The gray sky of Winterfell had barely begun to break when the air filled with the neighing of horses and the rhythmic thud of marching boots. On this morning, I did not wake for my usual sword rituals; instead, I was roused by a heavy pounding on my door. The time for departure had arrived, and Lord Ned was summoning me.
I found my father, Ser Rodrik, standing with his usual stoic dignity beside Lord Ned in the Small Hall. My father gripped the hilt of his sword, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and a sorrow he tried hard to conceal.
Ned spoke in his calm, resonant voice, looking at me with newfound appreciation: "Alex, you proved in the yard and before the Queen's men that you possess the courage and skill the North needs in the capital. I am going to take on a heavy burden in King's Landing, and I need stalwarts—men I can trust implicitly. I want you to accompany me as part of my personal guard, to be a blade I can rely on."
Ned turned toward my father, who placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "I taught you how to fight, my boy; now it is time to prove that my training was not in vain. Go with Lord Ned. Honor the name 'Cassel,' and be a watchful eye over his safety and the safety of his daughters."
I accepted immediately. I felt that familiar pang of leaving home, but the drive within me was stronger; my place was where the Great Game was played.
While I was checking my horse's bridle, Arya emerged from behind a pillar. She looked lost, her bright eyes reflecting a vulnerability her childish face rarely showed.
"Alex... are you truly going?" she asked in a low voice, barely audible over the din of the caravan. "I heard my father say you are coming south with us."
I smiled at her as I tightened the saddle straps. "Yes, Arya. I'll be in the same caravan. I won't let you head into that city of vipers without a guardian."
Her expression shifted instantly from anxiety to hidden joy. "I was afraid it would all stop... that I'd have to go back to boring sewing lessons and dancing."
I gave her a warning wink and a smile. "The lessons will continue, but in secret as we practiced. Prepare yourself; the road is long, and the training there will only get harder."
Meanwhile, Jon Snow had slipped into Arya's room to say his farewells away from prying eyes. I had glimpsed him heading there and knew exactly what was about to happen. In her room, Jon presented her with that long, cloth-wrapped bundle.
"It's a skinny blade, Arya," Jon said, watching her wonder. "Be careful not to poke yourself. The real 'needlework' is what you'll do with this steel."
Arya's eyes sparkled as she gripped the sword, Needle. To Jon, it was simply a small sword for a girl who loved to fight; he had no idea that Arya already possessed the fundamentals of using it thanks to my training. Arya looked at the sword and imagined the movements I had taught her—the swift lunges and the graceful retreats. The sword fit her hand perfectly, as if it were forged specifically for the "Water Dance" we had begun to master.
The four of us gathered in the courtyard before the paths diverged: Robb, Theon, Jon, and I. The silence between us was more eloquent than any words.
Jon embraced Robb for a long time, and then it was my turn to bid Robb farewell.
"You'll lead this castle well, Robb," I whispered sincerely. "You are the Wolf of Winterfell now, and everyone will look to you."
Theon stood to the side, trying to maintain his usual air of indifference, but his grip on his bow was tight. I pulled him aside for a moment, away from the others.
"Theon... never forget that you grew up here. Winterfell isn't just a place you were held; it is your true home. The Starks are the brothers who have watched your back for years. Don't go looking for belonging in distant islands that have forgotten you. Those who truly love you are standing right here."
Then I turned to Robb and took him aside as well:
"Robb... Theon needs to feel like your brother, not your subject. Don't be too hard on him while we're gone. A man who feels he belongs fights like ten men; a man who feels like an outsider might betray you at the first chance. Make him a part of your councils
The decisive moment arrived. I stood before my father, Ser Rodrik. There were no complex words, only a powerful embrace that summed up years of rigorous training and unspoken fatherly love.
"Be careful, Alex. Southerners fight with their tongues before their swords," my father said in a hoarse voice.
"I will protect Lord Ned with my life, Father," I replied as I mounted my horse.
The massive caravan lurched forward. Initially, we rode together: Jon, Bran, and Benjen heading north, and the Royal Party heading south. I rode alongside Jon, our gazes fixed on the horizon.
"Do you think we'll meet again soon, Alex?" Jon asked, casting one last look at the walls of Winterfell.
"Winter is coming, Jon. And in winter... the wolves always return to huddle together," I answered with a certainty I couldn't quite explain.
With the first bend in the Kingsroad, the silhouette of Winterfell began to fade into the mist, and with it, my new chapter in the capital began—where swords alone are not enough, but the minds that move them.