Aspirations

Under Jon's escort, Garon spent the afternoon wandering around Winterfell.

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They were close in age, and their temperaments suited each other.

Naturally, they got along very well.

In particular, both Jon and Garon were despised by Catelyn.

Their shared experience quickly brought them closer.

Thanks to Garon's polished social skills, Jon was almost ready to consider him a close confidant.

By early evening, Jon finally opened up to Garon and voiced the confusion in his heart.

Atop the bell tower.

The two stood side by side before the bronze bell, gazing into the distance at the sunset marking the end of the Long Summer.

Jon looked troubled and said softly, "Garon, to be honest, I've always been uncertain about my future."

"I can't inherit Winterfell like Robb, nor can I become Robb's bannerman like Bran and fight for him."

"I'm nothing but a bastard!"

"Maybe, in the end, I'll join the Night's Watch, just like Theon said."

Garon's eyes shifted slightly. He shook his head. "Jon, you're overthinking it!"

"Does being a bastard mean you can't make something of yourself?"

Jon Snow's expression darkened. He murmured softly, as if trying to convince himself, "Bastards are only ever mocked and scorned by the world. How could I ever make something of myself?"

Seeing how dispirited Jon was, Garon didn't immediately comfort him. Instead, he asked another question.

"Have you heard of House Justman?"

Jon Snow shook his head in confusion, indicating that he hadn't.

"House Justman once ruled the Riverlands as Kings of the Trident for more than two hundred years. Their founder, Benedict Rivers, was a bastard."

"The Fearless Benedict spent more than thirty years wiping out the Riverlands' many factions, and in the end, he was crowned king."

"Jon, do you know what that proves?"

Garon's heart began to surge, and even his voice grew impassioned.

He turned to look at Jon. His burning gaze held a breathtaking magnetism, drawing Jon's eyes and holding them fast.

Without waiting for Jon to reply, Garon spoke his mind.

"Humble origins are no disgrace!"

"To bend and rise again—that is what makes a hero!"

Jon stared at Garon, whose presence was dazzling and whose red eyes blazed like flames. He was shaken to the core.

The words seemed to hold an irresistible power. Without thinking, he repeated them.

"Humble origins are no disgrace. To bend and rise again—that's what makes a hero?"

Garon nodded, his gaze fixed on the sunset, his eyes brimming with ambition.

That was right.

He had come from Deepwood Motte, with no money, no allies, no renown, and no cheat to rely on.

With just over two thousand soldiers from the Wolfswood, trying to claim the Iron Throne was a fool's dream.

He didn't even have enough men to take the North.

But so what?

Where there was a will, there was a way!

Even if he had everything, wouldn't other problems still arise?

Garon knew how the future of this world would unfold. He understood the true nature of everyone in this game of thrones, which already gave him a greater advantage than anyone else.

If he still couldn't claim the Iron Throne...

Then he'd be no better than Joffrey.

Hearing those words, Jon's once-withered heart seemed to catch fire again.

He eagerly asked Garon, "What should I do?"

Garon smiled faintly. "Choose a goal, then make it happen!"

"It's that simple?"

"It's that simple!"

Garon patted Jon on the shoulder and offered guidance with the air of a mentor.

"Jon, don't worry about whether your goal is absurd or whether you can succeed."

"All you need to do is keep pushing yourself toward it!"

"Even if you fail, at least you'll know you tried, won't you?"

Garon served up a dose of encouragement, and Jon Snow, who had been downcast for so long, felt reborn.

"But how do I choose a goal?"

Garon pointed to Jon's chest and smiled. "That's something you have to ask yourself."

"Others can help you with anything along the way to achieving your goal."

"But no one can help you take that first step and choose to strive for something."

Garon watched Jon's thoughtful expression, a steady sense of delight welling up inside him.

Now I understand why people in my past life were always so fond of playing the mentor.

It really does feel great.

From the very beginning, Garon had had a special purpose in mind for Jon Snow.

Garon's roots were too shallow. If he wanted to claim the Iron Throne, he had to use every ounce of strength to build up his influence.

And capable people were paramount.

In Game of Thrones, Jon Snow was a protagonist and undoubtedly a first-rate talent.

From joining the Night's Watch to becoming its Lord Commander, the adventures he faced along the way had amply demonstrated his intelligence.

Although he sometimes let his emotions get the better of him, it was never a serious flaw.

How could Garon bear to let such a talent join the Night's Watch and waste his time?

At that moment, Jon stared blankly at the fading glow of the sunset.

He was absorbed in Garon's words, murmuring to himself, "I have to choose a goal first, but what is mine..."

Garon smiled as he stood beside him, careful not to interrupt his thoughts.

He, too, was considering how to handle that evening's invitation to the Godswood.

Time passed, little by little.

When the last trace of sunlight disappeared and the sky turned blue, footsteps sounded on the bell tower's stone stairs.

A servant saw Garon and Jon and immediately breathed a sigh of relief.

He said respectfully, "Lord Garon, Lord Ned invites you to dinner."

Garon nodded. "I understand. I'll be right there."

The servant bowed and left.

Garon clapped his hands, bringing Jon out of his reverie. "It's time for dinner. Let's head back."

"And don't rush into choosing a goal."

"Sometimes, searching for your purpose is itself a way of exploring life."

Jon looked a little confused. He still didn't quite understand what Garon meant.

Garon smiled and said no more.

He turned and patted Jon on the shoulder, then walked past him and down the stone steps. "Come on. Lord Ned is waiting for us!"

Jon murmured, "Mm," gathered himself, and hurried after him.

By the time they reached the hall, candles had been lit throughout Winterfell.

"Lord Ned, Lady Catelyn!"

As soon as Garon entered the hall, he acted as though nothing had happened during the day and offered Ned and his wife a courteous bow.

After Garon straightened, Ned, seated at the head of the table, smiled. "We're family. There's no need to be so formal."

"Take a seat!"

Garon smiled and agreed.

He met Catelyn's hostile gaze and sat beside Bran.

Jon, meanwhile, sat at the end of the long table with Theon.

As Garon took his seat, Sansa stole a glance at him, only to meet his eyes.

Startled like a fawn, she quickly looked away.

Garon smiled knowingly, making Catelyn, who had seen the exchange, even angrier.

She had guarded against every possibility, yet she'd never expected her own daughter to be the first to surrender.

Catelyn glared angrily at Sansa.

Arya, sitting beside Sansa, saw this and assumed her mother was angry because she'd slipped away from her sewing lesson earlier that day.

Arya shrank her head in fear.

As for Sansa, she was still absorbed in her embarrassment and hadn't noticed Catelyn's look at all.

And so, Garon's first dinner at Winterfell began amid a strange atmosphere.

Dinner at Winterfell was nothing special, just meat pie and vegetable salad.

Ned Stark didn't start any conversation, so everyone ate in silence, each with their own thoughts.

When dinner was over,

Ned got up to leave, intending to give the children the rest of the evening to themselves.

He particularly hoped Garon and Sansa would get to know each other better.

Before leaving, Ned smiled and reminded them, "Don't stay up too late. We have things to do tomorrow."

The other Starks nodded.

But Garon called Ned back and asked, "Lord Ned, later, before bed, I'd like to pray in the Godswood."

Ned was a little surprised, but figured it might be a custom in Deepwood Motte, so he agreed.

"All right. I'll tell the guards to let you through."

When it was clear Garon had no other requests, Ned took Catelyn by the hand and left.

Word of what had happened during the day had already reached Ned. He planned to have a long talk with Catelyn in bed.