"Hey! Willian!" Robb's voice came from afar, pulling him out of his daydream.
He turned and saw his cousin approaching with a cheerful smile.
"So, did it work out? Everything went fine?" Robb asked, still out of breath.
"Relax, man, no need to run like that…" Willian let out a short laugh. "All according to plan." He made an 'ok' sign with his fingers.
Catching his breath, Robb replied with a thumbs-up."…Great…"
Willian raised an eyebrow, curious. "So, what is it? I doubt all this running around has anything to do with me."
The Stark put on a mock-offended face. "What do you mean? Of course I care about Winterfell's official coin maker…"
"Yeah, yeah, cut the drama. Spit it out."
Robb chuckled. "The lords' knights started a sparring session, but it got out of hand… and sort of turned into a competition."
That didn't sound very Northern, and Willian made that clear with a suspicious look.
"…And now some of them are betting on which lord has the best warrior," Robb added.
"Jon must be loving it." The reply came lightly.
"Exactly. And now it's our turn to show Winterfell's strength."
Willian stopped and looked where Sansa had disappeared.
"…Well, before that, Sansa was acting strange, saying Jeyne would never forgive her, she even cried…"
Robb's laughter interrupted him. "Ah, you heard about it. Well, don't worry. It's a girl's fight." His cousin put an arm over his shoulder, "an argument about a certain boy…"
He felt a shiver run down his spine. "Cut it out…"
Robb intensified his laughter, "Well, who knows, maybe you'll become my brother-in-law?"
Willian looked at Robb's face.
'He doesn't seem to be joking… but Sansa? Me…? WTF?'
Jon stood firm. The knight advanced with his sword in a straight line. Jon twisted his body to the side and parried the blow with his own steel. The sound of the impact was dry.
Without hesitation, the boy stepped forward. His arm moved with precision. The tip of his sword went straight to his opponent's chest.
The knight froze. The blade stopped a few millimeters from his armor. Jon did not blink. The other man recoiled, gasping for air.
Willian watched everything in silence. He had no idea who that man was.
"Yes! Jon won again!" Robb patted his arm excitedly.
"Of course, he's one of the most talented in Winterfell," Willian said dryly, but a smile appeared on his face.
"Jon is only 12, do you know how amazing that is?" Robb looked at him and almost jumped for joy.
Rodrick approached with heavy steps.
"Lord Robb, it would be appropriate for you to demonstrate your swordsmanship as well." The man pointed with his head to where the Northern lords were talking with Ned Stark. "The North values a courageous warrior."
Robb was uncomfortable, he didn't have much confidence in his own swordsmanship. Willian put his hand on his shoulder.
"Go. No one expects you to win." Willian's voice was comforting, even if it was a slight mockery.
"Okay, sure. I'm not a coward." Robb replied as he walked heavily towards the makeshift 'arena' on the training ground.
"Very good, Jon," he said. "You have your father's talent."
Jon smiled, but the fatigue was visible on his face.
The knight turned to Robb. "Lord Robb, will you join us?"
Robb took a deep breath. Willian could see that he was nervous. His cousin was a good swordsman, but he was stronger in cavalry and strategy. His lack of confidence was palpable.
"Of course," Robb said. His voice was firm, but Willian noticed the slight tremor.
Robb stepped into the arena and picked up a training sword. His opponent was a tall man with red hair.
"Lord Robb, why don't you give me the honor of being your opponent?" the red-haired man said, with an amused voice.
"Of course, Lord Harrin Karstark," Robb replied, his look a little tense.
The two bowed to each other and the duel began. Harrin advanced aggressively, with strong and fast blows. A defesa de Robb era sólida, but it lacked Jon's agility. With each blow, Robb moved back, trying to stand firm against Harrin's attack.
Willian watched from a distance. He could see that Robb was strong and that his technique was good, but he didn't have the confidence that Jon had in himself.
Harrin smiled and delivered a blow that Robb couldn't parry. The sound of steel against steel was loud and the blow hit Robb's sword, making him fall back. Robb recomposed himself and, with a look of determination, advanced again. The fight continued for a while, until Robb disarmed his opponent.
"Robb is also talented," Willian said to himself.
Robb, out of breath, left the arena. He seemed satisfied, but the tiredness on his face showed that the fight was not easy.
The crowd applauded. Robb had done his best, and the people of the North value a good effort.
'I suppose no one expects the Young Wolf to win at such an early age.'
"You should go too, young Lord Willian." Rodrick encouraged him. "It would be good for you to be seen as something more than a merchant and leader of a mercenary pack."
