Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Author Note: Some people expressed their frustration and worry with Geralt not being, well… a Witcher that we know and love. He has no powers right now and his coloring is off.

Please note that this isn't Geralt being dropped from Witcher universe to ASOIAF universe. He hasn't gone through any trials and those don't exist in this world, which means he will go about acquiring his past abilities in some other way. This has to occur in a believable fashion using rules of ASOIAF because this is the universe we are residing in. Any other characters with abilities that originate from Witcher world, if they show up in the story, would have to acquire their abilities naturally in some way as well. It all has to make sense within the context of this universe.

Having said that...be patient folks. I want Geralt to become his badass Witcher self as well, but not at the expense of the plot. I have it planned out. By chapter 5 or 6 you will see Geralt become more like the Geralt we know and love.

On to the story.

Geralt of Winterfell

Chapter 2: Hard Lessons

289 AC- Winterfell, North

Geralt

I whirled a wooden training sword in my left hand before moving it behind my back and catching it with my right as I took a stance. My left foot slid forward over the smooth stone that made up the training ground while the right one stayed back. Loaded, prepared to launch me forward at moment's notice. Like loaded scorpion ballistas on castle walls, ready to fire at brave men trying to breach its walls

A man must strive to become a fortress, a thing that is insurmountable to all.

He will spend his entire life building it up.

I am laying down my foundations.

I couldn't help but to smile. I didn't have to look to my left to know that Ser Rodrick Cassel, who my father appointed as master-at-arms at Winterfell, disapproved of my theatrics. He was a stout man and knowledgeable when it came to teaching basics and knocking sense into cocky children, but I don't think he was prepared for the task my father gave him.

Teaching me.

I don't think father hated the man. Rather I suspect he like him. Fought along side him in Robert's Rebellion. War forms bonds peace can only hope to make. It's as if war could fan flames to impossible heights where two men could forge a bond made of castle forge steel. My Father and the King were one such example.

Strange reward. Then again, Lady Catelyn did her duty and father rewarded her with Jon.

I was over-thinking it. I am not a bad child, certainly not a punishment for Ser Rodrick or any other caretakers to endure. But I was unbending. Curious of old tales of magic, Old Gods and things beyond the Wall. Things no child my age should rightly be drawn too. But I couldn't help myself.

I thought being wolf-blooded was something to be praised for in Winterfell. Apparently not.

He had began my tutelage only two years back when winter truly reigned over the entirety of Westeros, burying the land and the forests in white coat and assaulting every men and women with its ferocious winds irregardless whether they lived in houses made of wood or castles made of stone. Wind fought its way into the every home of every men like it was some angry vengeful spirit bend on snatching their children away. And it did.

Even children of lords died during winter from its chill behind their walls. Winter could only be endured. Not conquered.

In the mountains it was said that snow could fall endlessly, creating snow banks almost hundred feet high. In the plains the snow was more manageable. If a lord wanted to have access to his roads, he would have to clear them with diligence and on regular basis. Otherwise roads, dirty paths and even goat trails would be swallowed in some places by as much as ten to fifteen feet of white death.

The white raven arrived from Citadel in Oldtown. Some city in a south, in some southern kingdom.

I wasn't interested in the south. I was young and the North was vast. I wasn't finished pouring over its wonders yet.

It proclaimed boldly the end of winter and beginning of spring, yet the words weren't worth the parchment they were written on. Even after a year, it still snowed on occasion and at any moment I would only need to look out from any window in the castle, in any direction to see that the North was still covered in a few inches of snow.

But the weather was getting warmer and slowly spring began its slow journey from the south to the north. A hard battle. Seldom won. The new and old Gift only see spring, rarely full summers.

My smile grew and I twirled the wooden sword in my hand in a playful fashion. Giving plenty of openings to those that dared. My opponents were certainly daring. We were of same blood. "Come on little brothers. Am I to stand here till I am struck by old age instead of being struck by your sword? Or are you waiting for summer to pass and for winter to come? Will I die of night chill, have my fingers, toes and nose turn black and fall off before dropping my sword in defeat. It would seem so. You haven't touched me yet. Attack, before father sees."

Jon and Robb stood before me. They joined me in my lessons with Ser Rodrick only six months ago. On my father's orders, though I doubt Lady Stark was happy. Her reluctance for Robb to pick up a sword and train came not from being overprotective. She knew better. She came from a Great House. A lordly house in the south where acquiring a title of a knight meant something. She was not naive, she knew her history and history of Westeros has always been filled with blood of the weak.

