WiSh - Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Will's Words and Sword

The guest room where Will stayed was nestled against the godswood and overlooked the training grounds. To the right lay the armory, and just beyond it, the kitchen, spacious enough to accommodate hundreds dining together. Outside the kitchen stood the pointed maester's tower, the towering library, and the bell tower. These stone structures were all interconnected by the castle's enclosed passageways.

From the guest room window, further to the left on the outer balcony of the main keep, Eddard Stark and his wife Catelyn observed their children practicing swordplay below.

Will descended the stairs. To the right of the staircase was the kennel, home to hundreds of fierce hunting dogs that were quite intimidating. Will whistled softly, and the two warg hounds guarding the entrance, which had been in a fighting stance with menacing green eyes, changed their demeanor. The fierceness in their eyes faded, and they regarded Will with suspicion before slowly lying down, soothed by his magical whistling.

Outside the kennel was the Huntsmen's Gate, which led to the King's Road that traversed the entire continent. The King's Road extended from the Wall in the far north, through the North, the Riverlands, the Crownlands, and all the way to King's Landing, the capital.

Beyond the Huntsmen's Gate lay the infamous wolfswood. The Wolfswood mountains stretched for thousands of miles, from Winterfell's territory all the way to the Gift beyond the Wall. Indeed, there were wolves in the Wolfswood, but they were not the ice wolves from beyond the Wall. Ice wolves were the size of small horses, twice as large as Winterfell's strongest hunting dogs, and their ferocity and combat prowess were beyond imagination.

Will emerged from the kennel gate, and the several dog handlers responsible for feeding the hunting dogs were astonished. They now knew that Will's reputation as a thief was well-deserved. If he couldn't even handle the guard dogs, his career of over two decades of thievery would have been in vain.

Will arrived at the training grounds, strolling leisurely. He intended to introduce himself to Jon Snow first.

Will watched Jon Snow, Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy, and Bran practice swordplay. After a while, he found it somewhat dull.

Theon Greyjoy shouted angrily, "Deserter, want to try your hand?"

Will shook his head, thinking that it seemed he couldn't get Jon Snow's attention without offending someone. "I'll pass. My swordsmanship is neither good nor pretty. And we've developed the habit of drawing swords to decide life or death beyond the Wall, not for victory or defeat," he replied.

Ser Rodrik Cassel, the instructor, said coldly, "Brother of the Night's Watch, our swords decide life or death as well."

"That's not necessarily true. My understanding of deciding life or death is different from yours," Will countered.

"Oh, I'd like to hear more," Ser Rodrik Cassel said. He was the old instructor of Winterfell, having trained many knights and excellent soldiers. Will's words made it impossible for him to face his dignity as a knight, and he threw a practice wooden sword at Will, who caught it.

Ser Rodrik Cassel told Jon, "Give him your shield."

Jon walked over and handed his shield to Will.

Will shook his head and said, "Thanks, but no thanks."

From the corridor of the main keep, dozens of meters high, Eddard Stark and Catelyn watched the situation below, their expressions calm.

Ser Rodrik Cassel said coldly, "Brother of the Night's Watch, don't think that killing wildlings beyond the Wall makes you invincible."

"It's fine, I'm just speaking the truth," Will said, performing a sword flourish, testing how much his injury had healed. If it wasn't fully healed, it wouldn't be suitable to use force. However, Will rarely used force in his swordplay. He avoided the chopping, hacking, and sweeping techniques favored by Northern knights because they were too strenuous and had large movements, revealing one's intentions as soon as the sword was drawn.

With this test of the sword, Will felt no abnormalities in his hand. He tapped the wound with the hilt of his sword, feeling no pain. This puzzled Will, as he was a doctor from a medical family and had studied medicine since childhood. He knew his injury wouldn't heal so quickly. He tore open Maester Luwin's bandages with his left hand and saw that the wound had completely healed, with the new flesh a slightly tender red compared to the surrounding skin.

Will was both surprised and delighted. How could such severe abrasions and frostbite heal overnight?

It certainly wasn't the miraculous effect of Maester Luwin's yarrow powder and muscle-growth liquid. He knew the effects of these substances, and the owner of this body had used them many times without such a remarkable effect.

"Brother of the Night's Watch, don't worry. I know your hand is injured; I won't use much force," Ser Rodrik said indifferently.

"It's fine, my hand is fine," Will replied cheerfully.

It must be because of the heart tree. Last night, he became a heart tree, merging with the heart tree in the godswood. In nature, plants have the strongest regenerative ability. Such a quick healing must be a miracle brought about by his transformation into a tree.

This was truly a fantastical, supernatural world.

It turned out that by practicing the green sight under the guidance of the heart tree, he had gained the regenerative ability of the heart tree, silently repairing the injuries and frostbite on his right hand.

He just didn't know if that regenerative ability was still present or if it was only available when he transformed into a tree.

Ser Rodrik Cassel slipped his left hand into the shield's strap, tightening it securely, and held the wooden sword in his right hand. He knocked the sword against the shield, producing a loud bang. With this momentum, the knight lunged at Will.

Will smiled slightly, tapped the ground with his toes, and kicked up dust. The dirt and sand hit Rodrik's face with a snap before he could even raise his shield to defend himself. By the time he opened his eyes to find his opponent, Will's sword was already at his neck from behind: "Ser, you're dead," Will smiled.

Ser Rodrik Cassel's old face turned red with embarrassment. He threw away the wooden sword, tore off the shield strap from his left arm, and threw the shield on the ground, roaring as he stormed off.

Will shrugged and said, "See, that's the kind of swordplay I was talking about. When dueling, anything around you can be used as a weapon."

"Despicable," Theon Greyjoy cursed.

"Ser Rodrik Cassel wasn't despicable, but he's dead now, and I'm still alive," Will said. He looked up at the main keep, "Lord Eddard, why don't I see Lady Arya practicing the sword here?"

"Why would a girl practice the sword? She's learning etiquette and embroidery from Septa Mordane," Catelyn said, frowning.

"Oh, that's too bad. I dreamed last night that I saw Arya practicing the sword. Her swordsmanship is the best among your children. Neither Robb's lance, nor Jon's sword, nor Bran's archery can match her. As for him—" Will pointed at Theon Greyjoy, "Ten Theon Greyjoys couldn't defeat her. Lord Eddard, I saw Arya's future in the fragments of my dream last night. Winter is coming, and she will be the most skilled in martial arts among your children. No matter how hard Robb, Bran, Rickon, and Jon train in the future, they won't be able to surpass her."

Catelyn looked at Eddard, who was as silent as a mountain.

His daughter Arya was just like his sister, preferring martial arts to embroidery, wild and unruly. At home, when he and Catelyn were not around, no one could control her. His sister's tragedy was a regret, and his father regretted not letting Lyanna do what she loved, making Lyanna's short life almost devoid of happiness. Winter was coming, so let Arya do what she loves. Thinking of his sister Lyanna's unfortunate end at the young age of sixteen, Eddard felt a pang of pain.

Arya and Lyanna looked almost identical and had the same personality, as if Lyanna had been reborn. The only difference was that Arya's eyes were so wild they couldn't be tamed, while Lyanna's were gentle like autumn water, with a pair of clever, bright eyes that had deceived many. Even fifteen years after her passing, King Robert Baratheon couldn't forget her.

Eddard's thoughts raced, and he made up his mind!