Chapter Text
A bannerman of House Stark gallops down the valley towards Winterfell on his horse, riding past smallfolk that had been working the fields that early morning, heading for the gates.
Inside the castle of Winterfell, in the training courtyard, a young Bran Stark trains with a bow, while his older half-brother, Jon Snow, and his older full-brother, Robb Stark, stand beside him as he draws back the bowstring, nocked with an broad-headed arrow.
A short distance away, their youngest brother, Rickon, sitting on a saddle that sits beside a wooden post.
Bran was only ten years of age with long auburn hair, a round face with deep blue eyes and wore a dark, padded tunic with a thick leather vest or jerkin over it, buckled at the waist. His sleeves are quilted for warmth.
Jon is Eddard's bastard son, seventeen years of age, with long, thick, dark brown hair, nearly black in appearance, and a long face with grey eyes so dark they almost seem black. He wears a rough, but simple dark grey woolen tunic with a high collar, under a padded gambeson.
Robb is the same age as Jon, but taller and more muscular, sharing the auburn hair and deep blue eyes that Bran does. He wears a a thicker, darker brown leather jerkin over a padded shirt.
Theon Greyjoy stands off to the side next to Robb. He is Balon Greyjoy’s last son and heir, taken from the Iron Islands at the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion by Ned, raising him as a ward for the last nine years. He is nineteen years of age with black hair, black hair, dark eyes and a lean, dark face. He wears a fur-lined cloak, black leather gloves, black leather boots, silvery-grey lambswool breeches, a leather belt, and a black velvet doublet embroidered with the kraken of House Greyjoy.
As Bran draws back the bowstring and fires, but the arrow missed the target completely. He stomped the ground in frustration.
Rob smirks in amusement. Jon places his hands on his younger brother's shoulders bending down to look at him, muttering, "Go on, father and Alek are watching, your mother too."
The young Stark turned around and looked up at his father, Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark, standing side-by-side, smiling warmly at their son.
Standing beside the couple, leaning against the wooden parapet is his much older cousin, Alekard Stark, stoically grinning in encouragement as his hands grip the wooden frame.
Eddard, also known as Ned, is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He has long brown hair, long face, and grey eyes, of House Stark. At only fourty-one years of age, he's an older Stark, with weathered wrinkles and a gruff thick stubble with subtle grey in his beard. He wears a heavy, dark fur-lined cloak. Underneath the cloak, he wears a dark brown leather jerkin with cross-strapped chest bindings, giving a martial, armor-like impression. His broad leather belt is adorned with metal studs and clasps. Beneath the doublet, he has padded tunics in subdued greys and browns, clearly Northern in style.
His wife, born Catelyn Tully of House Tully, stood in stark contrast to her Northern husband. She possesses a more soft, youthful but equally matured appearance, with the long, bright auburn hair, fair skin, and deep blue eyes of House Tully. She wears a dark blue cloak, clasped at the front and lined with soft fur or thick wool — suitable for Winterfell’s bitter chill as her auburn hair cascades freely down her shoulders, unbound. Her gown is a soft blue-grey with long sleeves and a high collar, layered and flowing, reflecting on her Tully upbringing but adapted for the harsher life in the North.
Alekard is thirty-two years of age, born of Ned's late older brother, Brandon Stark, five years older than Ned. Also known as Alek, he is also traditionally Stark in appearance, with long, dark brown hair that touched his shoulders, grey eyes, a long face with dark stubble, youthful in appearance but much more mature than his younger cousins. He is the tallest among the Starks, far taller than any of his cousins, half a foot taller than six-foot-tall Ned, and almost a foot taller than Catelyn. He wears a full suit of steel plate armor colored black due to oil blackening. It's heavy and weathered, with a prominent direwolf sigil of House Stark embossed across the chest. Layered pauldrons guard his shoulders, and thick gauntlets cover his hands, all forged in the same cold, worn metal. A long, fur-lined cloak of grey drapes over his back and shoulders, blending into the armor and giving him the appearance of a northern warrior, fitting of his role as the family's warden and captain of its guard.
As Robb, Jon and Bran gazes up at their eldest family members, with their youngest, Rickon, sitting on a horse saddle off to the side as Bran gives a small but nervous smile at his parents before turning back to face the wooden target, he nocks an arrow on the bow and draws it back again for another shot.
