The Stark Shadow

The morning sun bathed Winterfell in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the training yard. The crisp air was filled with the sound of clashing wooden swords and the occasional barked command from Ser Rodrik Cassel. Young Eddard and Benjen Stark were locked in a spirited spar, their faces flushed with exertion as their blades struck and deflected with uneven precision. 

Rodrik circled them, his keen eyes catching every misstep. "Keep your guard up, Benjen! And Eddard, stop swinging like you're chopping firewood!" he called, his voice carrying over the yard. 

Standing at the edge of the yard, Talion watched silently. The air was alive with the determination of youth, but his seasoned eyes saw the gaps in their stances, the telltale signs of inexperience. His gaze drifted upward to a balcony where Rickard Stark and Brandon stood, observing the training. Rickard's sharp eyes flicked to Talion for a moment before he turned and walked away, Brandon trailing behind him. 

Rodrik finally called a halt. "Enough," he said, stepping between the boys. He began listing their mistakes, his tone firm but not unkind. As he spoke, Talion stepped forward, his presence drawing the attention of everyone in the yard. 

"If I may," Talion said, his deep voice cutting through the morning air, "I can help train them." 

Rodrik turned to him, his brow furrowed. "Train them?" he repeated, his tone skeptical. "You may look the part, but we've yet to see what you're capable of." 

Talion met Rodrik's gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He said nothing, letting the silence stretch. 

Eddard, his curiosity evident, glanced between the two men. "Why don't you fight him, Rodrik? That way, we'll know." 

The suggestion hung in the air, and the gathered onlookers murmured with interest. Rodrik straightened, a confident grin forming. He was the Master of Arms at Winterfell, and he had bested many challengers over the years. 

"Well then," Rodrik said, his hand resting on the hilt of his practice sword. "Are you game?" 

Talion stepped into the circle, his movements fluid and deliberate. As he unsheathed his sword, the yard fell silent. The blade shimmered in the morning light, its dark runes glinting faintly as if alive. The hilt, wrapped in rich black leather, bore intricate carvings that hinted at its ancient and otherworldly origins. 

Gasps rippled through the crowd. To them, the weapon's craftsmanship rivaled Valyrian steel. 

Rodrik's grin faltered for a moment, but he quickly masked his hesitation. "An impressive sword," he said, raising his own practice blade. "But it's the man wielding it that matters." 

Rodrik lunged first, bringing his sword down in a powerful arc. Talion sidestepped effortlessly, his movements calm and precise. Rodrik swung again, aiming for Talion's side, but the ranger deflected the strike with a single, fluid motion. 

The duel unfolded like a dance, Rodrik attacking with calculated strikes while Talion countered with measured parries. The crowd watched, their excitement growing as it became clear that Talion wasn't just skilled—he was in complete control. 

Rodrik's strikes began to lose their sharpness, his breaths coming heavier. Sensing an opening, he lunged forward with a final, determined swing. Talion met the strike with his blade, locking their swords together. In a flash, he released the lock and delivered a swift, punishing kick to Rodrik's legs, sweeping them out from under him with enough force to send him sprawling onto the ground. 

Rodrik hit the dirt hard, his sword clattering away. The crowd erupted into laughter, but their mirth was short-lived as Talion's commanding voice cut through the noise. 

"This man fights to protect you," Talion said, his gaze sharp as it swept over the onlookers. "He deserves your respect. A sparring match proves little. In a true battle, Rodrik would give his life for you. Remember that before you laugh." 

The yard fell silent, the weight of Talion's words settling over the gathered crowd. Rodrik rose to his feet, brushing the dirt from his tunic. He looked at Talion, his expression a mix of gratitude and newfound respect. 

"You've got a point," Rodrik said with a small nod. "And I'll admit, you're better than most. Let's see what you can teach them." 

Eddard stepped forward, his excitement barely contained. "Can you teach us how to fight like that?" 

Talion chuckled softly. "If Ser Rodrik agrees." 

Rodrik waved them off with a faint smile. "Go ahead. Maybe you'll learn something." 

Talion turned to Eddard, nodding toward his shield. "Lose the shield," he said simply. 

Eddard hesitated, frowning. "Why? We've always been taught to fight with a shield." 

"The shield will come later," Talion said. "First, you must master the sword." 

Eddard reluctantly tossed the shield aside, gripping his practice sword in both hands. Talion stepped closer, shaking his head. "No. One hand. The other is for balance, or for anything else the fight demands." 

Eddard adjusted his grip, his posture uncertain. "Like this?" 

"Better," Talion said with a nod. "Now, come at me." 

Eddard swung, and Talion blocked with ease, using his free hand to redirect Eddard's momentum and gently tapping his leg, throwing him off balance. Eddard stumbled but caught himself, frustration flashing across his face. 

"When you fight with a sword, your whole body is your weapon," Talion said, his tone patient but firm. "Use your legs, your fists, anything to gain the advantage. A sword is a tool, not a crutch." 

Eddard attacked again, more carefully this time. Talion parried the strike, stepping in close to nudge Eddard off balance with his shoulder. He tapped the back of Eddard's knee, sending him stumbling again. 

"This style... it's not honorable," Eddard said, his breath coming in short gasps. 

Talion raised an eyebrow. "And what is honorable? Is a shield not a weapon? A fist, a kick—are these not tools in a fight? Honor is in the cause, not the method." 

Eddard's frown deepened as he considered Talion's words. Slowly, he nodded, adjusting his stance with a newfound focus. 

"Relax," Talion said, a faint smile on his lips. "The world only makes sense if you force it to." 

Eddard stared at him, then lowered his sword. His expression shifted, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "You know, Talion," he said, his voice lighter, "there's another name you can call me." 

"Oh?" 

"Ned," he said with a small smile. 

Talion's expression softened, a warmth in his voice. "Very well, Ned. Let's continue."