside Jon. As they rode, he spoke in the tone of a mentor."If you meet patrols, boy, do not engage them. The risk is too great. Better to avoid than to fight."Jon listened politely, though inside he smiled. His Golden Finger gave him certainty no scout could dream of. He didn't need to guess whether patrols were alone or backed by more; he could feel the truth.For him, annihilation—not avoidance—was often the safer choice.Still, Lelan's advice had weight. Experience was worth respecting.---Two days later, Jon's perception caught something to the southwest: a cavalry unit, six or seven kilometers distant.But they weren't patrolling.Jon closed his eyes, tasting their emotions. Excitement. Cruelty. Hunger.Then the truth sharpened—innocent Riverlands villagers were trapped with them.The men had been herded into one house, the women into another. Outside, Westerlands soldiers jeered and waited their turn while their comrades inside took what they wished.Steel armor had become claws; swords were fangs. The cries of women and children twisted into a symphony of hell.Jon's jaw tightened. He would not let it stand."Ghost," he whispered.The great direwolf padded forward, snow-pale fur streaked with mud to mask his size. At Jon's call, the wolf's red eyes glowed, and the bond between them deepened.The soldiers following Jon muttered among themselves."At a time like this, he still plays with his wolf?""I thought he'd lead us to glory, not more chores."But none dared openly defy him. His skill with the sword—and his kinship to Robb—kept their complaints quiet.Jon turned in the saddle. "There's a Lannister unit in the village ahead. Some of you will stay to watch them. I'll ride deeper to confirm there are no others. If they're alone, we'll destroy them."The men blinked, startled. How could he know that? All he had done was touch his wolf.Even Lelan Horode frowned, his eyes flicking between man and beast. Are you truly a wolf in a man's skin?"Jon," he said carefully, "you remember what I told you. Avoidance is survival."Jon's voice was steady. "I remember, Ser Hodor. But Ghost shows me what they're doing. They're… ravaging innocents."The old knight stiffened. "What?"For a heartbeat, he doubted. Yet the direwolf's fierce stare silenced his disbelief.And when Jon added, "We'll confirm no other troops are near, then strike," Lelan could not deny the boy's resolve.What he saw in Jon's face reminded him too much of Eddard Stark—the same grim sense of duty, the same unwillingness to turn from suffering.So at last he nodded. "Very well. Then I'll stand with you."---Jon used the raven to summon nearby scouts. Quiet signals spread through the trees, pulling men into an encirclement around the village.Through Ghost's eyes, Jon watched the Westerlands soldiers laugh, roast meat, and boast of their conquests. Their vigilance had withered after months of easy plunder.They never noticed the shadows closing in."What do you intend?" Lelan asked quietly."I'll lead the charge. You command the rest," Jon replied without hesitation.The elder knight's lips tightened. Eddard, I swore I would guard your son. And gods help me, I will.---It began with Ghost.The direwolf streaked from the brush like a thunderbolt, his fangs sinking into a soldier's throat before the man even cried out. Blood sprayed, the scent whipping the camp into panic.Then Jon came.He moved like lightning, twin blades flashing. His speed stole breath from Lelan's lungs.The Westerlands men scrambled, some still fastening belts or reaching for blades, but their sloppiness doomed them. One after another fell beneath Northern steel.Jon cut through them as if the swords were part of him. Every step, every swing, was purpose. In Lelan's mind, the vision of Arthur Dayne returned—the Sword of the Morning, peerless and terrible.And with that vision came fear.Jon Snow must never know. If he learns what blood runs in his veins, the Seven Kingdoms will burn.---By dusk, the village was silent but for weeping survivors. The Lannisters lay dead.Jon sheathed his swords slowly, breathing hard. Around him, the Northern men looked on with awe. Even their earlier complaints had vanished.Lelan Horode stood apart, his green eyes shadowed with thought.Yes—Jon had Eddard's honor, but he also had something else. Something more dangerous.The blood of dragons.And if ever that truth came to light, no lord, no king, no wall of stone would be enough to contain the storm that would follow.---
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