The next morning, at dawn.
Garon turned over in his sleep and tumbled right out of bed!
He jolted awake and instinctively sat up, cold sweat streaming down his forehead.
"Was that a dream?"
Garon glanced at the fireplace, now extinguished, his heart still pounding.
The dream had felt so real that he'd thought he was truly about to be torn apart and devoured by two ice-and-fire dragons.
Only after his heartbeat had settled somewhat did he get to his feet.
"Dragons... tree roots... the Three-Eyed Crow..."
"Was it just a nightmare, or a prophetic dream carrying some special message?"
Once he had calmed down, Garon tried to recall the dream in detail, but the more he thought about it, the hazier it became.
By the end, he could barely remember anything except that a dragon had appeared in his dream.
"What's going on?"
Unable to make sense of it, Garon recalled that the Three-Eyed Crow had told him to go Beyond the Wall. He murmured, "Do I really have to go Beyond the Wall to find the Three-Eyed Crow, just like Bran?"
But Garon quickly shook his head, dismissing the idea.
For one thing, the story was at a crucial point. Robert would arrive soon, and a string of major events was about to unfold. Garon simply couldn't spare the time to go Beyond the Wall.
For another, the White Walkers Beyond the Wall had already begun stirring again. Even if the Three-Eyed Crow said he could help him, Garon wouldn't risk venturing north of the Wall without a foolproof plan.
"Better to focus on what's right in front of me!"
"As for the Three-Eyed Crow, if he really needs something from me, he'll show up again sooner or later!"
Having made up his mind, Garon finally had time to look around—
The candles in his bedroom had long since burned out. The fireplace no longer offered any warmth, leaving the room cold and dim.
He rubbed the back of his chilled hand and couldn't help shivering.
"It's almost daybreak..."
"Never mind. I may as well go out and get some exercise."
Wide awake, Garon got dressed, buckled his sword at his waist, and strode out the door.
The first light of dawn had yet to break, and Winterfell was utterly quiet.
Garon followed the passageway to the training yard, which, as expected, was deserted.
He drew in a breath of morning air. The biting chill swept through him like an ice snake.
Garon shuddered and came fully awake.
He warmed up as he'd grown accustomed to doing at Deepwood Motte.
Once he'd worked up a light sweat, Garon drew his sword, ready to practice. Then a familiar voice came from behind him.
"Lord Garon, why are you up so early for morning practice?"
Garon turned toward the voice and saw Rodrik Cassel.
He lowered his sword and greeted him with a smile. "Good morning, Ser Rodrik!"
After Rodrik returned the greeting, Garon explained.
"I've long been used to this routine at Deepwood Motte. I get up early to practice swordsmanship every day."
"If I miss even a single day, my swordsmanship suffers."
"That's why I keep at it every day, without daring to slack off."
Rodrik nodded in agreement. "That's certainly true."
Garon looked him up and down. Seeing Ser Rodrik dressed for training, he said, "If you have time, Ser, why don't we spar?"
"I've heard Robb say your swordsmanship is extraordinary."
Ser Rodrik laughed heartily, stroked his white beard, and readily agreed.
"I'd be glad to. I'd like to see your swordsmanship for myself, Lord Garon."
Since it was only a spar, neither of them used a real sword.
Instead, each picked up a wooden one from the nearby weapon rack.
Garon gave his sword a flourish, and Ser Rodrik's eyes lit up.
As the saying went, outsiders saw the spectacle, but experts saw the skill.
One glance was enough for Ser Rodrik to tell that Garon was no weakling.
How skilled he was, though, remained to be seen.
They faced each other with swords raised. After a brief standoff, Ser Rodrik made the first move.
Despite his short, stocky build and his age, he was remarkably nimble.
Ser Rodrik swung at Garon's arm. Garon blocked with practiced ease, deflected the force, and counterattacked.
They traded blows, one attacking and the other defending, locked in combat for more than a dozen exchanges.
Seeing Garon handle himself with such ease, Ser Rodrik grew even more curious about just how skilled he was.
After another attack failed, he stepped back twice and said solemnly, "Lord Garon, I'm going to use my full strength now. I hope you'll show me what you can really do as well."
Garon smiled and agreed, but inwardly he was astonished.
As soon as he and Ser Rodrik had crossed swords, he'd noticed something different about his body.
Garon had already been strong, but after what had happened last night, his reflexes seemed to have sharpened further.
Now, the instant Ser Rodrik moved, Garon could immediately judge the angle and force of his attack and counter it.
If he had to compare it to something, it was almost like awakening Observation Haki in One Piece.
"Could the Greenseer bloodline be strengthening my body?"
Garon wondered silently, while keeping an eye on Ser Rodrik's attacks.
"Even though Ser Rodrik asked me to go all out, I should still hold back."
"If I hurt the old man, it'll be a real problem."
"Judging by the angle of his sword, he's aiming for my arm..."
As Ser Rodrik charged, Garon put the thought aside and focused on his opponent.
In the blink of an eye—
Garon didn't move his feet. He brought his sword across and blocked the attack by the narrowest margin.
Ser Rodrik's heart skipped a beat. He could feel the immense power coiled in Garon's sword, held just beneath the surface.
He didn't dare let his guard down.
With the experience of a veteran, he changed his strike from a chop to a slice, shedding its force, then swept his sword upward from below.
But Garon's sword was faster. He struck where Ser Rodrik had to defend, and in an instant, hit him on the arm.
Ser Rodrik's arm went numb. The wooden sword slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.
"I yield!"
Holding his arm, Ser Rodrik conceded with good grace.
He'd known Garon's swordsmanship might be impressive, but he hadn't expected it to be this exceptional. He hadn't even lasted three exchanges.
"So you were holding back during those earlier exchanges!"
Ser Rodrik shook his head, evidently realizing what had happened.
His eyes widened in astonishment. "With swordsmanship like yours, the only man in the Seven Kingdoms who could stand against you may be Barristan the Bold."
"Lord Garon, if you entered a tourney in King's Landing, you'd surely take first place!"
Ser Rodrik's praise made Garon burst out laughing. Jon and Robb, who had just arrived, stared in disbelief.
They could hardly believe their eyes.
"Ser Rodrik lost?"
"Ser Rodrik wasn't a match for Garon?"
Hearing them, Ser Rodrik turned and scolded, "Robb, Jon, why are you only getting up now?"
"Look at Lord Garon. He's young, yet already so skilled with a sword—and, more importantly, he trains hard every day without slacking off."
"And you? All you do is sleep!"
"How can you sleep in at your age?"
Rodrik laid into them, leaving Robb and Jon speechless.
All they could do was stare at Garon resentfully.
It was hard enough competing with a genius. Competing with a genius who worked harder than everyone else was harder still!
Garon shrugged, suppressing a laugh.
After Ser Rodrik finished scolding them, Garon continued sparring with Jon and Robb.
As for the sparring they'd mentioned the day before, none of them brought it up again.
From then on, Garon's days at Winterfell finally settled into a routine.
In the morning, he practiced swordsmanship with Robb and Jon. In the afternoon, while Lady Catelyn kept a close watch, he found time to teach Sansa how to play Westeros Chess.
In the evening, Garon tried to study the Glover bloodline ability.
For three days straight, that was how things went.
Thanks to Garon's continued efforts, his relationship with Sansa improved by leaps and bounds.
Sansa even secretly told Garon that her mother was planning to arrange a marriage between her and the king.
And just like that, the day the king was due to arrive at Winterfell had come!
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