Game of Dragonborn.

[Chapter Size: 2900 Words.]

Third Person POV.

Winterfell.

...

...

The party wasn't very calm for the rest of the night, filled with confusion and fights as chaos spread across the hall. Men threw punches at each other while the women, along with the servants, ran to avoid being caught in the middle of it.

The Stark guards struggled to separate the men, while Lord Stark held his head in frustration, overwhelmed by the scene. Eventually, they managed to restore some order, even as a drunken Jon Umber staggered around shouting for someone named Dovahkiin.

In the end, the party concluded, and all those without a place in Winterfell were sent away. The night came to an end, but by morning, Winterfell was bustling once again, as a crowd began gathering in the courtyard.

Meanwhile, in another part of the castle, the Dragonborn was beginning to wake. He heard a door creak open and felt eyes watching him but sensed no danger.

Suddenly, something climbed onto his bed and swiftly reached his face, licking him. Jon opened his eyes to see a small white wolf.

"He likes you!" a feminine voice said as Jon turned his gaze from the wolf to the girl standing nearby, holding another wolf in her arms.

It was Arya Stark, his cousin, watching him curiously.

"It seems so..." Jon replied, his tone neutral.

"Are you okay?" she asked, showing no fear despite finding a stranger sleeping in one of the castle's barns.

"Just a bit of a headache, a hangover," Jon replied as he fully woke up and sat on the edge of the bed. He truly had drunk too much, and the effects lingered. Even during the fight he had instigated with Greatjon Umber, he had kept drinking, more than he should have.

His eyes fell on the girl before him. He wasn't sure what to make of her, and she looked back at him with curious eyes.

"You're that bard from last night. I really liked your song. What's its name?" she asked as Jon ran his hand over the white wolf, content but barely making a sound.

"Sovngarde is calling me," Jon replied with the same dry tone.

"That's amazing! This Sovngarde, what kind of place is it?" she asked.

"A haven for great warriors after their deaths, where they spend eternity feasting and fighting," Jon explained.

"If I fight, can I go there?" she asked, her tone growing louder, excitement in her voice, while Jon made a grimace.

"I doubt Sovngarde would accept a girl," Jon mocked.

"I'm not just a girl! I'll learn to fight!" she exclaimed.

"I highly doubt that," Jon teased again.

"I will!" she insisted before continuing. "Anyway... I was heading to the courtyard, where my brother is fighting the prince. I thought I'd check on Spark, but as soon as I opened the kennel door, he bolted. I followed him here and saw you when I opened the door to let Spark in after he started scratching to get inside..." She spoke while looking at the wolf enjoying Jon's attention.

"Spark, is that his name?" Jon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, because it sounds like Stark, and no one else has named him yet," Arya replied.

"Spark... that's a terrible name. That won't be his name," Jon said, as if the wolf already belonged to him. Arya frowned, giving Jon an odd look.

"Spark is a great name!" she said stubbornly, but Jon didn't seem to care, which only annoyed her. "Then what name should he have?" she demanded, pouting.

"A name... This wolf is so quiet... so I think Ghost would be the best name for him," Jon said, smiling for the first time as he looked at the wolf with its striking red eyes.

"Ghost... it's a good name, I suppose..." Arya murmured, though she couldn't deny it was better than hers.

"Yes... Anyway, what time is it? I think I overslept," Jon muttered, glancing toward the window but unable to gauge the time from the sun's position.

"It's mid-morning, so you missed the first meal of the day. Besides, why are you sleeping here, and why is there a bed in the middle of this barn?!" Arya muttered, voicing the questions that had been bothering her since she saw him. She had expected to find someone sleeping here, perhaps, but not in a luxurious bed like the one before her. 'How did it get here?' she wondered.

"That doesn't matter. It's fine, it's time for me to leave," Jon said as he began to get out of the bed, stretching under the girl's watchful gaze.

"You didn't answer my question!" she demanded, watching Jon walk past her as he began to leave. He ignored her and simply snapped his fingers. Arya, frustrated, turned her head and widened her eyes as the bed vanished.

"What?!" she murmured, then turned to look at Jon, only to be met with the sight of the wolf being handed to her.

"I want you to keep him. I can't take him with me," Jon said, handing Ghost to Arya.

She took him with her other hand, still not understanding what was happening, as she saw Jon drinking from a bottle. She couldn't help but wonder where the bottle had come from.

Jon didn't pay attention to Arya's wide, questioning eyes. He passed the wolf to her, though he seemed saddened by it. "Don't worry about it. Soon, you'll be with me again," Jon said to the wolf, though Arya hardly seemed to register his words.