And of the innocent.

Both in the north and south.

The best way to protect Robb from any future harm was for him to earn his bruises and cuts and for him to learn from them as quickly as he could. Pain that quickly fades was a worthy payment for keeping death at bay. Even if it ultimately proved to be an impossible task. All men die. Instead her reluctance came with the knowledge that Jon would join him and me in said training. She couldn't stand Jon though she tried to hid it from her children.

Another impossible task. Children are more observant than sentries standing at arms length from enemy troops. Father either didn't notice or ignored Jon's treatment. Perhaps he had set an invisible line. If Lady Stark didn't cross it then he would not act. He cared for Jon afterall, he brought him to be raised together with us in his household. Geralt didn't understand. Either you care or you don't.

There should be no half measures in this instance. But it wasn't his role to doubt his father. Only to preserve his honor and his own.

Obey him and do my duty.

Jon was a grand surprise that father brought with him from the war. Lady Stark saw him as some great shame done on to her that she could not shake off or hide away. She treated me fairly and well.

But I had Father's name, and Jon did not.

She silently resented me for treating him like the rest of my siblings. For loving him like I loved Robb. She thought I was being difficult or that I was too little to comprehend what he was. But I knew.

He is my half-brother. Same as Robb. Both are my half-brothers.

Only Jon didn't have a mother. But neither did I.

Jon was the first one to recover from the sting of my sword and rushed at me, but he appeared to be more calm and observant than he was minutes ago when I threw him to the ground. He tried different things, gears were spinning in his head. I could almost see them. He tested my left and tried to poke me on my right, to see my reaction, to gauge my stance. He was testing me in a way that Lady Stark often tested his sanity. Or in a way a man would poke at a cornered animal, knowing that at this moment a cornered beast was at its most dangerous.

I am a Direwolf from old northern tales. The kind from Old Nan's stories.

But he was right to do so. He learned to be cautious. And he will learn when to be brave. He felt the sting of my blade. He memorized the pain it had cause. A wooden sword may not cut but it can kill. It is solid oak; the handle and the dull blade are shaped out of one piece. The only addition is the leather straps that wraps around the handle for comfort and grip. If I take my hand and run it around the edges of the blade nothing would happen. It is dull and smooth. I wouldn't receive a splinter for my troubles.

But to get hit with the side of the blade is like receiving a spanking from Old Nan. To get slashed is to receive a burn that would itch for a week, reminding the wearer that had it been real steel, it would be much worse than an itch. And a stab from its dull point could knock a breath out of a grown man. And if swung madly, it could bludgeoned a grown adult to death. Despite their dangers, they offered important lessons.

Don't get hit. That's your opponents job, Ser Rodrick said once.

Worthy words to live by.

But our safety was important and not worthy of jeopardizing for a lesson so we wore heavy padding. But padding can't cover everything. That's where you hit, little brothers. You attack the weakness. You exploit to its fullest and you end it. Always end it. I used the flat of my sword to slap Jon on his sword hand after he managed to hit nothing but air and left himself overextended and overexposed. He dropped his sword and I rushed in close. I shoved him and prevented him from regaining his balance by stepping on his toes. He tumbled down in awkward manner.

I cut his strings.

"Ser Rodrick taught you not to show your back, brother!" Robb charged from behind with his sword held high. He also taught you not to charge like this. Or give away your advantage so easily. Not that it would have helped him. I knew where he was. I learned not to lose track of my opponents or brothers during our spars. Another important lesson. I blocked his strike and countered attacked immediately which he managed to block with some effort. He may have stopped that attack but its job was accomplished. His hand flew upward from the force of the blow, his arm no doubt ringing like a bell. Making his bones rattle. But he held on to his blade. I felt proud. Robb couldn't have done that one month ago.

I decide to move in for the kill. I thrust my sword to his neck and rush in. To onlookers it would appear as if the sword was still and swinging me around, because after the thrust it was my body that moved and not the sword. Any fighter would see a sword this close to their face and panic. But the blade is a distraction. Its just a weapon. The real danger is the man with the will to kill. The blade rested inches from his neck and I pivoted myself under his sword arm, which he still hasn't managed to bring down since I blew his guard away. I moved until I was behind him, grabbed the padding on his left shoulder with my free hand and held him in place with my sword to his neck.

Ser Rodrick pronounced the end of today's practice.

Jon managed to make his way on his feet and Robb dropped his sword and gave a heavy sigh. I padded him on a head. "What's wrong brother? This is unlike you."

