A few days later, after everything had been arranged, Lord Eddard Stark finally led his household out of Winterfell to accompany King Robert Baratheon's procession south toward King's Landing.
Truth be told, Eddard was deeply reluctant to bring Jon Snow along. But when both his brother Benjen and even his usually disapproving wife Catelyn expressed strong support for Jon accompanying them, he could hardly refuse without raising suspicion.
Remembering his dying sister's final plea, Eddard sighed and compromised. If Jon—no, Aedric—was to be kept safe, better to have him within sight than left behind in the North where who knew what might happen.
Aedric, of course, was more than satisfied with this outcome. His timely interventions in Winterfell had already altered several major events from the "show" he remembered: Bran Stark had never fallen and lay comatose; Joffrey Baratheon hadn't arranged an assassination; Tyrion Lannister had dutifully gone north with Benjen to the Wall; and though Cersei's fever had broken, she was still weak and listless — too drained to engage in her usual debauchery with her twin brother.
For the first time, the royal entourage was peaceful.
Thinking of it all, Aedric couldn't help but scorn that "pig" of a king. How oblivious did one have to be to let his wife and her brother sneak around right under his nose for years? No wonder Robert died so pitifully in the original timeline — it was pure poetic justice.
Leaving that fool to his fate, Aedric spent the journey continuing Arya Stark's training. Beyond the Postnatal Inner Core Skill, he also began teaching her the Ancient Tomb Sect's sword and lightness techniques.
He had considered the Emei school's martial arts as well — they suited women — but those only reached the "first-class" level. The Ancient Tomb style, however, touched the realm of the Five Great Masters, far more fitting for Arya's extraordinary talent.
(Well, apart from the Jade Maiden Heart Sutra, of course. That "dual cultivation" mess with the whole "Twelve More, Twelve Less" nonsense was ridiculous. The last thing Aedric wanted was to turn lively Arya into another cold, emotionless ice beauty like Little Dragon Girl.)
"Jon," Arya said between sword strikes, panting as she parried his wooden blade, "Father looked troubled last night when he returned. Do you know what's bothering him?"
Aedric didn't pause his movements. His mind, however, immediately filled in the blanks — the news of Daenerys Targaryen's marriage to Khal Drogo must have reached King Robert. The fool king would be demanding Ned assassinate the last Targaryen heir, while the honorable lord refused to murder an innocent girl. The two were likely at odds over it.
Too complicated to explain, and not worth it, Aedric shifted the topic with a downward slash that forced Arya back a few steps.
"Arya, have you made a new friend recently?"
"You mean Mycah?" Arya's eyes lit up. "He's great! He's a butcher's apprentice, but he wants to become a knight someday. Isn't that amazing?"
"Stop spending time with him."
Arya froze, caught off guard. Aedric's sword lunged forward again.
"Why not?" she protested between parries. "He's a good person!"
"He is," Aedric said calmly, "but he's also a commoner."
Arya's face darkened, but Aedric continued,
"You need to understand — we're not in Winterfell anymore. Out here, people care a lot about status and birth. You're a highborn lady, the daughter of a great lord. Being seen with a butcher's apprentice may seem harmless, but it could stir rumors… or worse, resentment.
If someone of ill intent took notice, nothing would happen to you — but him?" Aedric's eyes hardened. "He could lose everything. Maybe even his life."
Arya bit her lip, angry and confused.
Aedric sighed and softened his tone. "You can't force your way into a world that won't accept you. Ambition is admirable, yes, but unless Mycah actually enters the noble class, he's just flinging himself into a lion's den. Some people… can be crushed like ants for stepping out of line."
Still seeing disbelief in Arya's eyes, Aedric decided to drive the point home.
"Let me put it this way. If Prince Joffrey decided to kill Mycah with one stroke of his sword — would you be able to avenge him?"
"He wouldn't dare!" Arya snapped, fury flashing in her eyes.
But her anger made her clumsy. Aedric exploited the opening, disarming her with a sharp twist and knocking her to the ground.
Pointing his practice sword at her brow, he said flatly,
"Arya, this world runs on strength. Without it, you can't challenge its rules. Try — and you'll only hurt yourself and the people you care about."
He lowered his blade, then offered her a hand up. His voice softened again.
"Remember how you feel right now — that helpless anger. Turn it into determination. The day you're strong enough, your words will carry weight. Only then can you ignore the rules and do as you please."
Arya stood in silence, gripping her short sword tightly. Then, without a word, she took her stance again — eyes firm, ready for another round.
Seeing that resolve, Aedric smiled faintly. He twirled his blade, preparing to resume the lesson—
But then his ears twitched. He froze, sheathed his sword, and said with a sigh,
"Let's move. Someone unpleasant is coming."
Indeed, despite training far from the main camp, Joffrey Baratheon had an uncanny knack for showing up at the worst possible times, like some kind of cursed hound. Fortunately, Aedric's heightened senses always caught the boy's approach early, allowing them to slip away unnoticed.
The last thing he wanted was to deal with that insufferable brat — too young to kill, too noble to beat.
"Ugh, that awful boy again." Arya scowled, spitting to the side. "I can't stand him!"
"Neither can I," Aedric muttered.
With a shared look of irritation, the two packed up their wooden swords and quietly left the clearing before the golden-haired nuisance arrived.