"How did you do that?! Where's the bed?!" Arya finally asked as she saw Jon leaving the barn.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jon shrugged, while Arya grew more anxious with questions and followed him, carrying the two wolves in her arms.

"So, you have four other siblings... I see," Jon said as he walked through Winterfell, with Arya trailing close behind. She seemed to have tired of trying to get answers out of him, and Jon had begun asking questions about the Starks instead.

"Five! But one died a long time ago, when I was just a child," she corrected him.

"I heard that Lord Stark didn't care much for him," Jon said calmly as they headed toward an area crowded with people.

"That's not true!" Arya said.

"Are you sure? I heard he wasn't welcome here," Jon said, raising an eyebrow.

"I..." She murmured, unsure how to respond. She was aware that her family didn't seem to care much about that lost sibling. Her eyes shifted back to Jon. "But you remind me of him a lot. You look a bit like our father and... you have violet eyes!" she said, as if having a realization, especially since one of the wolves also seemed to take a liking to the bard.

"I'm twenty years old. Would your lost brother have been that age?" Jon countered, making it clear she was mistaken. To her, Dovahkiin was a man, not a boy the same age as Robb. Jon continued, "Besides, your father is very ugly. Can't you see how handsome I am?" he said with a smirk, winking at her.

"He's not ugly!" Arya seemed embarrassed by Jon's comment and immediately protested.

"Anyway, what's going on here?" Jon ignored her and asked, looking toward the courtyard.

"My brother and other nobles are fighting with the royal guard. That's why everyone is here. Even though it's been a while since the royal family arrived in Winterfell, there haven't been many fights like this. The king prefers hunting every day," she said. Jon seemed somewhat interested at first, but his interest soon waned.

"Are you going to watch?" Arya asked the Dragonborn.

"No... there's nothing here for me," Jon said, uninterested in watching fights between boys. He decided to head for the gate, leaving the girl behind.

"If you want a fight with steel, then so be it! Let me choose someone for that!" A booming voice echoed as the king appeared in a high place, where he could see everyone below. He spotted Jon walking toward the courtyard's exit and immediately recognized him.

"You, the bard!!" he exclaimed, pointing at Jon from afar, as all eyes turned to him and Arya widened hers in surprise.

"Hm?" Jon narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze toward the king.

"I want you to pick up a sword and fight my son! He said he wants a real swordfight, and I want to see if you're as much of a warrior as your songs claim!" the king exclaimed.

"Robert... calling a bard to train with your son—isn't that a bit much?" Lord Stark spoke beside him, though Robert didn't seem to care.

"My son is too poor a swordsman to face anyone else. Maybe a bard will give him a decent fight," Robert responded dismissively, while Ned sighed and turned his gaze toward the strange bard approaching them.

Jon didn't appreciate being called out but went along anyway, realizing his mistake in not activating his stealth abilities earlier. He moved through the crowd, feeling the weight of their stares. Some looked at him with pity, others with mocking or curious smiles, likely thinking this was punishment for disappearing during last night's feast.

"How may I help the King of Westeros?" Jon asked openly as he arrived before the group.

This left everyone stunned. The king sat in his chair at the head of the gathering, with Jon standing before him and Ned Stark at his side. The king looked focused, flanked by royal guards. Among them were Ser Barristan Selmy and another Jon hadn't seen last night—Jaime Lannister, who stood on a castle balcony alongside Queen Cersei and Catelyn Stark, observing the commotion in the courtyard.

At the center of the courtyard stood the crown prince, holding a sword and eyeing Jon with interest. Despite this, there was a faint glimmer of caution in Joffrey's gaze, likely due to Jon's impressive build—standing over 6'3" with noticeable muscle. Nearby, Sandor Clegane, the Hound, swallowed hard, his eyes betraying a flicker of fear at the man standing before them.

Even Tyrion Lannister was present among the nobles, sipping wine while watching the scene unfold with great interest. On another balcony nearby, Sansa Stark and her friends eagerly watched, hoping to see the prince fight, alongside other noble ladies visiting Winterfell.

The crowd in the courtyard included Robb Stark, Bran Stark, Theon Greyjoy, and other nobles, as well as many Stark and royal guards, knights, and southern mercenaries, all focused on Jon.

Jon noticed his uncle, Eddard Stark, freeze for a moment as their eyes met. Even Benjen Stark, who Jon had dragged from the table the night before, was observing from a distance, frowning as he recognized him.

The casual way Jon addressed the king left most of the crowd stunned. Even Robert himself seemed momentarily taken aback before his expression grew more serious.

"Bard, I want you to fight my son! With real swords!" the king ordered, ignoring Jon's informal tone.