Robb picked up his sword and made his way to the wall where we would hang our swords and padding. Jon and I followed him. You don't disrespect your equipment.

Victories depend on preparation just as much as they do on skill.

"What's wrong? We lost. Again. I was sure we would win this time. Ser Rodrick never let us fight two-on-one against you before so I though things would be different. But you beat us both. It's discouraging brother."

I chuckled to myself as Jon raised both of his arms in the air and I helped him take of his padding. I was tall for my age. And certainly taller than them. "Ser Rodrick wanted you to learn your basics. You practiced your stance. Jumping from one to another under his command as if you were dancing. You hit dummies countless times to get you used to your weapons. To strengthen you. And to teach you how to swing. People get cocky when they outnumber their opponents. They lose focus and forget their basics. Never forget your basics, brother. Ser Rodrick didn't want you to start swinging your sword half haphazardly only days after you finally began to grasp your lessons just because you had Jon to help you against me. It was best to wait. Lessons like these, they seep into your bones and stay there for a lifetime. Now you and Jon can fight me together. And you will never forget your lessons. Or you will be reminded of them with a sting from my sword."

My explanation didn't suit him as he made a face. It looked similar to the one he made when I fed him a lemon from Dorne to look at his reaction. He was three years old. I was four. I still remember that day.

If war could forge powerful bonds between strangers, then these quiet moments of peace could strengthen ours.

"Well, I still thought we would win."

"Geralt always wins", Jon offered his opinion. Stating it like a fact. Like old men who say that the Wall has always been and always will be. But that's not true. Triumphs have to be earned with hard work.

Bran the Builder raised the Wall in a spot where it didn't exist before. Let no man take his accomplishment from him. No matter what age we live in.

Ser Rodrick came from behind us and patted Jon and Robb on the back. He learned plenty from teaching me as I did from him. He knew how to teach them hard lessons and keep them coming for more.

"Your brother is older than you both. And he has outstanding talent when it comes to using weapons. But you will learn quick and you will grow strong." He looked toward me and placed his hand on my head before making a mess of my hair. "And if you don't pick up your brother's bad habits of playing with swords then you both will learn quickly and leave him in the dust. Left to take lessons from you instead of dishing out his own." Having said that as he left us to ourselves to get some rest.

A well deserved rest.

Ser Rodrick was right. I had an outstanding talent. My mind and hands were quick. Even Father said so once. High praise from him. He would sometimes tell us stories from the war. One of the stories we wanted to hear the most was about his duel with Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard. People called him Sword of the Morning and claimed he was the strongest knight of his time.

And father defeated him.

Father never talked about him. Or how he beat him. I wondered if I would gain the strength one day to defeat warriors like Ser Arthur. I was strong for my age and tall. I was able to nock an arrow on a bow that was used by men twice my age and shoot it perfectly at 50 yards. The first arrow would hit the center. The second would hit the first. Splitting it in vicious manner. The third would miss terribly; my arm would shake from the exertion. I haven't been able to shoot three in quick succession. Yet. I still considered it a great accomplishment.

I handled swords like I was born to yield them. The basics of how to move, evade and attack were quickly mastered by me. Ser Rodrick would scold me till the end of my days for the ways I tested new moves and tried daring tactics, but the truth was that I was bored. Wooden sword were a cheap imitation of the real steel and the only reason daily practice was tolerable was because I got to teach my brothers. Help them get stronger. I could live with offering them my days.

But the nights were for myself. I would sneak out during dark night when the night looked like it was robbed by some godly thief of all its stars and moon. I would try real steel and practice in the Godswood. I was talented but not foolish. Man must practice his trade if he wants to excel in it. It was true for traders, masons or fighters. I practiced mine. Although I'm not a man yet. But when I become one I will be a Lord and Lord's trade was war. To an extend.

It's best to practice now.

No one knew about my nightly escapades. Only the Old Gods. They watched me from the heart trees. Silent.

The Old Gods had no holy texts. No priests claiming to their authority. No songs of worship and no rites. Yet from generation to generation men swore oaths before them, before Gods, to bind their words and help them carry their promises. Father prayed before the heart tree in castle's Godswood. So did all his sons, and even little Sansa would come to play. Only Lady Stark preyed to the Seven, she and her septa.

My mother took the Old Gods as her own when she married father. They married in front of a weirwood tree with a face curved by the Children of the Forest from the age long forgotten.

One day, I too will marry in front of the same Gods.

