Dinner that evening was held in the family solar rather than the Great Hall. It was a private meal. A long wooden table was set with roasted fowl, baked root vegetables, fresh bread, and dark ale.
Ned sat at the head of the table. Ashara sat to his right, with Elia and Rhaenys beside her. Anna sat to his left, next to Cregan, Jon, and Sansa. Arthur Dayne joined them, sitting at the far end.
The room was filled with the sounds of plates clinking and quiet talk.
"How was King's Landing, Ned?" Arthur asked, cutting a piece of meat. "How is Robert?"
"He is fitter than when you last saw him," Ned said plainly. "It seems the games have done him good."
"He always loved fighting more than a council meeting," Arthur remarked, taking a bite of bread.
Elia looked up from her plate. "And the Lannisters? Did they hold much influence at the games?"
"Lord Tywin paid for a significant portion of the event," Ned said. "The Queen's family is very present at court. But Jon Arryn manages the day-to-day affairs. He keeps the peace."
The talk shifted to the children.
"Uncle Arthur taught us how to hold a shield wall," Cregan said loudly, looking down the table at the Kingsguard knight. "He said if we drop our arms, we die."
"It is a fundamental lesson," Arthur said smoothly, taking a sip of ale. "A shield is useless if you do not have the strength to hold it up."
"I held mine longer than Cregan," Jon pointed out quietly, looking at his plate.
"Only by a few seconds," Cregan shot back.
"That is enough," Ned said. His voice was not loud, but the boys stopped arguing immediately. "Endurance is important. But strength of arm is only one part of training. Tomorrow morning, the three of you will meet me in the Godswood."
Rhaenys nodded respectfully. "Yes, Uncle Ned."
The rest of the dinner passed with talk of the coming winter stores and the repairs needed on the outer walls. Ned listened more than he spoke, gathering the information he needed to resume his duties as Lord of Winterfell. When the meal ended, the children were sent to their beds.
The next morning, the air in the Godswood was crisp and cold. The ground was covered in a thin layer of frost. The ancient weirwood tree stood in the center, its white bark pale in the morning light, its red leaves rustling faintly in the wind.
Ned sat cross-legged on the cold ground, facing the heart tree.
Cregan, Jon, and Rhaenys arrived a few minutes later. They wore warm cloaks over their tunics. They stood before Ned, waiting for instruction.
"Sit," Ned told them.
The three children sat down on the ground in a row, facing him.
"Before I left for the South, I gave you a set of lessons," Ned began. "Ways of breathing. Clarity of mind. I told you to practice clearing your minds of clutter and finding the stillness within yourselves. Today, I will see if you have done the work."
He reached into his pouch and took out three small, smooth river stones. He placed one on the ground in front of each child.
"The power we draw upon is not magic in the way the stories tell it," Ned explained, keeping his words simple and practical. "It is the current of life. It flows through the earth, through the trees, and through us. To move a stone, you do not push it with your mind. You connect your mind to the stone, and you move yourself."
He looked at Rhaenys first. She was the oldest, and she had shown the most patience in her previous lessons.
"Rhaenys. Begin with your breathing. Find the center."
Rhaenys closed her dark eyes. She took a slow, deep breath in through her nose, held it for a moment, and exhaled slowly through her mouth. Her shoulders dropped, losing their tension.
"Now," Ned said, "feel the stone in front of you. Do not look at it with your eyes. Look at it with your awareness."
Rhaenys remained still. For a long minute, nothing happened. Then, the small river stone gave a slight tremble. It scraped against the frozen dirt, moving a fraction of an inch to the left.
"I can feel it," Rhaenys said softly, her eyes still closed. "It feels heavy. And cold."
"Do not judge how it feels," Ned corrected her gently. "Just accept that it is there. Now, lift it."
Rhaenys frowned slightly. Her breathing hitched, losing its steady rhythm. The stone remained flat on the ground. She opened her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.
"I lost it," she said.
"You tried to force it," Ned told her. "When you force it, you separate yourself from the current. You make it a contest of strength. It is not a contest. Try again later. You have the focus, but you lack the release."
He turned to Cregan.
Cregan was already staring hard at his stone, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. His hands were clenched into fists on his knees.
"Cregan. You are tense," Ned observed.
"I am trying to move it," Cregan said through gritted teeth.
"Stop trying," Ned ordered.
Cregan blinked and looked up at his father, confused. "If I don't try, how will it move?"
"By intending it to move, without demanding it," Ned explained. "Unclench your hands. Fix your posture. You are breathing too fast."
Cregan took a deep breath, mimicking Rhaenys's earlier technique, but his movements were sharp and impatient. He stared at the stone.
The stone suddenly shot forward, skittering across the frost and hitting Ned's boot with a sharp clack.
Cregan smiled broadly. "I did it."
"You did," Ned agreed, picking up the stone and tossing it back to his son. "But you did it with anger. You shoved the current instead of guiding it. If that had been a sword instead of a stone, you would have lost control of the blade. Control is more important than power. Power without control is dangerous. You must learn to calm your mind before you act."
Cregan's smile faded slightly, but he nodded. "Yes, Father."
Ned turned to Jon.
Jon was sitting very still. His dark grey eyes were fixed on the stone in front of him, but his gaze seemed unfocused, as if he were looking through it. His breathing was slow and even, matching the rhythm Ned had taught them.
"Jon," Ned said quietly.
Jon did not look up. He kept his focus on the stone.
Slowly, without any sudden jerks or skittering, the river stone lifted off the frozen ground. It hovered an inch in the air, remarkably steady.