Inside the keep, a group of ladies sit in a group as Septa Mordane, an elderly clergywoman of the Faith of the Seven, teaches needlework and embroidery to the noblewomen and handmaidens that gather around. Among the group is Ned and Catelyn's eldest daughter, Sansa, and their youngest daughter, Arya.
Sansa stands out among the other girls, as they are dressed in muted northern garbs and dresses, Sansa dressed in a soft blue-grey gown with long sleeves and subtle embroidery, reflecting on her Tully heritage, her auburn hair is carefully styled with delicate braids. She's focused on a circular embroidery hoop. In contrast, Arya's appearance is more Stark than Tully, with a long face, grey eyes, and brown hair. She bears a striking resemblance to Jon. Unlike her sister, she dresses in the same muted and dull coloring as the other northern girls. While Sansa is enjoying the needlework, her younger sister seems to despise it. Septa Mordane wears plain, modest clothing — typically a muted grey dress with a coif and veil covering her head — symbolizing her religious devotion and role as a septa.
Septa Mordane approaches Sansa as she finishes with her circular embroidery hoop, her work incredibly detailed and masterful, "Fine work as always, well done!" She praises, smiling brightly at the young girl, kneeling down to examine her work.
Sansa smiles warmly, "Thank you."
The septa gestures with her finger across the embroidery, "I love the detail that you've managed to get in these corners. Quite beautiful."
A short distance away, Arya is stitching a more simplistic piece with words instead of a detailed pattern. She gazes over at Sansa, letting out a sigh as she dejectedly gazes back at her work, begrudgingly continuing the stitching as the septa continues praising Sansa's work. Her attention is suddenly captured by the sound of arrows thunking and the sound of laughing among her brothers just outside.
Outside, Bran's lips tighten as his bow arm swayed, struggling to keep the bowstring taut for long enough to aim properly. When he fires the arrow, it dives straight over the target and the wall and into the woods. Bran's head dipped as he let out a sigh, Jon laughs uncontrollably in amusement alongside Theon. Robb turns away and laughs more quietly, and the young Rickon giggled.
Their father called out to them, "And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" He scolded, and the smug laughs of his sons ceased. He turned to his solemn and discouraged son, "Keep practicing, Bran," He nodded with an encouraging smile.
Bran looked up at his father with a hopeful smile. He grabbed another arrow and nocks it, drawing it back. Jon leaned down to his brother, "Don't think too much, Bran."
Robb stood beside Jon with crossed arms, "Relax your bow arm," He advised.
Bran's arms shook as he struggled to aim it, his lips tightened with determination when suddenly an arrow flies over his shoulder and sticks directly into the center of the target. The Stark brothers all turn behind them to see Arya standing a short distance away in the butchery surrounded by hanging animal carcasses, furs, and smoked meat, holding a bow with a mischievous smirk as a wooden railing separates them, giving a playful ladylike bow.
The brothers all have wide-eyed expressions, Jon and Robb's lips curve into grins as Bran climbs over the railing and playfully chases after her in retaliation as Arya giggles and the brothers laugh in amusement.
Ned, Catelyn and Alek look down below them at the sight and smile as they watch the two chase each other.
Approaching from behind the trio is the Master-At-Arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel, he's an older man, gruff, stout with white hair and large white whiskers. He wears a thick, black woolen cloak lined with dark fur, draped over his shoulders for warmth. He wears a brown leather doublet, tightly laced at the chest. The leather is polished and functional, offering both insulation and minor protection. Underneath, he wears earth-toned woolen trousers, slightly gathered at the waist. The material is thick and built for function more than fashion. A wide, leather belt with metal fittings and decorative elements, much like Ned's. He carries two sheathed blades on his belt at the waist level, a dagger on his right, fitted with an ivory handle and a rounded pommel with a stout crossguard, and an ordinary northern sword with a rounded flat pommel and a plain crossguard.
"Lord Stark," Ser Rodrik called out to them.
Ned and Catelyn turned around with friendly smiles as the grizzled knight turned to Catelyn with a nod, "My Lady."
She gave him a friendly nod.
He then turned to the Stark knight, greeting him with a nod, "Ser Alekard."
Alek gave him a nod.
He turned to Ned, "A guardsman just rode in from the hills. They've captured a deserter from the Night's Watch."
Their smiles slowly faded, their gaze wandered. Catelyn looked at her husband, while Ned's head dipped, turning to his nephew to his left, "Get the lads to saddle their horses," he ordered.
Alek nodded to his uncle and proceeded past Ser Rodrik, who quickly made way for his liege lord's nephew and Captain, allowing him to pass as he proceeded down the steps towards his cousins, his armor rattled, his boots thudded with each step.
