Winterfell in the morning felt like a massive stone beast breathing steam.
The hot springs running behind the walls sent warm breaths to defy the Northern frost, but the true wonder wasn't in the architecture—it was in the souls who inhabited it.
I left my room early, before the sun had fully awakened. I needed to see "everything." I walked through the winding corridors and stopped at the balcony overlooking the Glass Gardens. And there, I saw them for the first time up close.
Sansa Stark walked alongside Septa Mordane. She looked exactly as Martin had described her: with her auburn hair and blue eyes that mirrored the clear Northern sky.
Her grace in movement and her polite manner of speech suggested she was born to be a queen. But my heart clenched as I remembered she would pay for this grace with blood and tears in King's Landing.
She represented all that was pure in this treacherous world—a purity about to be crushed under the Lannisters' boots.
Beside her was Arya. OH, Arya was a small hurricane in dirt-streaked clothes. She tried to walk with the poise the Septa demanded, but her eyes followed every raven that took flight and every soldier who passed.
She cared nothing for embroidery or songs; the "wolf blood" already lived within her. I looked at her and felt an overwhelming urge to give her a real sword now, not months from now.
"Alex! Will you stand there like a statue carved from salt?"
I turned to find my father, Ser Rodrik, wearing his heavy leather armor. He carried a bundle of spears.
"Father, I was watching... the discipline of the keep."
Rodrik scoffed. "Discipline? Arya Stark has the discipline of a wildcat in a burlap sack. Leave the girls to their business and come with me.
Lord Stark wants a review of the wall guards, and I want you to start a doubled training regimen. I noticed your movement yesterday with Robb; you have the instinct, but you lack the raw strength to hold out in a battle that lasts for hours."
Those were the words I needed to hear.
"I want to train twice as hard as the others," I said with a firmness that surprised my father. "I want to be the fastest, and the strongest."
Rodrik narrowed his eyes. "Why the haste, son? We are in a long summer."
"Because summer breeds weaklings, Father. And the coming winter will have no mercy for those whose bones haven't hardened in the yard."
The Brutality of Training
Muscle memory wasn't enough. In the following days, I pushed Alex's body to its absolute limits. I began a dawn routine: running around the massive walls of Winterfell three times while the castle was still asleep.
My lungs burned from the cold air, but I imagined the faces of Joffrey or Jaime Lannister before me, and my legs found renewed strength.
In the yard, I wasn't satisfied with wooden swords. I asked Mikken the blacksmith to forge iron weights for my wrists and ankles to wear during practice.
"You're mad, Alex," Jon Snow told me one day as he watched me practice sword thrusts against a massive tree trunk until my hands bled. "Even my uncle Benjen at the Wall doesn't train this hard."
I stopped, panting, sweat pouring off me despite the chill. "Jon, you fight because you want to find a place for yourself in this world. I fight because I know this world will try to crush us all. If we aren't monsters in the yard, we'll be corpses under the snow."
Jon sat beside me, wiping his blade. "Sometimes you talk like you're older than my father. Where do these shadows in your eyes come from?"
I looked at him for a long time. I wanted to tell him: They come from seeing you die at Castle Black, from seeing your family scattered, from seeing the dead walk. But I only said: "They aren't shadows, Jon. They are foresight. King Robert will be here soon, and when he arrives, our childhood ends."
One evening, I was invited to dine with my father in the small side hall, where Lord Ned and Lady Catelyn ate in private.
The awe of seeing Ned Stark alive was indescribable. He radiated the honorable gravity that made everyone love him, but I also saw the weight upon his shoulders. As for Lady Catelyn, she was more beautiful than I imagined, with her copper hair and eyes that never ceased guarding her children.
"Ser Rodrik tells me his son has become obsessed with training," Ned said, slicing a piece of meat. "He says you train as if preparing to invade Essos alone."
I smiled respectfully. "I only wish to be ready to serve House Stark, Lord Eddard. In the times we live in, a strong sword is the best guarantee of peace."
Catelyn looked at me with a scrutinizing gaze. "You are a serious young man, Alex, perhaps more than you should be. Sansa says you watch her from afar as if you fear the shadows for her."
I was slightly flustered. "Lady Sansa represents the beauty of Winterfell. It is my duty as a Master-at-Arms' son to think of protecting that beauty."
Ned nodded slowly. "A fine loyalty. Winter is coming, Alex, and it is honest men who keep the keeps warm."
I returned to my room that night, my body aching, but my mind was on fire. Only two months remained until the King's arrival. Two months of grueling training. I had to master the bow, I had to learn the body language of warriors, and I had to start building a web of trust with the guards.
I looked at the names written in charcoal on the leather.
"Alex Cassel will not be just another victim," I whispered.
While everyone in Winterfell slept in peace, I was the only one who heard the gears of war grinding closer. I had to become stronger, not for glory, but for survival in the Game of Thrones.