We walked back together. I looked up at the sky. The sun was at its highest point. We have been practicing with each other and with hay filled dummies for hours at this point. We made the decision to head toward the kitchens to grab a cold drink and food to sate our hunger, but on our way there we were stopped near the stables.

Father and Lady Stark stood together. A company of men behind them.

Lady Stark look radiant and beautiful. Last time she looked like this she was pregnant with Sansa. And now she was pregnant again. "Couple more months", Maester Luwin would say. Couple more months and I would have another brother or sister.

I was overjoyed.

My father's eyes zeroed in on mine and he called me to his side. "Get a horse from the stables." He handed me sheathed Ice. I nodded and grabbed it with two hands. Valyrian steel made it much lighter than it would have been if it was made instead from castle forged steel. You could swing it faster than a steel sword and with its sharpness it has ended brave men's lives for generations. Yet it was still heavy. It was a greatsword after all. I will need both hands to secure it to the saddle. Hodor wouldn't do it. He was afraid of weapons and didn't touch them. But Hodor helped me with lifting the saddle onto a horse and securing it in place. He was a friendly giant.

"Hodor. Hodor. Hodor"

He said. I nodded and thanked him. I rode toward the gate. I knew where we were going the second I saw Ice and the look in my father's eyes. Ice will take another man's life tonight. Another name added to its endless list of vanquished men. And I will carry the sword until father needs it. This was a new duty that Father assigned to me. Less than a year ago.

No words were exchanged as we slowly rode toward the designated execution ground. It was not far from the castle. Yet still private. The party only consisted of my father, myself, two guards that I knew and an unknown man. He rode on a horse without restrains.

A brave man. Though it was too early to judge. You can learn man's true worth by observing how he faces death. With his head held high or as a coward.

I took a deep breath. The air tasted sweet. I always loved the times when I could get way from the castle. I loved Winterfell, but its walls sometimes suffocated me. The North was large and I wanted to explore it, discover its nooks and crannies for myself. But my time away from the castle was limited to leisure rides, training on horse back, occasional hunt and executions.

I blamed winter for it. But winter has almost left us and nothing change.

I'm young and not a man. Father will not let me roam.

Father had a hand in educating all his children. It was he and Maester Luwin that insured that they got their full education; education beyond simple numbers and letters. But I found myself fortunate spending time with Father, even under such circumstances. I had him all to myself. I have found that he taught me more about honor and life through simple conversations than any book in library. He reminisced on the past and answered my questions. Sometimes his answers possessed deep meaning that would only be revealed to me weeks later.

Not only did I learn from him but I also learned things about him that no one with exception of Lady Catelyn knew.

Like his hate for Tywin Lannister.

For his acts of betrayal and murder of children.

I knew of Lord Tywin through my lessons. All men feared him even if they chose not to respect him. He was a dangerous man. Ruthless when necessary.

Father's dislike of him was absolute. But a small part of me admired him for his principles.

Something I would never admit to Father.

Tywin cast his honor away when he entered King's Landing under the flag of friendship and sacked it. He forever lost his chance of regaining his honor when he presented bodies of Targaryen children before King Robert. But I knew my history. The Starks didn't hold the North for over 8,000 years because they were always beloved by every folk and house in the North. Kings of Winter were hard. North gave birth to strong men. Starks put plenty of castles to torch and cut down entire families over millenniums that our house has ruled- from the oldest to the youngest.

But we never displayed our deeds as gifts to Kings. Took sick pride in them. Some deeds needed to be done, but taking pleasure from them is unnecessary. An affront to the Gods. To common decency.

It was Tywin's handling of Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion and not his deeds during the last war that made me reluctantly acknowledge him. Not as a man of honor. But as a man who had his rules and lived by them.

No half measures. Some things can't be cut in half. You can't half-love someone. You can't half-betray, or half-lie.

Or half-kill.

It was one of many lessons that Ser Rodrick drilled into us during practice. "You have to mean every strike", he would say. Tywin applied that theory on a larger scale like hundreds of lords and petty kings before him. I saw no need to judge him.

The execution was a quick affair. The man broke down and pleaded for his life just as every criminal at every execution I was present at did before him.

A brave man didn't die today.

Only a coward.

The guards took care of the body while my Father handed me Ice. I wiped it clean of blood and with some effort placed it back in its sheath and onto my horse. We rode back into the castle in silence. Father didn't ask me if I was alright. I have seen enough men beheaded by him to let such things upset me.

This was our way. The man that passes the sentence swings the sword. I was proud to have a Father who followed North's ways with such diligence.