"Do you have to?" Catelyn protested softly, her face twisted in worry, concern and tenderness. Her brows are slightly raised and drawn together, her eyes soft and searching, and her lips are gently parted.
"He swore an oath, Cat," He replied plainly and calmly, his brow furrowed, his eyes are tense but focused, and his mouth is slightly drawn.
"Law is law, my lady." Ser Rodrik concurred.
Catelyn shook her head, averting her gaze.
Then Ned turned back to the master-at-arms, "Tell Bran he's coming too."
Ser Rodrik nodded and walked down the steps.
Her gaze shot back to her husband in concern, "Ned," She called out to him, and he met her gaze firmly and steadily, "Ten is too young to see such things," She protested, shaking her head, her tone concerned and soft.
"He won't be a boy forever," He retorted gruffly with a grim expression, and his wife's gaze lowered, "And winter is coming," He said, turning and walked down the steps.
Catelyn turned and leaned against the parapets, Jon was putting away the arrows just below the balcony where Catelyn stood. She gazed down at him, her eyes full of resentment as she watched him. Feeling her eyes on him, he reluctantly looked up at her, meeting her intense gaze briefly before dipping his head, putting the arrows in their place and quickly walking away.
Outside of Winterfell, in the wide, fog-covered expanse of open, grassy hills and valleys. On a prominent mount with stone pillars positioned in a circle, sits a executioners block carved out of stone in the middle, covered in dried blood. In front stands Ned Stark, and being led up to the block by two guardsmen with his hands bound behind his back is the Night's Watch deserter, named Gared, dressed in the typical black of the Night's Watch but dirty, ragged, unkempt light brown hair, chapped lips and a visibly shaken and terrified look on his face as Ned's men-at-arms stand guard next to him, with others spaced out around the mound on the outskirts.
Gathered in a circle is Ser Rodrik Cassel and Alek stood next to Ned. A short distance away stands Robb, and Jon, with Bran in the middle, and Theon who stands away from the pair, all now wearing cloaks.
The young ranger looked up at Lord Stark solemnly, "I know I broke my oath, and I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but..." His gaze wandered, his voice shakes and trembles as he looked back up at him, staring into his eyes, "I saw the White Walkers."
Lord Stark's gaze turned to his nephew, whose eyes narrowed at the young deserter. His gaze met the young man's again as he continued, "If you could get word to my family. Tell 'em I'm no coward. Tell 'em I'm sorry." Ned's gaze lowered and he nodded, turning away for a moment. The two guardsmen grab the deserter and shove him to the ground, pushing his neck onto the stone. Alek walked over to his uncle with a large greatsword, Ice, concealed within a scabbard in his hands, almost as tall as he is. He extended the sword out hilt-first towards Ned, who turned to him, gripping the hilt turned to him and slid the giant blade from its scabbard with a loud smooth metallic ring that sung with a loud, smooth metallic ring upon revealing the blade as Alek held the scabbard firm in his grip, assisting his uncle in removing the blade.
The blade itself was absolutely beautiful, it's most prominent feature was it's lightly-colored Valyrian steel blade with prominent wave-like patterns in the steel, as wide as a man's hand and tapered to a stout point. At the base of the blade, it's fitted with a equally lightly-colored and long upswept steel cross-guard, shaped like a claw that curves upward towards the blade. Further down is the long hilt, more than enough length for two hands, consisting of a ridged black-colored leather with a light-colored steel ring in the middle. At the end of the hilt is a wolf's head pommel, baring its teeth with relaxed ears and sapphires for eyes. Alek gazed longingly at the blade as it's unveiled, like an unrequited lover, the family heirloom that he will never inherit.
Upon Ned unsheathing the blade with a bell-like sharp ring as it swung through the air, he stuck the tip into the ground, the pommel meeting his forehead at six feet tall. He gripped the hilt, dipping his head towards the hilt with veneration, closing his eyes, his expression one of deep honor and respect for the ancestral greatsword of House Stark as he speaks into the pommel, "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Ned of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die," He declares in a low, gruff voice, as he lifts up the greatsword. The blade sang as he extends it outward, rearing back, and with one swift swing through the air, slicing Gared's head off as easily as a dagger cuts cheese. With a meaty slice, the head falls to the ground with a thud as blood splatters across the side of the execution stone.
Ned had a grim and a heavy gaze on his face as he lifted the sword and with Alek's assistance once again, sheathed the large blade again.