Cregan and Rhaenys turned their heads, watching the floating stone in surprise.
The stone remained in the air for ten seconds. Then, Jon's shoulders slumped slightly, and the stone dropped back to the dirt with a soft thud.
Jon looked up at Ned, his expression neutral, waiting for the assessment.
"That was steady," Ned said. "How did you do it?"
"I imagined the stone was part of my hand," Jon answered simply. "I just decided to lift my hand."
Ned nodded. "That is the correct approach. You removed the wall between yourself and the object. But you lost your breath quickly. Holding the bond drains your bodily strength. If you do not breathe correctly while holding the bond, you will exhaust yourself."
Ned stood up, stepping back from the three of them.
"The initial lift is only the beginning," Ned told them, his voice taking on the unyielding tone of a master-at-arms. "The true mastery is found in the endurance of the hold. For the next hour, you will not speak. You will not stand. You will hold the current."
For the next hour, the quiet Godswood transformed into a silent crucible of willpower. The winter sun climbed slowly above the high walls of Winterfell, casting long, pale beams of light through the bone-white branches, but the children remained rooted to the frozen earth.
Cregan's face grew flushed, his breath puffing in rapid, frustrated clouds. He struggled immensely with the subtle restraint required. His river stone would hover for a fleeting moment, then crash down as his impatience broke the unseen bond.
Yet, under Ned's quiet, correcting murmurs, the young heir slowly stopped trying to conquer the stone through sheer dominance. He learned to soften his spiritual grip, letting the earth's natural energy support the weight rather than his own anger.
By the end of the hour, his stone hovered a steady inch above the frost, anchored by the dense, earthy resilience of the North.
Rhaenys fought her own fiery nature. Ned gave her a second, smaller pebble, tasking her with making them circle each other. Her intense, driving will made the stones clash and clatter together loudly at first. "Be the water in the springs, not the flame," Ned guided her, pacing slowly behind her.
Taking a shuddering breath, she began to weave her unseen grasp, turning her jagged, forceful intent into a smooth, flowing stream. The pebbles separated and began a slow, silent, orbiting dance above her open palms.
Jon sat as still as the ancient kings in the crypts. He held his stone aloft with an eerie, flawless calm, but the sheer, focused depth of his mind left his physical body completely vulnerable. He began to shiver violently, the freezing mud seeping through his breeches as he entirely forgot to protect his own flesh from the elements.
Ned knelt beside him, teaching the boy to split the river—to use one half of the unseen current to hold the stone, and the other half to stoke the natural fires of his own blood. The shivering ceased, leaving the boy in a state of perfect, insulated balance.
When the great iron bell in the distant courtyard finally tolled the passing of the hour, the three children slumped forward, completely drained. They had not swung a single wooden sword, nor run a single sprint, yet they looked as exhausted as men who had marched for days in deep snow.
When that hour passed, Ned did not let them rest. He gathered the stones.
"Holding the current while sitting on solid ground is one task," Ned said. "Holding it while the world tries to throw you off balance is another."
He led them deeper into the Godswood. A thick, grey fog rolled off the largest hot spring, blanketing the ground and severely limiting visibility. A fallen oak log bridged the bubbling water. Its bark was stripped away, leaving the wood entirely slick with the freezing mist.
"Stand on the log," Ned instructed, handing their stones back. "Walk across. Keep your stones in the air."
They stepped onto the slippery wood. The fog made the footing treacherous.
Cregan found his stance almost immediately. He bent his knees, planted his boots firmly on the slick wood, and held his stone aloft with a steady, stubborn grip. He crossed the log without slipping once.
Rhaenys struggled. Her sharp, fiery intent made her movements too rigid for the slick surface. She slipped twice, her stone splashing into the hot spring before she retrieved it. But she adapted. She slowed her breathing, letting her energy settle to match the gentle roll of the fog. By her third attempt, she walked across perfectly still, her stone hovering steadily above her palm.
Jon, however, could not find the balance. His connection to the unseen current was so deep that he lost awareness of his own feet. When he focused his mind on the floating stone, his boots slipped on the wet wood. When he focused on his footing, the stone dropped from the air. He fell into the shallow, warm water half a dozen times, soaking his clothes.
When the great iron bell in the distant courtyard telling another hour passed, the three children stepped off the log for the final time. Cregan and Rhaenys were exhausted but proud. Jon stood shivering on the bank, his stone held tightly in his physical hand, his head bowed in quiet frustration.
Ned walked over to his nephew. He placed a firm hand on the boy's wet shoulder.
"You feel too much of the river, Jon," Ned said quietly. "It makes it hard to focus on a single drop, let alone your own footing. Do not be discouraged. The depth of your connection is a gift. It will simply take longer to master. We will try again tomorrow."
Ned stood before them quiet pride swelling in his chest.
"You have all made remarkable progress," Ned praised softly, stepping forward to gather the fallen stones. "The foundation is hardening. But remember, we do not try to lift heavy objects until the small ones are mastered. When you can hold a stone in the air for a full minute while holding a conversation, we will move to the next lesson."
"We will," they answered in unison.
"Go back inside," Ned said. "Find Maester Luwin. It is time for the lessons of the past."
The children stood up, bowed their heads slightly, and walked out of the Godswood, their boots crunching on the frost.
Ned remained by the weirwood tree. He looked up at the carved face in the white bark, the red sap crying from its eyes. The North was quiet today, but he knew the peace was temporary. He had the steel, and he was training the next generation. It was a start. He closed his eyes and began his own breathing lessons, letting the cold air fill his lungs.