Time Skip (Names Day Celebration)

Winterfell – The Courtyard and Great Hall, Late Afternoon

Snow clung in patches across the stone courtyard, thawed enough for banners to flutter in a northern breeze rather than freeze stiff. Fires burned in iron braziers, and laughter echoed off the walls of Winterfell as the celebration for the fifth name day of the Stark twins filled the ancient keep.

Theon Stark and Jonnos Stark, dressed in fine winter furs trimmed with dark wool, stood before a gathering of Northern lords, their youthful expressions shifting between excitement and solemn effort at composure. Theon's storm-grey eyes, shimmering silver when the light struck them just so, scanned the crowd with quiet confidence. Jonnos, ever more reserved, watched from beside him, his eyes darker, almost absorbing the firelight rather than reflecting it.

From near the head table, Lord Rodrik Umber, a great bear of a man with a booming voice and a booming laugh to match, raised a cup high above his head.

Rodrik Umber:"Look at these lads! Stark-born, wolf-strong, Umber-blooded! A finer pair of Northern heirs you'll not find this side of the Wall!"

Cheers and laughter rose from the gathered bannermen.

Rodrik continued, voice louder still:"Five winters old and already they carry the weight of kings in their gaze. Their cries once made the wolves of the godswood howl — and I swear by the Old Gods, they've got more spirit than half the pups in my hall!"

Theon flushed slightly, trying to hide a smile. Jonnos glanced sideways at his grandfather, the ghost of a smirk touching his lips. Their mother, Gilliane Stark née Umber, seated beside her husband Brandon Stark, shook her head fondly.

Gilliane (to Brandon):"Father always did know how to turn a feast into a spectacle."

Brandon (with a soft smile):"Aye, but he's not wrong. The boys have drawn every eye in the hall. Even the Karstarks seem impressed — and they rarely speak of pride outside their own line." 

Outside, snow began to fall again, soft and silent over Winterfell's rooftops, but the warmth inside the hall grew louder — the North feasting not only for a name day, but perhaps for a future yet unwritten.

At the front of the hall, before the high table, a small dais had been cleared. There, the twins stood shoulder to shoulder, their fur-lined cloaks brushing the floor, both attempting to appear more serious than their years allowed.

Lord Harrion Karstark stepped forward first, his black-and-silver cloak trailing behind him.

Lord Harrion (solemnly):"A Karstark dagger, forged in our smithies, steel folded a dozen times. A Northern blade for Northern blood."

He offered the blade to Jonnos, whose grey-black eyes met his with a calm, respectful nod. The boy unsheathed it slowly, the steel catching the firelight.

Jonnos (quietly):"Thank you, my lord. I will carry it with pride."

Next came Lady Sarya Mormont, short, broad-shouldered, with a fresh scar on her cheek from a recent reaver skirmish.

Lady Sarya:"To Theon, I give this. A bow of weirwood carved by my hand from a fallen limb of the old grove on Bear Isle. May your aim always serve the North."

Theon took the pale wood reverently, running a finger along its smooth curve. The red grain shimmered faintly in the firelight.

Theon (grinning):"I'll shoot straighter than any of your cubs, Lady Mormont."

She barked a laugh."Aye, let's see if your mouth matches your shot come spring."

Lord Helman Tallhart presented a pair of snow bear pelts, thick and pristine white, their heads still intact with teeth bared.

Lord Tallhart:"For warmth, for pride, and the symbol of strength. These beasts fell to my spear beyond the Last River."

The pelts were draped over the boys' shoulders as the hall erupted in applause. Theon stood a little taller under the weight, Jonnos more still — like a statue carved from northern stone.

The fire still roared as the next group of lords approached the dais, each bearing a gift that spoke not just of wealth, but of legacy.

Lord Wyman Manderly — rotund and richly dressed, his voice warm and rolling like the sea:

Lord Wyman:"From White Harbor, I bring gifts fit for wolf princes. A carved model of a war galley, sails bearing the wolf and merman side by side. Let it remind you that the North must always look to the seas as well as the snows."

The boys looked at one another, Theon grinning at the ship.

Lord Domeric Bolton — pale, lean, draped in the crimson of House Bolton- stepped forward next with a measured gait.

Lord Bolton:"From the Dreadfort, I bring something rare — a pair of throwing knives forged of castle-forged steel, balanced for the hand of boys who will grow into warriors."

He held up the slim blades, dark leather-wrapped hilts catching the light.

Lord Bolton (smiling thinly):"May your aim always be sure... and your enemies few."

Theon accepted his with eagerness. Jonnos held his as if weighing its purpose.

Lady Lyra Flint of Widow's Watch

Lady Lyra, wrapped in a mantle of shaggy gray fur, stepped forward with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. She held two amulets carved from weirwood, etched with protective runes.

Lady Lyra:"Old ways for young wolves. These tokens have been blessed beneath the weirwood in Widow's Watch. They ward against ill dreams and shadow spirits. Wear them when you sleep."

Gilliane Stark, seated with her husband, nodded in approval — she was kin to the First Men, and respected such gifts.

Lord Morgan Ryswell — tall, wiry, with eyes that missed little:

Lord Ryswell:"We of the Rills know the value of cunning. For you both — a game set carved of bone and blackwood. Cyvasse, from across the sea. Strategy, deceit, patience... things all rulers must master."

He opened the case briefly to show the intricate pieces — dragons, spearmen, kings, elephants.

Lord Ryswell (smirking):"Beat each other often, and learn what it means to win — and to lose."

Theon looked utterly intrigued. Jonnos gave a quiet, rare smile.

Torrhen Stark, seated with Brandon and Gilliane at the high table, watched in silence. Only once the hall quieted again did he raise his cup.

Torrhen Stark (with gravitas):"Lords of the North, you have honored my grandsons well. Let these gifts not only be tokens of goodwill, but pledges. That in the years to come, should shadow fall across the snows again, you will stand beside them. For they are your blood, your future, and the howl that will echo long after our bones are dust."

"To the wolves of Winterfell!"

This fanfic is AI generated