Griffith had woken at daybreak, and changing into appropriate garments he headed towards the yard.
He ran down the long winding steps off the tower, which he slept in, he had moved there the year he found out the truth about his heritage.
A lot of people would have found it lonely since the tower was on the far end of the keep, but Griffith liked it, it was quiet and peaceful and gave him a great view of Winterfell and the lands surrounding it.
He had also moved a lot of the books that had resided in the library tower up into his room since he needed to look things up from time to time.
His interest in literature hadn't lessened one bit since he took up the sword, and Griffith still read through Winterfell's accounts of the world's history.
Griffith walked out into the yard, his long black hair trailing behind him.
As always it was empty, except for two guards that manned the battlements.
They waved to him and he waved back, it had become a sort of ritual, that every morning when he entered the yard he would wave to the guards that watched over the gate.
But the boy, now nearly fully grown, had not always had a good relationship with the population of Winterfell.
Matter of fact when his hair first appeared most people had distrusted or worse hated him.
But as the years had passed, they had slowly begun to accept him, which then turned to admiration and trust when he had saved a village from a band of outlaws.
It had been a fierce battle in which Griffith would have died if one of the farmers hadn't warned him of the axe approaching his head.
When the news had reached Winterfell, its inhabitants had insisted on throwing a feast in his honour.
A twang echoed across the yard and the arrow Griffith had fired hit the edge of the target.
He breathed in as he fitted another arrow to his string, and closing one eye he slowly breathed out.
Releasing the arrow he watched as he shot at the target hitting just right off the centre.
Griffith sighed and was about to grab another arrow when Moon padded past him towards the target.
He chuckled and crouched down waiting for his direwolf to return.
It soon did the four arrows he had shot clamped softly between his jaws.
Griffith wrinkled his nose as the saliva covered arrows were placed at his feet, but still, he stroked his direwolf's white fur.
"Jon?" he heard a voice behind him say and turning around he found the Imp standing behind him.
"Oh sorry, I mistook for someone else." the small man said, apologetically, but Griffith could hear the sarcasm in his voice.
Bowing slightly, he gave the Imp a small smile, "Good morning, Lord Tyrion."
The Lannister cocked an eyebrow, "Well you're strangely kind for a bastard of House Stark, aren't you boy."
Griffith straightened up, "Well I try to be." he then paused, "I'm guessing you've met my brother."
Tyrion nodded, "Oh yes, he's quite naive isn't he."
The black-haired boy chuckled, he knew the dwarf was trying to provoke him but he wouldn't let him, "I guess, Jon does believe in honour a bit too much."
Looking past him, Tyrion smirked, "Your wolves really fit your names, you know that!"
Griffith nodded, "Indeed they do."
Just then the gates to the great hall swung open and through them walked Joffrey Baratheon and his guard.
As he passed the Prince gazed at him out of the corner of his eye, a glint of annoyance in them.
Turning to Tyrion, Griffith bowed, "Well then, I'll be taking my leave, I hope you have a nice day Lord Tyrion."
Entering his chambers he waited for Moon to cross the threshold before closing the door.
Stroking the direwolf's head Griffth strode over to his desk from which he took the book he had been reading and sat next to the window from which he had a great view of the yard.
Opening, 'the falcon of the Vale' a complete history of House Arryn, on the page he had marked, Griffith began to read.
Maester Luwin had told him that it was a gift by Jon Arryn to his father when he was married.
He was in the middle of reading a most interesting retelling of Daron Arryn's siege of Skyreach when he heard the sound of fighting coming from the yard.
So leaning over, he looked down onto the combat below, what he saw made nearly crack up.
Bran and Prince Tommen sparring, but since one was of 'royal blood' they wore padding, so as not to be hurt, which made the young prince look even fatter than he already was.
Griffith sighed deeply and stood up, the book now on the seat he had been sitting on.
Walking over to his bed he snatched up his lute and strode out his room, Moon close behind him.
***
I hope you enjoyed the chapter and please tell me if you see any mistakes.
Did you know that Targaryen's can burn, it's just that the show messed it up.
Then I hope you have a nice day or night depending on where you are, goodbye ;)