Chapter 5

The cold morning air bit at Lord Eddard Stark's face as he stood on the covered walkway overlooking the training yard. His breath misted before him, a physical manifestation of the chill that had settled in his bones since the arrival of the stranger who called himself Benjamin Gilman. Ned's grey eyes, usually as hard and unyielding as the walls of Winterfell, now held a glimmer of something unfamiliar - fear.

Below, Benjamin moved with a grace that seemed impossible for a man of his size. He danced around Jon Snow, his practice sword a blur of motion. Despite the obvious restraint in his movements, it was clear that Benjamin was toying with the boy, allowing Jon to press forward only to effortlessly counter each attack.

"Good, kid!" Benjamin's voice carried up to where Ned stood. "But remember, your opponent isn't going to just stand there and let you hit them. You've got to anticipate their movements."

As if to demonstrate, Benjamin suddenly dropped low, sweeping Jon's legs out from under him. The boy hit the ground with a thud, the air rushing from his lungs.

Ned's hand tightened on the railing, his knuckles white. Every instinct screamed at him to intervene, to protect his son - even if Jon didn't know the truth of his parentage. But Ned forced himself to remain still, watching as Benjamin extended a hand to help Jon up.

"You alright there, Snow?" Benjamin asked, concern evident in his voice.

Jon nodded, a determined set to his jaw as he accepted the offered hand. "I'm fine. Can we go again?"

A proud smile tugged at the corners of Ned's mouth. Whatever else might be said about Jon Snow, the boy had the heart of a true warrior.

As the sparring resumed, Ned's mind wandered to the events of the previous night. The ease with which Benjamin had lifted him, the raw power evident in every line of the stranger's body. It was like nothing Ned had ever encountered before. Not even the legendary Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had possessed such inhuman strength.

What was Benjamin Gilman? A blessing from the gods? Or a curse sent to test the North? And more importantly, what would his presence mean for the delicate balance of power in Westeros?

Ned's reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Maester Luwin, the old man's chain clinking softly as he approached.

"My lord," Luwin said, his voice low. "A raven has arrived from King's Landing. The Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, is dead."

The news hit Ned like a physical blow. Jon Arryn had been more than just his mentor - he had been a second father to Ned. And now...

"There's more, my lord," Luwin continued. "The king rides for Winterfell. He will be here within the month."

Ned closed his eyes, suddenly feeling every one of his years. Robert coming to Winterfell could only mean one thing - he intended to name Ned as his new Hand. And with Benjamin Gilman's arrival, the timing couldn't be worse.

"Thank you, Maester Luwin," Ned said, his voice heavy. "Please, send ravens to our bannermen. We must prepare for the king's arrival."

As Luwin hurried away, Ned cast one last glance at the training yard. Benjamin was now showing Jon a series of complex footwork patterns, the boy mimicking his movements with intense concentration.

"May the old gods and the new protect us all," Ned muttered, turning away from the scene. "For winter is coming, and it brings with it winds of change."

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In the kitchens of Winterfell, Mara moved through her tasks in a daze, her mind replaying the events of the previous night over and over again. The feel of Benjamin's hands on her skin, the strength in his arms as he held her, the intensity in his eyes...

"Mara!" The sharp voice of the head cook snapped her back to reality. "That's the third bowl you've broken this morning! What's gotten into you, girl?"

Mara felt her cheeks flush, mumbling an apology as she bent to clean up the shattered pieces. As she worked, she couldn't help but wonder when she might see Benjamin again. Would he seek her out? Or had she just been a momentary distraction for him?

The sound of laughter from the courtyard drew her attention. Peering out the window, she saw Benjamin in the training yard with Jon Snow. Even from this distance, she could see the easy confidence in his stance, the way his muscles moved beneath his strange clothing.

"Oh, seven save me," Mara whispered, feeling her heart race. She knew it was foolish to pine after a man so far above her station, especially one as... charming and powerful as Benjamin. But she couldn't help herself. For the first time in years, she felt young again.

A crash behind her made Mara jump. She turned to see that in her distraction, she had knocked over a stack of pots.

"That's it!" the head cook bellowed. "Out of my kitchen, now! Come back when you've got your head on straight!"

As Mara hurried from the kitchens, her cheeks burning with embarrassment, she couldn't bring herself to feel too upset. After all, this might give her a chance to "accidentally" cross paths with Benjamin again...

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In her chambers, Sansa Stark sat before her mirror, absently brushing her long auburn hair. But her mind was far from her usual concerns of dresses and courtly manners. Instead, her thoughts kept drifting to the strange man who had joined them for breakfast.

Benjamin Gilman was unlike anyone Sansa had ever encountered. He was handsome, yes, but it was more than that. There was a confidence about him, a way of carrying himself that spoke of power and experience far beyond his apparent years.

And the way he had spoken at breakfast! Challenging her father, speaking of strange lands where common folk were equal to lords... It should have scandalized her. Instead, Sansa found herself intrigued.

A knock at her door startled her from her thoughts. "Come in," she called, hastily setting down her brush.

Jeyne Poole, her closest friend, entered the room, her eyes wide with excitement. "Sansa, you'll never guess what I just saw in the training yard!"

Sansa felt her heart skip a beat. "Was it... was it the stranger? Benjamin?"

Jeyne nodded eagerly. "He was training with your half-brother, Jon. Oh, Sansa, you should have seen him move! It was like watching a dance, all power and grace."

Sansa tried to maintain her composure, but she could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm sure it was quite a sight," she said, striving for nonchalance.

"Oh, it was," Jeyne sighed dreamily. "Do you think he might join us for dinner again? I'd love to hear more about where he comes from."

"I... I don't know," Sansa replied, her mind already racing with possibilities. Perhaps she could convince her mother that it would be only proper to invite their guest to dine with them again. After all, hospitality was a sacred duty in the North.

As Jeyne continued to chatter about Benjamin's prowess in the training yard, Sansa found herself lost in daydreams. She imagined herself as the lady of a great southern castle, with Benjamin as her gallant knight, defending her honor against all comers.

It was a foolish fantasy, she knew. But for the first time in her life, the stories of valiant knights and fair maidens that she had always loved seemed pale and lifeless compared to the reality of Benjamin Gilman. He was different...