𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒

𝐢𝐢 𝕿𝐡𝐞 𝕮𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝕭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐬
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____ A Northern breeze swept throughout Winterfell, blowing dry leaves across the ground. The Godswood trees swayed along with the wind. Yet, the Godswood contained more than a few trees that danced to the breeze that made the dreary North more cold.

Inside of the broken watchtower, young Rikson Stark sat on the floor with a pile of arrows in his lap, some were sharpened while others were on their way.

The secondborn son of Lord and Lady Stark often found himself inside of the broken watchtower. Every time he was either reading, hiding from his brothers, or sharpening arrows, the latter being an activity his mother, definitely, couldn't know about.

"Rikson! Rikson, where have you gone off to?"

Lord Stark's booming voice echoed across the Godswood as he continued to call for Rikson, knowing the young boy always hid in the quiet woods whenever he wanted to be left alone.

Upon hearing the calls of his father, Rikson swiftly hid the arrows underneath a pile of sticks, the woods blending in with one another, before racing down the stone steps of the broken watchtower.

"Coming, father!"

Eddard watched as his son sprinted towards him, leaning on his knees and panting for breath once he stood in front of his father. He heartily chuckled at Rikson as the young boy regained himself.

"What did you need, father?"

Ned placed his calloused hand on Rikson's shoulder as he began to lead them out of the Godswood.

"You have come of age for your first hunt, Rik. Now you must train your skills in the open field."

Rikson gulped but listened to his father's orders as he ran inside of the castle's walls and prepared himself for his first hunt in the Wolfswood outside of Winterfell.

ꕥ 𓅓☽𓅓 ꕥ

"There you go, boy, draw all the way back."

Rikson did as such, pulling the bowstring to his pink tinted cheeks. Rodrik Cassel, who was kneeled beside the boy of ten, extended his arm towards a stag grazing in front of the pair. Muffled grunts of struggle escaped the boy's lips as he held the bow in his grasp.

"Easy, boy. Now, put the stag's neck in your sights."

Rikson did just that, the tip of the arrow upon the bowstring lining up with the stag's neck.

"There you go, boy, keep your gaze-" Rodrik's words fell upon deaf ears as the stag lifted it's head, staring directly into Rikson Stark's cerulean eyes.

An old Northern instinct began to overtake Rikson. His breathing became heavier as the bow in his grasp began to shake. As he kept eye-contact with the stag, the young boy's eyes rolled into the back of his head, revealing a complete white shade instead of blue.

He saw a little boy with light-brunette hair collapse onto the ground beneath him, the old man beside him beginning to shake his small figure and shout his name. Startled by the movements, his four legs carried him away from the excitement.

The breeze swept through his brown fur as he gracefully jumped over fallen trees. He ran across small streams, the cold sending a shiver throughout his body, yet he didn't feel cold. The green grass grazed his hooves as he continued to sprint throughout the calm woods.

ꕥ 𓅓☽𓅓 ꕥ

The sound of soft crying registered in Rikson's mind as he regained consciousness, his cerulean eyes fluttering open. He noticed he was in his room rather than the Wolfwoods where he had experienced something he couldn't quite put a name towards.

He shifted his gaze towards the source of the crying, finding that his sweet mother was sitting on a chair beside his bed, crying into her hands.

"Don't cry, mom."

Catelyn Stark's crying had immediately ceased when she heard her son's voice. She stood from the wooden chair and sat beside him, beginning to run her
smooth hand through his soft hair.

"My beautiful boy, do you feel alright?"

Rikson snickered, "I feel fine, mom. Quit fussing." Catelyn chuckled, continuing to comb her hand through his hair. Rikson sat up on his bed, gently brushing away her hand, rejecting his mother's affection, as almost any young boy did.

"I want you to promise me that if you feel ill, tell either me or your father." Catelyn sternly looked at her son, who chuckled and nodded, "I promise, mom."

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