Apprentice

Third Person POV

Winterfell, Blacksmith, 289 AC

Cregan awoke to a dimly lit room, the smell of burning steel permeating the air. Blinking against the harsh light filtering through the dirty windows, he winced as pain shot through his injuries. Gradually, he sat up, taking in his surroundings. The room was unfamiliar, but by the sound of clanging metal from outside, he deduced he was near the forgery.

As he peeled back the covers, he noticed bandages wrapped around his wounds. Ignoring the ache, he rose from the bed and moved towards the door, intent on leaving. However, before he could take a step, the door swung open, and in walked Duncan, one of Mikken's sons.

"Don't move around, lad," Duncan cautioned, concern etched on his face. "You were found passed out in the pig pen, stark naked."

Cregan gritted his teeth, ignoring Duncan's words, and attempted to leave. Duncan stepped aside, allowing him to pass. But as Cregan stepped outside, the biting cold of the night wind hit him, and he hurriedly retreated back indoors. Duncan smirked at his reaction, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Sit tight, lad. We'll bring you some food," Duncan said, amusement evident in his tone as he left the room.

Cregan eyed Duncan warily, his suspicions aroused. "Why did you take me out of the pen?" he demanded.

Duncan chuckled. "Didn't want you to fornicate with the pigs when you woke up," he jested before leaving.

After finishing his meal, Cregan found himself unable to fall back asleep due to the noise outside. Restless, he ventured into the forgery to observe the craftsmen at work. Inside, he found Mikken watching his eldest son as he worked on a sword, offering advice and guidance.

Intrigued by their dedication, Cregan watched intently as they honed their craft. Mikken and his son noticed him observing them and exchanged puzzled glances.

"Why are you creepily staring at us?" Beren, the eldest son, asked.

Mikken chuckled and addressed Cregan, "Do you need something, lad?"

Cregan explained his situation, mentioning Lady Stark's insistence that he pull his weight around Winterfell. Beren suggested he work in the stables, but Cregan expressed his aversion to such tasks.

"Rather not play with dirty horses. How about I assist your father here? I might help reduce the number of grey hairs on his head caused by your mistakes," Cregan quipped.

Mikken laughed and praised Cregan's wit. He agreed to let Cregan work in the forgery, but warned him that the work would be strenuous. Cregan proposed to perform menial tasks in exchange for learning the craft of weapon-making instead of monetary compensation.

Mikken agreed to Cregan's terms but cautioned that he would have to wait until he was older to handle the fire. Cregan agreed, stating he would observe the techniques for now.

Before leaving, Cregan assured Mikken that if he became a blacksmith, he wouldn't compete with his sons in the North. Mikken chuckled and questioned why Cregan would leave the North, suggesting that working outside Winterfell would have been sufficient. Cregan smiled and exited the forge.

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Cregan Pov

As I entered the room provided to me, I noticed Duncan lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His gaze shifted as he acknowledged my presence, sitting up and offering a half-hearted welcome.

"Welcome, roommate," he said casually.

I couldn't help but feel annoyed by his nonchalant demeanor. "What are you doing here?" I asked bluntly.

Duncan shrugged. "It's my room," he replied matter-of-factly. "And I reckon the reason you've got no friends is 'cause you're always so grumpy."

I scoffed at his comment. "I do have friends," I retorted, feeling defensive. "You're just stopping me from playing with them."

Duncan looked puzzled. "Who are they, then?" he inquired.

I began to describe a fairy, a dragon, a dinosaur, and a pet fish. Duncan raised an eyebrow, amused. "I guess what the southerners say is true – bastards are crazy," he remarked.

I met his gaze in silence, choosing to settle on the floor where a carpet lay. "I'll take the floor since you're injured," Duncan offered, but I ignored him and lay on the bed, attempting to sleep.

"Why don't you play with your brother and step brother?" Duncan pressed on.

I sighed internally. I don't hate Jon. We both face the same ridicule. I've tried advising and helping him, but he ignores me, listening instead to the words of Catelyn and the sept as if they were law. I get that Jon wants a mother figure, but that old hag would rather see us eat piss and shit. Robb used to follow me around, but when his mother got wind of this, she started taking out her anger on me. And whenever Ned finds out, Robb would pick his mother's side, so I just stay away from them. Turning my head towards him I smiled and said ""I don't enjoy playing knight; I prefer playing butcher. It's too frightening for those brats."

Duncan chuckled. "Calling the heir to Winterfell a brat could get you killed for treason," he joked.

I smirked. "Calling The lady of Winterfell a sexy fox could have you killed as well," I countered. Duncan jumped up in protest, denying ever saying such a thing. But in my head, he did, and I couldn't help but laugh.

Understanding it was a joke, Duncan sat back down and admitted that I was pretty cool, saying he wouldn't mind being friends with me.

"It would be your honor to be my friend," I teased, but Duncan ignored my jest and changed the subject, asking what I wanted to be.

"I want to be free," I replied simply.

Duncan looked puzzled, so I turned the question back to him. He confessed his ambitions – to be rich, to have a beautiful wife, and to be a renowned warrior known throughout the lands.

I chuckled at his lofty goals. "You're ambitious," I remarked, offering him advice. "If you want that, you'd better start calling me Lord."

We shared a laugh and continued talking until we fell asleep, the beginnings of an unlikely friendship forming between us.