The Silent Wolf

Chapter 3

Usually in the world where Westeros was a thing, a highborn child started training with a blade at the age of seven or eight. The training is provided not by their father, but by a skilled Swordsman or Knight, and was intended to teach the child only the basics of swordplay and combat.

In many noble houses, the eldest son, who is also the heir, is expected to become proficient in sword fighting and other forms of combat with other weapons. It is deemed an essential part of a future Lord or Noble's education, though not all families adhered to this belief. Some relied more on diplomacy and strategy than physical prowess.

The North and especially House Stark adhered to the former line of belief. The North was a harsh segment of land, its people fierce and proud. House Stark ruled these lands, be it in their own name or in the name of another king. Learning to wield a weapon was a big part of our heritage, and unlike other parts of Westeros, we start our men young.

Brandon began his training at the age of five and I started mine the same year at age four. I was not supposed to start as young as I did, yet they couldn't say no when I challenged Brandon and beat him.

Until then I had not picked up even a stick to play at being a Knight or a Swordsman, nor did the thought of being one occur to me. But when I saw Brandon pick up his first practice wooden blade, I felt that I had to pick one up as well. It was as if something deep within me had pushed me to join.

I had challenged Brandon, who was already being termed a prodigy with the blade with just a month's worth of training. The Master at Arms did not seem too pleased about it, but Brandon had convinced the man to let me go through with the challenge. It was something that Brandon was good at, persuading people into letting him have what he wanted.

The little challenge of mine had attracted a crown, including that of our parents. Mother was worried about me, anxiously trying to convince Father to end this. But Father was nothing if not a stern man. Through this he was me. If I won, he would think about my training early, but if I lost it would be a lesson to not push myself beyond my capabilities. It was his way of showing that he cared. Though he worded none of it and just watched us brothers go at each other.

Even at five, Brandon was showing signs of one day being a giant of a man. He was a good foot and a half taller than me with some decent meat on his body. Compared to him I was a scrawny thing, not too short with just enough meat on me to not let me look like a skeleton.

No sooner had the challenge begun that Brandon was on the offensive. He was the aggressor in his fights, getting close to his opponents and breaking their defence down. Anyone his age would be at a disadvantage because of the height and mass difference. I was no different, except I had my own way of dealing with people larger than me.

I had not picked up a sword before in my life, or at the very least in this life. But the moment I chose my weapon, it was as if something inside of me clicked. A spasm ran across my body, through my muscles and then my bones. It lasted only a moment and was something more than just a spasm, I just lacked the right word to describe it.

When the match began I already knew what I had to do. My body was going on autopilot, and I allowed it to do so. Brandon swung and slashed, and I jumped around, dodged and rolled away from his hits. I felt as if I was dancing, my body flexible and adaptable.

Brandon did not like that. He was not used to people dodging him so effortlessly and easily. Usually by now, he would be deemed the victor because his opponent was on his ass and requesting surrender.

So he did what came naturally to him, he went at me harder and more ferociously. He was like a wild wolf, snarling and attacking, while I was his prey, dodging him and making him dance to my tunes. I was not exerting myself too much, but Brandon was. He tired out fast and I chose the moment of his first slip-up. I saw the opening, ducked in and slammed into him with my entire body. Brandon fell on his back, me on top of him with my wooden sword pointed at his throat.