I took one last glance at the vast plains. They were endless. I could see endless green of grass in every direction and forests to the west. I loved this land. One day I would travel every corner of it. I loved Old Nan's stories as a child. Still do. Tales of the North, of the land that we inherited through the strength of our arms. She now told them mostly to Sansa, but I joined her every time I could.

My little sister was frightened by the tales of Giants, Children of the Forest and White Walkers. But I was fascinated. I wondered if such things still existed in our world. Or did magic truly leave and rob us of their wonders?

Do the First Men look at us from the heart trees in sadness? They knew all of the North's secrets. And we do not.

I would look for the Children and for the Giants when I got older. But I knew none resided on this side of the Wall. "Magic is dead. And Children of the Forest with it", that's what Maester Luwin would say. I begrudgingly didn't argue. He was a learned man. Wise as he was old. And he was old.

Father said that the only things that remained from Children's time were the weirwood tree and the faces they carved onto them.

I would see for myself. I always wanted to visit the Wall. And see the Far North beyond it. A trip there would not only sate my child like wonder and curiosity but hopefully challenge me. Those lands were harsh as they were vast.

Could I survive and thrive there like the Wildlings could?

I wanted to know. The question burned in my mind.

We arrived at the stables in no time at all. I handed my Father the family sword and he quickly departed. Maester Luwin was waiting for us when we arrived and left with him. He looked worried and my father noticed it as immediately as I did. Without a doubt they left to talk in the castle proper, in Father's private chambers and rooms.

I went to the kitchens and ate. I took my time. My lessons with maester Luwin were canceled and I found myself catching up on few books in my room and exploring the castle. It wasn't exploring as much as walking. I knew all the secrets Winterfell had to offer. I spent my afternoon being thoroughly bored. That is until the news and gossip began to spread through the castle like some contagious disease. Afflicting everyone in sight.

I couldn't believe what I heard.

Lannister ships burned down at anchor in Lannisport. Greyjoys attack under a cover of night with their Iron Fleet and left behind them a great blaze.

I wonder if you were to look from Casterly Rock, did the blaze look like a sun rising over the coast or a small flicker of light? I knew that Casterly Rock stood tall. Taller than all.

The implication and the significance of this attack were not lost on me. This was not an attack against the West but an open challenge against King Robert. With the torches they tossed on Lannister ships they have proclaimed King Robert weak. Westeros divided and incapable of stopping them.

This was not the sort of mockery that Baratheon king would allow. I was sure of it.

Just as I was sure that Father would ride to help his friend weather this storm.

War was brewing.

Closer I got to my Father's study the louder voices got. It was my Father and his lady wife. They were in a middle of a booming argument. Castle walls shook. I knew why she was upset. Father will go off to war. For the second time. Lady Catelyn will be left behind, again. And she was with child. Again.

This is almost exactly what happened during the last war. I could only wonder if Father would bring her another surprise.

I was not far away from the door when Father stormed out. He quickly spotted me and motioned for me to follow him. It suited me just fine. It was my intention to speak to him after I heard the gossip. We walk step by step. I waited for him to say something. I didn't want to break the silence. I knew that Father relished quiet moments. He was the only man I knew that did not feel it was necessary to fill ever second with noise. We made it outside and father brought me to the walls. We climbed the stairs and made it to the top. The wall we were on faced toward the West.

"Have you heard what happen? The news every kitchen wench, servant and guard whispers about when they think I can't hear them?" My father looked at the horizon as he spoke.

How could I not?

"Yes, Father. Greyjoys are in open rebellion. Iron Islands have raised their sword against the Iron Throne in open challenge. And the Lannister fleet rests at the bottom of the Sunset Sea."

"Aye. They do." Silence befell us once more. He sigh deeply.

"Robert has called for his banners. This is not a challenge he can or would want to refuse. If he fails, Westeros will fall apart and Iron Throne would mean nothing. The Crownlands ride with him. Lord Tully's host gathers at Seagard and Tywin has deployed his forces to defend the coast. As will the Reach and the North."

"Will the North defend or attack? Are we calling the bannermen to arms?"

He nodded.

"Yes. I will march west. I just finished sending ravens with Maester Luwin. In the end, it will be the North, the West, the Riverlands, the Crownlands and Stormlands that will sent their soldiers and make up majority of King's swords."

I smiled. What a sight that would be. I never seen that many men in my life. "Then the rebellion will be short and painful for the Ironborn. King Robert and you, Father, will make them reap what they have sowed. Despite their words. They can't withstand such a host."