Willian looked at the lords and noticed they were looking at him and talking among themselves. Lord Manderly was talking to Greatjon of House Umber, and they were pointing at him blatantly.
"I suppose I should." He said reticently. At that moment, he would rather watch his cousins play than get into this circus, but apparently, it was his expected duty as well.
Rodrick smiled, "Go on, you're only young once, and a fun time like this," he pointed to where Robb was trying to stand firm against Harrin Karstark's attacks. "It builds strong bones. And gives you a bit of honor too."
Willian nodded and entered the 'game'. The knights and young nobles looked at him with curiosity and clear prejudice.
"The merchant wolf," "almost a wolf," "he's quite big…"
The gossip flew in whispers here and there. Everyone with strange looks on him.
Willian went to the weapon rack and picked up a long sword.
A tired Jon approached him. "I won 6."
"Only that?" Willian provoked lightly while letting out a proud look. The three of them were the youngest, the closest to them was Harrin Karstark, but he was already 18.
Jon laughed, "It was very good to fight against them." He looked at his former opponents, all much older men. "Training always with the same people is…"
Willian laughed and intervened, "Tiring to get bruised and battered, right?"
"Oh, cut it out, Willian. Fighting against different people helps you notice our 'patterns', you know?" Jon looked at his hands. "…And it's good to beat more people." He let a proud smile appear for a second.
Willian smiled longer, "Who did you lose to?"
Jon coughed in embarrassment and then looked at a tall man, "Smalljon."
Willian followed his gaze. "He's quite tall."
"And strong," Jon completed. "I was tired… but even if I wasn't, I would have lost. He is a good warrior."
It was inevitable that Jon would have lost, but if given a few more years… then the game would change.
"So, who are you going to fight?" Jon asked.
Willian kept his gaze on Smalljon.
"Are you kidding? I mean… if it's you… maybe you can…" Jon reacted surprised by his intention.
"I don't need to win, but it makes no sense for me to fight someone I have no challenge with, right?" he said slowly, while thinking if there was any negative point in showing his physical capacity to the maximum.
Smalljon laughed, a deep sound that echoed through the arena. "Brave! He has balls, the merchant wolf has guts!" He took a step forward.
Willian didn't respond. Only a hard smile spread across his face.
The two positioned themselves. The clash of swords was instantaneous, a clang of metal that reverberated throughout the courtyard. Smalljon attacked with brutal force, aiming to crush Willian's defense, but his blows were predictable and slow.
Willian moved with agility, dodging, stopping, and redirecting the blows. His arms were incredibly agile. He counterattacked with precision.
The fight continued intensely. With each clash, Willian's sword looked like a spark of steel. His focus was on learning how to counter an experienced warrior, but it became a total control of the fight's rhythm.
'…It's intense… but… I don't want to mock Smalljon, however, it's easy…'
The fight dragged on. Smalljon's fatigue was showing. His breathing became heavy, and his blows lost their strength, appearing even slower. Sweat ran down his face, mixing with the dirt.
Willian moved with ease, his breathing calm. Fatigue was non-existent. He continued to advance. He saw the flaw in Smalljon's defense, who was already exhausted.
'I definitely have some kind of cheat.'
He stopped, his sword hanging at his side. Smalljon looked at him, confused.
"I don't have any more energy to fight," Willian said, his voice calm and emotionless.
'Being defeated by a 12-year-old… would probably take away any honor Smalljon has.'
Smalljon's face twisted in anger. "Don't you dare disrespect me, boy! Don't you dare treat me like an old man!"
'…old man…? you're only what, 22?'
He advanced, his sword moving in a brutal arc.
Willian didn't move. He just dodged the blow.
His sword went up to clash with Smalljon's, knocking it down. Smalljon's sword flew and landed with a dry thud. The crowd went silent.
Smalljon began to laugh, "That's it! you shouldn't stop in the middle of a fight, boy."
Willian smiled. "I didn't want to offend you, but now…" his sword stopped a few inches from Smalljon's face. "I won."
Smalljon laughed louder, "You're a damn good fighter, son of a bitch."
The crowd erupted in applause and cheers.
-
-
-
Hello everyone,
It was really great to have created that poll. It helps me understand what I can do to better satisfy your interests.
In other words, it helps me make fewer mistakes.
Thanks for participating and letting your opinions come to life. It's truly helpful.
Now, about the ideas I'm going to use.
You guys gave me a lot of suggestions, and I'll analyze them carefully. I won't say directly what I'll be integrating into the story.
Just to spare you from spoilers.
I'll also keep the existing chapter, and maybe from time to time I'll run more polls, since it really proved to be useful.
Thanks again!