Bran alongside Jon and Robb watch as the deserter is executed, the eldest brothers stoic while Bran's lip twitched and tightened. Jon and Robb patted their younger brother on the head and led him away from the scene while the mess is cleaned up, everyone packs up and starts to head back to Winterfell.
As Bran readies his horse, adjusting the saddle, Ned approaches his son from his left, looking down at the boy, "You understand why I did it?" He asks, his tone low and paternal.
"Jon said he was a deserter," the boy answered, looking up at his father before looking away.
"But do you understand why I had to kill him?" He questions, rephrasing it to a more important question.
Bran looked up at his father, "'Our way is the old way'?"
Ned met his son's gaze intently, "The man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword," he clarified, his tone laced with meaning and filled traditional Stark symbolism.
Bran nodded in understanding, pausing momentarily before speaking again, "Is it true he saw the White Walkers?"
Ned averted his gaze momentarily before returning to meet his son's, his lips tightening, "The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years," He answered, attempting to reassure his worries.
"So he was lying?" Bran retorted softly.
Ned gazed at his son speechlessly for several seconds, his lips parted, averting his gaze briefly before replying, "A madman sees what he sees."
Bran dipped his head and turned back to his horse, and his father's gaze wandered before he turned and walked away.
The group readied their horse, with Robb, Jon, and Bran in front, followed by Theon, Alek, Ser Rodrik, Ned and his guard that protect his flank. They travel down the valley and start the journey back to Winterfell.
As they travel through a forest, the valley in the foreground, along a stone wall pathway, they see something in the road, what seems to be a dead stag with it's guts ripped out. The group stop, get off their horses and approach the animal cautiously. Jon, Robb and Theon stand a short distance from it while Ned and Alek pass by them, approaching the carcass. Everyone had their hands on their hilts, ready to draw as they became increasingly concerned that there may be a predator in the area.
Alongside Ned and Alek, Theon and Jon stood alongside them as they gazed at the stag's carcass.
"Mountain Lion?" Theon questions.
Ned shook his head, "There are no mountain lions in these woods." He examined the carcass and not only noticed the pool of blood, its entrails sprawled out from it's stomach, but a chunk of it's left antler is missing, splintered off. He notices a blood trail that leads off the path and down a small ravine, and he began to follow it, with the group following close behind while the guards stay with the horses.
They follow the blood down the small ravine, traveling in a pack as it leads down a small stream. Alek drew his greatsword from his back alongside Ned. It was a gigantic 6 foot long sword. The blade was wide and large but tapered off to a tip, fit for cutting and thrusting, while the guard seemed inspired by Ice's claw-shaped cross-guard, but shorter and thicker with a more pronounced curve. The top-half of the hilt was wrapped in black leather while the bottom half was an extended portion of the pommel, separated by a thick steel ring. The pommel was rounded and mushroom shaped but narrower with a groove cut along it's side and tapered to a sharp point. Despite his large sword, he had a longsword strapped to his hip, accompanied with a dagger.
Ned continued to follow the blood trail down the ravine, Alek kept close behind him while Jon, Theo, Robb, Bran and Rodrik followed behind. At the bottom of the ravine, next to a small stream, they came face-to-face with the predator that killed the Stag, and what lies before them is the carcass of a direwolf, species of wolves that live beyond the Wall that are much larger than wolves that exist south of the Wall, mythical beasts that can grow to be as large as a horse. They're fierce and incredibly dangerous.
Everyone's eyes locked onto the body as they approached, and what came into view were several bundles of fur that nestled against the belly of the body, a litter of direwolf pups. As Ned and Alek sheathed their blades, Ned's lips parted while Jon and Alek's brows were crinkled, lips parted in shock as Ned knelt down, with Alek next to him and Jon following suit.
For Alek, his eyes softened as he gazed at the litter of pups, cuddling up against one another in various fur colors. A heartbreaking sight to him. Bran stood next to Jon while Theon and Robb stood higher on the slope, looking down at the sight.
"It's a freak!" Theon exclaimed as he looked at Ned.
"It's a direwolf," Ned corrected.
Upon closer examination, the chunk of antler missing from the dead stag up the hill is lodged into the chest of the wolf, presumably being what killed it. The direwolf itself was varied in fur color, with greys, whites and blacks mixed throughout. He tilted his head up at Ser Rodrik, who met his gaze stoically. He turned to Alek directly to his left, who looked at him with equal confusion awe. He turned back to the direwolf and reached forward, gripping the antler, "Tough old beast," He complimented, ripping the antler from it's body as it dripped in blood.