The royal guards didn't seem to appreciate Jon's posture, though Ser Barristan Selmy looked at him with widened eyes, as if something about Jon intrigued him. The prince, however, wore a mocking smile, barely concealing his impatience. Joffrey couldn't wait to begin. To him, Jon was just a bard—a simple opponent to crush.

"Very well then. Give me a sword," Jon said calmly. He already disliked the prince, and judging by the expressions of many present, he wasn't the only one. For Jon, this was an excellent opportunity to teach the "little brat" a lesson, or so he thought.

A man quickly approached, handing Jon a sword. It was none other than Ser Rodrik Cassel, Winterfell's master-at-arms. Ser Rodrik regarded Jon with great interest, but Jon ignored him, taking the blade without ceremony.

"Clear the courtyard! Let my son and the bard fight!" Robert commanded as the crowd moved to make space at the center.

Joffrey complained loudly about how fighting with wooden swords was "ridiculous" and had always refused such bouts with excuses. Now, his father had pushed him into facing the bard with real swords. Queen Cersei, watching from the balcony, appeared displeased with the decision but seemed reassured by the assumption that Joffrey would face only a bard.

The space was cleared, and Jon and Joffrey took their positions. Jon appeared relaxed, while Joffrey, rigid and tense, held his sword with an awkward posture. Joffrey's stance was laughable; Jon almost chuckled at how inexperienced he seemed. 'I wonder if the prince's swordmaster is as incompetent as his stance suggests,' Jon thought with a touch of sarcasm.

The prince didn't even wait for someone to signal the start of the fight. Instead, he charged forward with a yell, hoping to catch Jon off guard, noticing that the Dragonborn hadn't even raised his sword, letting it rest at his side. Joffrey tried to surprise him with speed, but Jon reacted swiftly, lifting his blade at the last moment to clash with the prince's, pushing him back. Joffrey stumbled, taking a few frustrated steps before coming at Jon again from the side.

Once more, Jon deflected the blade with such force that the prince nearly lost his grip, his sword almost flying from his hand. The courtyard fell silent as everyone realized that the bard wasn't even trying. Jon kept his sword lowered most of the time, raising it only when necessary to block Joffrey's attacks and immediately letting it drop again.

"Fight like a man!" Joffrey's voice echoed, laced with frustration. He gritted his teeth as Jon stared at him as if he were a fool.

The prince launched a rapid series of attacks, swinging repeatedly. Jon blocked the first strike, then the second, and the third with precision, all without moving a single step. Joffrey tried to get closer, but Jon remained unmoved. Finally, Jon pushed him back with his blade, causing the prince to lose his balance and fall onto his back. Joffrey lay on the ground, bewildered, while Jon stood in the same spot, not having moved an inch.

Even Robert was speechless, watching his son be humiliated so thoroughly. The king seemed torn between disbelief and embarrassment. Queen Cersei, on the other hand, was the most furious of all, her glare filled with rage as if she wanted to strike Jon down herself.

But Jon didn't care, ignoring the hostile glares. Many in the crowd, however, looked at him with admiration. After all, there was something deeply satisfying about seeing the crown prince treated like the fool he was.

"You dare humiliate me?!" Joffrey shouted, his voice trembling as he scrambled to his feet. He was mortified, feeling the weight of the crowd's pitying stares—an unforgivable disgrace for someone of his stature.

"Your stance is terrible, Prince of Westeros. You'll never win a fight like this. It makes me question just how incompetent your teacher must be," Jon said calmly, though his words echoed across the courtyard like a slap.

The silence that followed was thick with tension. Even the royal guards seemed taken aback. Jon's critique wasn't just of Joffrey but also of those tasked with training him—a direct insult to their efforts.

"You have no right to speak to the prince of the Seven Kingdoms that way!" a firm voice rang out. It was none other than Jaime Lannister, descending from the balcony with a challenging glare.

"I'm merely being honest, Lannister," Jon replied, narrowing his eyes. He knew exactly who Jaime was—the man who had failed to protect his own siblings during his father's attack on King's Landing. The thought of facing someone like Jaime intrigued him. "But if you think I'm wrong, why don't you pick up a sword and teach me yourself?" Jon challenged.

Once again, the courtyard fell silent. Jon's boldness only deepened the crowd's curiosity. Jaime didn't respond immediately, surprised by the audacity of the violet-eyed man before him. Before anyone could act, however, Joffrey, consumed by his rage, exploded in a scream.

"Die, you filthy peasant!" he bellowed, charging at Jon with his sword raised for a clumsy, anger-fueled attack.

Jon merely observed him calmly, as if anticipating every move. When Joffrey was close enough, Jon struck—a single punch to the prince's face. The impact was so forceful that Joffrey was sent sprawling backward, blood streaming from his nose, as the crowd watched in stunned silence.

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