Morning spread over Winterfell like a soft gray blanket. Kaelor Stark, eight years old, woke before the rest, his gray eyes alert even before the sunlight reached his bed. He pulled on his tunic and boots quickly, tying the leather laces with practiced hands, the smell of fresh bread and porridge wafting up from the kitchens.
"Kaelor! Don't dawdle!" Benjen shouted from below. He was ten now, taller than Kaelor, but still full of youthful energy.
"I'm coming!" Kaelor called back, grabbing a small piece of bread to take with him.
Brandon leaned in the doorway, smirking. "Careful, little brother. You don't want to trip before even finishing breakfast."
Kaelor grinned. "Better careful than face-first on the floor."
Ned stood silently behind them, his hands resting on the back of a chair. "Eat first. Lessons with Maester Luwin follow. Training comes after. Don't waste time."
At the long wooden table, Lyanna poured milk for Benjen, who immediately spilled a drop.
"Benjen, watch it!" Kaelor said, helping him wipe it up.
"I can manage," Benjen said, smirking despite himself.
Brandon chuckled. "Kaelor is showing patience with his elder brother. That's something."
Kaelor shrugged. "I just help when I can."
Ned nodded. "Patience will serve you beyond breakfast."
After breakfast, Kaelor made his way to Maester Luwin's solar. Parchments, maps, and books were spread neatly across the desk.
"Good morning, Kaelor," Luwin said. "Today, I want to see how well you understand the great houses, the Targaryens, Essos, and the history of Old Valyria."
Kaelor's eyes brightened. "Yes, Maester. I am ready."
Luwin pointed to a map of Westeros. "Begin with the Targaryens."
Kaelor leaned forward, tracing coastlines with his finger. "The Targaryens came from Dragonstone after the Doom of Valyria destroyed their homeland. Dragons were their strength. They married within the family to preserve their bloodline. They ruled the Seven Kingdoms with respect and fear. Minor houses sometimes rebelled, but the Targaryens' power kept them in line."
"Good," Luwin said. "And their alliances?"
Kaelor continued, "They held loyalty with rewards or threats. Houses like the Martells or Baratheons were sometimes close through marriage, sometimes through fear of dragons. Their rule was complicated but lasted centuries because of dragons."
Luwin nodded slowly. "Very well. Now, Essos and Old Valyria."
Kaelor's finger traced the map east. "Essos is divided into many lands. The Free Cities trade heavily, but some still have slavery, like Astapor and Yunkai. Valyria was the greatest empire before the Doom. Dragons, magic, and knowledge made it unmatched. Most of it was destroyed, but some ruins still hold secrets."
Luwin blinked, folding his hands on the desk. He is skillful for his age. He notices details, remembers events, and understands connections others cannot. He has potential.
"Kaelor," Luwin said, "you have done well today. Remember, this knowledge is only useful if you observe how people act, not just read maps."
"Yes, Maester. I understand."
Once the lesson ended, Kaelor left the solar, and Luwin gathered his parchments. He walked through the stone corridors of Winterfell, his boots echoing softly. Servants moved quietly, the morning chill brushing against their cloaks, and dogs barked faintly in the distance. Luwin's thoughts stayed focused.
Kaelor learns quickly. He notices more than most children. He remembers details, understands context, and applies it in practice. He will need careful guidance.
He continued toward Rickard Stark's hall, the corridors long and cold. The maester's pace was measured, his mind already considering how to report Kaelor's progress to the lord of Winterfell.
By mid-morning, the training yard was bustling. The clatter of metal on metal, shouts of warriors, and the scrape of boots on stone filled the air. Brandon and Ned were sparring, their swings precise and strong. Benjen, now ten, bounced lightly on his feet, eager to face Kaelor.
"Footwork first!" Ser Rodrik Cassel called. "Balance before strength!"
Kaelor moved fluidly, ducking under swings, stepping aside, and countering lightly. Benjen charged, swinging wildly. Kaelor blocked and tapped twice with his swords before stepping back.
"What? Again?!" Benjen shouted, frustrated.
"You left your guard open," Kaelor said calmly.
Brandon laughed. "Little brother, you're too clever." Ned nodded. "He's learning quickly."
Kaelor's dual-wielding allowed him to defend and attack at the same time. Against Brandon and Ned, he sometimes won small rounds, though their strength and experience usually gave them the edge.
During one round with Ned, Kaelor ducked under a strong swing, rolled, and tapped Ned's shoulder lightly.
"Ha! One for me!" Kaelor exclaimed with a cheer.
Ned raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."
Brandon clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't get too proud, little brother."
Kaelor panted lightly. "I know. Still much to learn."
Benjen groaned. "Next time, I'll win!"
The rounds continued. Kaelor occasionally took advantage of openings, while Brandon and Ned forced him to adapt constantly. The northern wind stirred his hair, and a distant wolf howl echoed across the yard.
Evening came—the Stark siblings gathered by the fire. Lyanna read quietly from a book of herbs. Brandon sharpened his sword. Benjen practiced footwork. Kaelor leaned back, thinking about the day.
Lyanna studied him closely. "Pride makes men careless, Kaelor. Even the clever ones."
Kaelor's smile lingered, but his voice was steady. "I know. I'll be careful."
Lyanna's expression softened, a small, sweet smile touching her lips. "I know you will."
Brandon shook his head. "You keep surprising me, little brother."
Benjen groaned again. "Next time…"
At the exact moment, a raven landed at Maester Luwin's tower, carrying a sealed letter. The maester recognized the sigil instantly: a white falcon on a sky-blue field. He carefully took the parchment, thinking only about its contents, and began walking toward Rickard Stark's hall. His boots echoed softly on the stone floors, the chill of the evening brushing against his cloak.
Upon reaching the hall, Luwin silently presented the letter. Rickard broke the seal and read aloud. "Jon Arryn suggests fostering Ned with him and Robert Baratheon to strengthen bonds between the North and the Vale."
Rickard's brow furrowed. "We must consider this carefully. Jon Arryn is wise, and Robert is the heir of Stormland, sending my son so young… it is no small matter."
Maester Luwin frowned. "My lord, what do you think?"
Rickard Stark exhaled, the sound heavy with unspoken worry.
"We will decide soon," he said at last. "For now, Maester Luwin, sleep well. Tomorrow will bring more lessons… and more training."