He look at me. "Ironborn are lords of the sea. Until King's brother arrived with the royal fleet there is little that can be done." He lectured me. Another lesson. I didn't mind. I wanted to learn more.

"I will be gone. I plan on riding out with the host. They will gather and come to Winterfell and the rest will join us as we head south past Moat Cailin." A legendary fortress. It halted the Andal invasions. Father has been slowly rebuilding it ever since winter ended. Another site worthy of a visit when it becomes fully restored. Twenty tall towers it would have once more. A great black walls. The entire structure would stand on the Neck. It strangled any invader. And it would do so in the future.

I felt father rest his hand on my shoulder. I snapped back from my thoughts and looked back at him.

"Listen. When I am gone, you will be the Lord of Winterfell. It will be your responsibility. You will have help from Maester Luwin and my wife. There will be a lot to do. Arranging supply lines and daily duties. But you will-"

I interrupted my father. I never done that before.

The words that escaped my mouth sounded ridiculous, even to me. "Take me with you Father." He stared at me as if he misheard. I saw him trying to process my words but I didn't let up. "Take me with you. There will be plenty of time for me to learn about being a lord. Your lady wife and Maester Luwin don't need me. I want to go. I want to gain my own experiences so that when I am called to fight in a war I will be prepared. I will stay out of the way. Back in the camp when you lead men. I promise. I can be your page. Serve the lords their drinks, fetch you letters and-"

My father caught me off just as I have done. I shouldn't have done it in the first place. He looked at me as if I lost my head. Was I making a fool out of myself?

"Absolutely not."

And...that was that. He didn't sound angry with me but his tone said what he wanted to say. It was icy. Like the Wall. You could argue with it till you become hoarse in the throat, but the Wall doesn't move. Not for any man.

Certainly not for a green boy.

In the coming weeks I saw countless lords arrive with their levies. Lord Glover arrived from Deepwood Motte. Their sigil was a clenches fist over a red field. House Mormont arrived from Bear Island led by Jorah Mormont. A rising star of their house. Slowly more banners and sigils could be seen from the windows of my room. House Umber arrived shortly after only to be followed by House Karstark. Bolton came soon after with their flayed man banners. I could see the banners of northern mountain clans. It was rare for them to leave their mountain keeps but banners belonging to House Wull, House Norrey and others could not be mistaken. The houses brought their forces and forces of houses sworn to them. As did House Stark.

The Grey direwolf banner was the most numerous. And it flew the highest.

It only took a month for the soldiers to reach Winterfell. Father's foresight to fix and build roads was proven to have paid off. Jaehaerys Targaryen would have been proud.

I made my way to the courtyard. Today Father would leave for the campaign. Lady Catelyn was there with Robb and Sansa. Even Jon was present. I made my way and stood amongst them. Father arrived on horse from the stables. Surrounded by his best and bravest men. All ready to set off.

A crowd gathered around the family. We were all here to see him off and wish him a safe journey and speedy return.

"Winterfell is yours", was all he said as he looked from the horse at us. I though his eyes would zero in on me as if to challenge and crush any last minute protests that I might have raised. I wasn't foolish enough to do that. Disrespect my Father in front of the entire castle. Argue with him like a child I was. It wouldn't happen. His eyes surveyed the whole crowd.

I was prepared to answer him but was interrupted.

"As you wish brother." It was a familiar voice. My head whipped to the side with such speed that I was surprised I didn't snap it. Uncle Benjen stood there. Not to far from us. He wore his black cloak. Like legendary members of the Night's Watch I read about in my books. I didn't know he would be here.

Before I could greet or question him or do anything I was interrupted by Father.

"Geralt", he called out and I fixed my gaze back at him. His face look more serious than usual. He undid some leather straps from his saddle and threw a sword in front of my feet. It was a bastard sword. It was still to big for me. More appropriate for someone on the cusp of manhood. The blade was sheathed but near the handle it peaked out to the world like a curious child. It was steel.

Sharp and deadly.

I looked up from the sword back to Father.

His horse seemed like it was in a hurry as it snorted and shook its head.

"Pick it up and hurry. If want a lesson on war then I will teach you."

My eyes went wide.

"A lesson on hard truths."

Author Notes: Chapter 2 is done. I struggled with this chapter. Next chapter will be the Greyjoy Rebellion.

Write me a review if you liked it or have a criticism. Or if you want the next chapter out faster. ;-)

PM for questions.

Goodbye