With Jon accompanying him, Galon spent the entire afternoon wandering through Winterfell.
The two were of similar age, their temperaments aligned, and they got along naturally well.
More importantly, both Jon and Galon were disliked by Catelyn. That shared experience allowed their bond to form quickly.
Under Galon's easy social grace, Jon nearly came to see him as a true friend.
By the time evening approached, Jon finally opened his heart and revealed his confusion about the future.
High atop the bell tower, the two of them stood side by side before the great bronze bell, watching the last sunset of the long summer fade.
Jon looked lost, his voice barely above a whisper. "Galon… I've never really known what my future is supposed to be."
"I can't inherit Winterfell like Robb. I can't be one of his bannermen like Bran someday. I can't fight for him."
"I'm only a bastard.
Maybe my fate really is to join the Night's Watch, just like Theon said."
Galon's eyes shifted. He shook his head. "Jon, you're thinking far too narrowly. Why should a bastard be unable to accomplish anything?"
Jon Snow lowered his head, his voice faint, as though trying to deny himself. "The world mocks bastards. How could someone like me achieve anything?"
Seeing Jon so discouraged, Galon didn't comfort him immediately. Instead, he asked a different question.
"Jon, have you ever heard of House Justman?"
Jon shook his head, puzzled.
"House Justman once ruled the Riverlands for more than two hundred years as Kings of the Trident. Their founder, Benedict Rivers, was a bastard."
"Benedict the Bold spent over thirty years uniting and defeating the scattered forces of the Riverlands. In the end, he was crowned King."
"Jon, do you know what that means?"
Excitement surged in Galon's chest, his voice rising with it. He turned to Jon, and the intensity in his crimson eyes held a magnetic pull that made Jon unable to look away.
Galon didn't wait for Jon's answer. He spoke on his own, letting the conviction pour out.
"Being born low is not a shame."
"Bending when needed, rising when possible — that is what makes a hero."
Jon stared at Galon, captivated by the fire in his expression. The words seemed to hold a strange power, and before he realized it, he repeated them softly.
"Being born low… is not a shame. Endurance and resolve make a hero?"
Galon nodded, his gaze drifting toward the sunset, filled with ambition.
It was true.
He came from Deepwood Motte — no wealth, no allies, no renown, no advantages. With only a little over two thousand men from the Wolfswood, claiming the Iron Throne was all but impossible.
He couldn't even conquer the North with that number.
But so what?
Everything depended on effort. Even if he had every advantage in the world, there would still be obstacles.
But Galon knew something no one else did: he understood the future of this world, and he knew the true faces behind this game of power.
That alone made him far better positioned than anyone.
If he still couldn't seize the Iron Throne… It would mean he was no better than Joffrey.
Hearing Galon's words, the dying embers in Jon's heart seemed to ignite again. Eagerly, he asked, "Galon… what should I do?"
Galon smiled. "Set a goal — and work toward it."
"That simple?"
"That simple."
Galon patted Jon's shoulder, taking on the air of a mentor guiding a student.
"Jon, don't worry about whether a goal is unrealistic or whether you'll succeed. What matters is forcing yourself to move toward it, step by step."
"Even if you fail, it proves you tried, doesn't it?"
Galon's heartfelt encouragement brought new life to the long-saddened Jon Snow.
"But… how do I choose a goal in the first place?"
Galon touched a finger to Jon's chest. "That's for you to decide."
"Others can help you in every way on the road to your goal. But the first spark — the ambition itself — must come from you."
Watching Jon fall deep into thought, Galon couldn't help feeling pleased.
"So this is why so many people liked playing mentor in my past life," he thought. It really does feel great."
From the start, Galon had his own plans for Jon.
His foundations were too shallow. If he wanted the Iron Throne, he needed to gather every possible advantage. And talent was the most valuable of all.
In the story of Westeros, Jon Snow — a protagonist — was undeniably exceptional.
From joining the Night's Watch to rising as Lord Commander, every trial proved his capability. He acted on emotion sometimes, but never in a way that ruined him.
How could Galon allow someone like that to waste years on the Wall?
At the moment, Jon was staring blankly at the last glow of sunset, lost in Galon's words. He kept whispering, "I need a goal… but what is my goal…"
Galon simply stood by with a gentle smile, not interrupting.
He too was thinking about his meeting in the godswood later that night.
Time passed slowly.
As the final trace of sunlight vanished and the sky deepened into blue, footsteps echoed on the stone stairs.
A servant appeared, visibly relieved to find both of them there. He bowed respectfully. "Lord Galon, Lord Stark invites you to dinner."
Galon nodded. "I understand. I'll go now."
The servant retreated.
Galon clapped his hands lightly, pulling Jon out of his thoughts. "Dinner time. Let's head back."
"As for ambition, don't rush it. Sometimes the search for purpose is a journey in itself."
Jon still looked confused. He didn't yet grasp the deeper meaning of Galon's words.
Galon didn't explain further. He simply patted Jon's shoulder and walked down the stairs. "Come on, Lord Stark is waiting."
Jon let out a soft "Alright," composed himself, and followed.
When they reached the great hall, candles were already lit.
"Lord Stark, Lady Catelyn."
Galon entered as if nothing unpleasant had happened earlier in the day, greeting the couple with perfect manners.
Ned smiled. "We're all family here. No need for formality."
"Sit."
Galon complied with a pleasant expression, taking a seat beside Bran despite Catelyn's disapproving gaze.
Jon took his usual place at the far end beside Theon.
As Galon settled in, Sansa stole a glance at him — only to meet his eyes directly. She jolted like a startled fawn and quickly looked away.
Galon smiled, and this only worsened Catelyn's mood.
She had done everything she could to keep her daughter away from him, yet Sansa had shown interest first.
Catelyn shot Sansa a sharp glare.
Arya, seated beside her, caught the look and thought her mother was angry about her skipping needlework earlier. She shrank down in fear.
Sansa, still drowning in embarrassment, noticed none of it. And so Galon's first dinner in Winterfell began with a strange, uneasy tension.
Winterfell's meals were simple — just meat pie and vegetable salad.
Ned didn't start any conversation, so everyone quietly finished their food with their own thoughts.
When the meal ended, Ned rose to leave, intending to let the children spend time together — especially Galon and Sansa.
As he stepped away, he offered one last reminder with a gentle smile.
"Don't stay up too late. We have things to do tomorrow."
The Stark children nodded.
But Galon spoke up. "Lord Stark, before bed I'd like to go to the godswood to pray."
Ned was surprised for a moment, then assumed it must be a Deepwood Motte custom and nodded.
"I'll have the guards let you through."
Seeing Galon had no other requests, he took Catelyn's arm and left.
The events of the day had already reached his ears. Tonight, he planned to have a long, private conversation with Catelyn.