Snow still covered Winterfell's courtyard, soft and thick, turning the stone ground into a white playground. Kaelor Stark crouched behind a stack of barrels near the training yard, small fingers brushing a wooden sword. He was three years old, but his mind already processed things far beyond his age.
Time to start, he thought, grinning. Father says I must wait… but waiting is boring. I'll begin anyway.
He lifted the smallest practice sword and swung it lightly, testing its weight. He imagined enemies around him and ducked, jumped, and spun with surprising balance. "Practicing already?" a voice said. Kaelor jumped. Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms, was standing in the doorway. Kaelor froze for a moment. Caught? Maybe… or maybe not. "No! I'm just… warming up," Kaelor said quickly, trying to sound casual. Ser Rodrik raised an eyebrow. "At your age? Most children play with snow or blocks."
Kaelor shrugged. "I like both. And moving with a sword is more fun." He swung again. "Practice makes it easier when the real sword comes." Ser Rodrik stepped closer, frowning slightly. He moves differently. Faster than most children. Every dodge calculated… not like other three-year-olds.
Kaelor noticed the look and smiled faintly. "Do you want to try?" Ser Rodrik chuckled. "Try? At your age? Bold of you." Kaelor twirled the sword, landing in a ready stance. "Bold… yes. Careful too. You watch your opponent.
Ser Rodrik's frown deepened. Most children can barely hold a sword… this one thinks like a warrior. Too precise… almost unnatural.
Kaelor jumped back and laughed. "See? Not too tricky!" Ser Rodrik shook his head. "Your movements… unusual. Almost perfect. And your timing…" Kaelor tilted his head, smiling. "I just watch… and practice."
Later, Kaelor moved to the training dummy. He studied its wooden arms, imagining enemies swinging at him. He dodged, ducked, and struck precise points while whispering, "Left… right… overhand… crouch… balance."
Ser Rodrik, still observing quietly, finally spoke. "Your movements… deliberate. Most children tire quickly or swing wildly." Kaelor looked up. "I like watching first. Then it's easier to hit."
Ser Rodrik raised an eyebrow. This child… clever, alert, bold… but not arrogant. Different.
Kaelor smiled faintly. "I like learning."
He twirled the sword behind his back and tapped the dummy's arm perfectly.
Ser Rodrik shook his head. "Who taught you this?"
Kaelor shrugged. "No one. I just tried."
Kaelor ran to the barrels and sat for a short break, watching Brandon, Lyanna, and Benjen playing with snowballs and blocks.
"I'll be faster than you all someday," he said, tossing a snowball at Brandon's shoulder.
Brandon laughed. "Hey! That's cheating!"
Kaelor grinned. "Not cheating… just thinking ahead."
Lyanna laughed. "Kaelor, you're always thinking!"
Kaelor shrugged. "It's fun!" Benjen rolled a snowball at him. Kaelor ducked easily. "Too slow, Benjen!"
That afternoon, Kaelor returned to the training dummy. "Footwork… timing… watch… move," he whispered, practicing carefully.
Ser Rodrik finally approached. "May I try?" he asked, holding a wooden sword.
Kaelor nodded. "Sure. See if you can keep up."
Ser Rodrik swung. Kaelor ducked, sidestepped, and tapped the dummy, anticipating every movement.
Ser Rodrik stopped. "I've never seen anyone move like this at your age." Kaelor grinned. "I like moving. Makes it more fun."
Ser Rodrik studied him. Clever, alert, bold… but not arrogant. Interesting.
Kaelor added softly, "You don't have to be serious all the time." Ser Rodrik laughed. "Little Stark… bold and mischievous. Just like his family."
The next morning, Kaelor woke before anyone else and practiced alone. He ran through the snow, jumped over barrels, and balanced on low walls, imagining enemies at every corner.
"Kaelor! Come play!" Lyanna shouted from the courtyard.
"I'll be there soon!" Kaelor called, smiling, but practiced a few more steps.
Brandon noticed him. "Stop hiding! Come play!"
"I am playing… my game is just harder," Kaelor said.
Benjen grinned. "Looks like work, not fun!
Kaelor shrugged. "Work can be fun if you're smart." Lyanna giggled. "You're impossible." Kaelor smirked. "Maybe. But fun is impossible.
By midday, Kaelor decided to combine games with training. He ran circles around his siblings while dodging their snowball throws.
"Kaelor! Stop running!" Brandon shouted, laughing. "You're too slow! Try catching me!" Kaelor said, darting past him.
Lyanna threw a snowball. Kaelor ducked, grabbed it, and tossed it gently back. "See? You have to watch your opponent!" Benjen charged at him. Kaelor sidestepped and tripped him lightly. "Oops! You fell for it!"
Brandon groaned. "Little brother, you're tricky!"
Kaelor laughed. "Tricky? Maybe… but I call it smart."
Ser Rodrik watched silently, arms crossed. This boy… three years old… moving like a seasoned fighter. Quick, careful, attentive… but not boastful. Bold and clever. Too aware for his age. Kaelor noticed the gaze and added cheerfully, "Ser Rodrik, you're watching too much! Want to join?" Ser Rodrik chuckled. "I think I'll leave the tricks to you, Kaelor."
Kaelor ran to the training dummy again, whispering instructions: "Footwork… timing… watch… move…" He repeated each movement, precise and deliberate.
By evening, the courtyard was quiet. Kaelor lay on a pile of furs, holding his wooden sword. His siblings laughed in the distance, throwing snowballs and playing. Soon… soon I'll be ready. Faster, smarter, stronger. Everyone will see, not by bragging… by being prepared.
Winterfell glowed under the setting sun. Kaelor Stark, clever, bold, mischievous, and confident—but not arrogant—continued to practice, plan, and prepare quietly.