The cold wind swept through the courtyard of Winterfell, carrying snowflakes that danced around the walls. The days in Winterfell seemed to blend together, with the constant snowfall and unyielding cold. However, Arthur was beginning to get used to the rhythm of this place, as if the routine of the North was slowly shaping him.
Benjen held a training sword, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to mimic the movements Arthur had taught him. He was a determined boy, but still inexperienced. Arthur watched, twirling his twin swords in slow circles, relaxed.
By this point, Arthur had become much more comfortable with the environment. He had swapped his attire for more "common" clothing. Despite this, he wore much lighter garments and, as someone from the modern era, preferred regular trousers.
In a way, he looked out of place. While everyone bundled up against the cold, he didn't seem to mind it much.
"You're doing well, Benjen," said Arthur, sidestepping when the young Stark lunged with a strike. "But you need to keep your feet lighter. Don't think too much, just feel."
Benjen nodded, but when he attempted a faster spin, he lost his balance and almost fell into the snow. Arthur laughed and caught the boy by the shoulder before he could fall. "Slow down, boy! If you think too much, you end up tripping over your own feet."
Benjen huffed, trying to hide a smile. "I look more like a lost deer than a warrior," he complained.
Rodrick Cassel, watching from a distance, smiled. "You're learning quickly, Benjen. Don't give up. And Arthur," he said, gesturing toward the blonde man, "I think you've found yourself a dedicated student."
Arthur shrugged, winking at the young Stark. "With a bit more practice, he'll soon surpass me."
Benjen laughed, his eyes shining with the compliment, and tried the move once more, landing the strike correctly this time. Arthur nodded, satisfied. "There you go, boy. You're getting the hang of it."
On another day, Lyanna insisted that Arthur accompany her to the forests around Winterfell. The snow covered the ground like a white blanket, and the air was filled with a serene silence, only broken by the sound of their footsteps and the rustling of leaves. Ragnar led the way, sniffing the air, alert to any sounds.
"I noticed you've gotten used to Winterfell's weather pretty quickly," said Lyanna, throwing a branch for Ragnar to fetch. Sometimes, this giant wolf behaved like a simple dog. "You seem to have the spirit of the North."
Arthur laughed. "Maybe I've adapted quickly. Sometimes it feels like I'm more comfortable here than you are."
Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "And who said I want to stay here? I've always wanted to see the world outside, but my father insists it's too dangerous."
"He's not entirely wrong," replied Arthur, glancing around at the trees. "The world beyond is full of dangers, but it has its own beauty too."
She shrugged, smiling defiantly. "Maybe that's exactly what I'm looking for."
Arthur looked at her, noticing the spark of frustration and longing for freedom in Lyanna's eyes. "If you're the type who seeks danger, then you're on the right path. But I hope you know what you're doing."
"I do," she replied simply. And she continued walking, leading the way, while Arthur followed, chuckling softly.
Time in Winterfell seemed to pass in a strange way when you didn't have a set routine. Arthur was beginning to notice the small signs of acceptance around him. The soldiers greeted him with respectful nods, and even the villagers, once wary, now treated him with familiarity.
The village children adored Ragnar, trying to pet the wolf whenever they could. To everyone's surprise, Ragnar allowed it, staying calm, as if he understood they posed no threat.
One afternoon, Arthur found himself by the weirwood tree, observing the face carved into the ancient trunk. The weirwood had a presence he still couldn't fully comprehend. It seemed to gaze back at him, its red eyes almost alive against the white bark.
Rickard appeared beside him, unhurried, as if he were just another man looking at the sacred tree. He crossed his arms, looking at the weirwood with a thoughtful expression. "This is the heart of Winterfell," he said after a moment of silence. "The old gods watch us from here."
Arthur nodded, still looking at the face in the tree. "I'm not from the North, but... I feel something here. I can't explain it."
Rickard smiled slightly, a rare sight on his usually stern face. "Perhaps the old gods have decided to accept you, even if you are a man from distant lands." He paused, as if considering something. "I want to thank you for everything you've done, Arthur. Taking care of Lyanna and Benjen... they needed it. Since my wife, Lyarra, died, the two have been very lonely. Brandon is too impulsive and always eager to prove himself in the training yard. And Ned is far away, in the Vale."
Arthur looked at Rickard, seeing a hint of vulnerability in the man who bore the weight of the North. "I'm just doing what I think is right, my lord. They're good kids."
Rickard nodded, still gazing at the weirwood. "Benjen and Lyanna seem to have found an older brother in you. That's something I can never thank you enough for." He turned to face Arthur, his expression serious once more. "Brandon needs challenges, something to test his strength and skill. And you've been a constant reminder that he isn't invincible." He laughed.
"But Benjen and Lyanna... they need someone they can rely on. You've given them that."
Arthur gave a small, crooked smile. "I'm glad to help, my lord. I like them too."
Rickard nodded with a smile. "I know you don't have plans to settle down here in the North. But know that I respect your wishes, and if you ever change your mind, you're welcome to put down roots here."
Arthur couldn't help but smile, but at the same time, he felt a pang of sadness.
He still remembered his sister and his nephew — they were his only family. Not knowing how they were, what they were doing, and what they would do felt strange.
Shaking his head, he pushed these thoughts away. Whatever the case, he couldn't go back. So, he must embrace his new chance.
Perhaps not in Winterfell, perhaps not in the North. Perhaps never anywhere, but he has time. First, he can see the world, and then decide.
"I appreciate it, Lord Stark," he said with a nod.