The Stark Shadow

Morning sunlight glistened on the frost-covered training yard of Winterfell, a sharp contrast to the heated emotions that simmered beneath its surface. Talion stood in the center, his dark cloak brushing the icy ground as his watchful eyes followed Benjen and Eddard Stark. The clang of practice swords filled the crisp air as the young Starks worked through their drills under Talion's steady guidance. 

"Keep your feet apart, Benjen," Talion instructed, his voice measured but firm. "Balance is your foundation. Without it, even the strongest strike will leave you vulnerable." 

Benjen adjusted his stance, determination etched into his features. He swung his practice sword again, his movements earnest but lacking the precision they needed. Talion stepped forward, his own blade in hand. 

"Watch closely," Talion said, demonstrating the technique with swift precision. His blade moved like a shadow, striking the training post with enough force to make the wood shudder. He stepped back, his expression expectant as he gestured for Benjen to try again. 

Benjen mimicked Talion's movements, this time landing a solid strike. A small smile flickered across Talion's face. "Better," he said, nodding in approval. His gaze shifted to Eddard. "Now, show me how you would defend against an overhead strike." 

Eddard stepped forward, raising his sword into a defensive position. Talion swung deliberately, his movements controlled but quick enough to test the younger Stark's reflexes. Eddard met the strike with confidence, their blades clashing in a ringing echo. 

"Good," Talion said, stepping back. "You're beginning to anticipate your opponent's intent, Eddard. That's the key—understanding before acting." 

From the edge of the yard, Brandon Stark stood with his arms crossed, his expression dark. He watched the scene unfold, his frustration mounting with every word of praise Talion offered. Finally, he pushed away from the wall and strode toward them, his footsteps crunching over the frozen ground. 

"What is this?" Brandon's voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding. "A lesson in how to fight like a common cutthroat?" 

Talion turned, his calm gaze meeting Brandon's fiery one. Eddard and Benjen froze, uncertainty flickering in their eyes as they glanced at their eldest brother. 

"We are Starks of Winterfell," Brandon continued, his voice rising. "We fight with honor, not with tricks and schemes. What are you teaching them, Talion? How to cheat their way to victory?" 

Talion's expression remained impassive as he stepped forward, his movements measured. "I am teaching them to survive," he replied evenly. "Honor is a virtue, but against an opponent who knows no honor, it can be a liability. Survival often demands more than tradition." 

Brandon's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. "You think you know better than us? Better than my father? Our family has defended the North for generations. We don't need your outsider's lessons in 'survival.'" 

The tension in the yard was palpable, the silence heavy with the weight of Brandon's accusations. Eddard took a hesitant step forward, his voice steady but unsure. "Brandon, that's enough—" 

Brandon silenced his brother with a sharp glare, turning back to Talion. "You don't belong here. You don't understand the North, our ways, or what it means to fight with pride. You have no right to tell us how to defend our home." 

Talion's gaze didn't waver, though a flicker of regret crossed his features. His voice remained calm, though there was steel beneath his words. "I understand more than you think, Brandon. I have seen homes fall, families destroyed, and lands consumed by forces far greater than pride or tradition. If you refuse to adapt, you may fight with honor, but you will fight a losing battle." 

Brandon took a step closer, his voice low and dangerous. "Is that a threat?" 

"It's a warning," Talion said quietly. "The threats we face don't care for your honor or traditions. If we are not prepared, the North will burn." 

Before the confrontation could escalate, Rickard Stark's voice rang out across the yard, firm and commanding. "Enough, Brandon." 

All eyes turned as Rickard approached, his presence as steady and imposing as the walls of Winterfell. Brandon's anger faltered, though his glare lingered on Talion. 

Rickard's gaze swept over his sons before settling on Talion. "You have my trust, Talion. Continue their training." He turned to Brandon, his tone firm but not unkind. "Respect is not weakness, Brandon. If you are to lead one day, you must learn to listen." 

Brandon clenched his jaw, lowering his gaze. "Yes, Father." 

Rickard gave a final nod before walking away, leaving the yard heavy with unspoken tension. Brandon cast one last glare at Talion before turning on his heel and storming off. 

Talion watched him go, his expression unreadable. He turned back to Eddard and Benjen, his voice softening. "Let's continue. There is still much to learn." 

-- 

Later that evening, Talion stood in Rickard's solar, the warmth of the fire a stark contrast to the cold tension of the morning. Rickard leaned against the edge of the table, his expression thoughtful. 

"Brandon is strong-willed," Rickard began, his voice heavy with the weight of a father's concern. "His passion is his greatest strength—and his greatest weakness." 

Talion nodded. "He's protective of his family, of his home. That is commendable, but it can blind him to the larger picture." 

Rickard sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "He feels sidelined. He believes I favor Eddard because he is quieter, more measured. But Brandon has always been a leader in his own way, though he struggles to see it." 

Talion's eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "Perhaps he needs a purpose, something to channel his energy. If he feels he has a role to play, it might temper his frustration." 

Rickard nodded slowly, his gaze distant. "You may be right. I'll consider it. In the meantime, continue working with Eddard and Benjen. They trust you, and they are better for your guidance." 

Talion inclined his head. "As you wish, my lord." 

Rickard offered a faint smile, a rare softness in his stern demeanor. "You've earned that trust, Talion. I only hope Brandon can see that before it's too late." 

-- 

The next morning, the training resumed. Eddard and Benjen stood ready, their practice swords in hand, the crisp air filled with the anticipation of another lesson. Talion watched them, his dark cloak blending into the shadows of the yard. Brandon was absent, though his presence lingered like an unspoken challenge. 

"Today, we focus on defending against multiple opponents," Talion announced. "Survival often means facing overwhelming odds. Learn to anticipate, to move, and to endure." 

Eddard and Benjen exchanged determined glances before stepping into position. As Talion led them through the drills, the tension of the previous day began to ease, replaced by the rhythm of learning, of progress. Yet, from the shadows, Brandon watched, his expression unreadable, his conflict far from resolved.