"There are no direwolves south of the wall," Robb pointed out in confusion.
"Now there are five," Jon countered, reaching out and picking up a grey-colored pup, holding it out to Bran, "You want to hold it?"
Bran nodded, and took the pup into his arms as it cooed, he looked up at Jon, "Where will they go?" he asked, his tone soft and empathetic, "Their mother's dead."
Alek reached down and gently stroked the head of the pup with his gloved hand, his large fingers caressing the small pup between the ears, a small but sad empathetic look in his eyes.
"They don't belong down here," Ser Rodrik replied gruffly.
Ned stood up, "Better a quick death," he declared, "They won't last long without their mother."
Theon jumped down, unsheathing his dagger, reaching for the pup in Bran's arms, "Right. Give it here."
"No!" Bran cried out, clutching the pup in his arms defensively.
"Put away your blade," Robb snarled at him.
"I take orders from your father, not you," Theon spat back.
"Please father!" Bran pleaded, looking up at Ned as he passed by him.
Ned started up the hill, turning back to his son, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, Bran," he said solemnly as he turned around to continue up the hill.
Bran pouted, close to tears as he clutched the wolf pup in his arms.
Alek looked at Bran, seeing his lips quivering and tears welled in his eyes. He turned to his uncle with furrowed brows, "Ned," his voice as deep as a cavern, his tone firm, almost a rebuke.
The Stark boys turned to their cousin, Theon paused, looking at him, and so did Rodrik.
His tone caught Ned's attention as he stopped and turned to his nephew, meeting his gaze.
Alek turned to the pups, "There are five pups,” He stated plainly, turning back to his uncle, “And you have five children. The direwolf is the sigil of our house," he protested firmly, "It is a blessing from the Old Gods. They were meant to have them," He argued reverently, his gaze unflinching, steady and firm in his conviction. Robb, Theon, Bran and Jon turned from Alek back to Ned in anticipation.
Ned stared into his nephew's eyes for several seconds, his lips parted and brows furrowed as he mulled over his argument. His eyes wandered momentarily, then back at his nephew. He looked back up at his son, who had a pleading look in his eye, and after several seconds, he relented, turning to his children, "You will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves, and if they die, you will bury them yourselves," He declared, and a small smile appeared on Bran's face as he hugged the pup.
Theon sheathed his dagger as the boys all approached Alek, who grabbed a pup and handed one to Robb and Theon while he grabbed two himself while Jon stood next to him.
Bran turned to Jon, "What about you?" He asked.
"I'm not a Stark," Jon replied solemnly.
Bran then turned to their cousin curiously, but he was quick to shake his head with a small smile, "I'm not a pup," He said, gesturing for him to proceed up the hill, "Go on, pup," He teased, ruffling his hair.
The group proceeded back up the hill towards the path, with Jon being in the back of the line, when suddenly they heard the sounds of a wimpering pup nearby.
Alek, Robb and Theon turned around, "What is it?" Robb asked.
Jon turned and noticed a bright white ball of fur nestled behind the direwolf, he reached down and picked it up by the scruff of it's neck, holding it up, his lips parted as he gazed at the pup, which had bright red eyes and snow white fur.
"Ah, the runt of the litter," Theon teased with a sly grin, "That one's yours, Snow." Robb looked at Jon joyfully, while Alek grinned as Jon looked at them with a blank stare.
Later, Catelyn travels just outside of Winterfell to a grove with a sacred weirwood tree, the towering thick white-colored species of tree that blossoms red leaves with visible carved faces into their trunks, considered sacred trees by northerners. The tree sat in front of a small mossy pond, and underneath the tree sat Ned as he holds his sword, Ice, in his lap, wiping down the blade slowly, almost reverently. Catelyn approaches him, hiking up her dress as she did so slowly.
"All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here," she said as she gazes at the weirwood tree, Ned looked up at her, pausing to give her his attention.
"You have five northern children," he reminded her, "You are not an outsider," he reassured with an amused grin on his face, almost stifling a laugh at the absurdity of her statement, perplexed how she could say such a thing.
"I wonder if the Old Gods agree," She gave a wry smile, her gaze wandering.
"It's your gods with all the rules," He teased with a playful grin as he gazed back down at the sword in his lap, continuing to wipe down the Valyrian steel greatsword. She was quiet for a few seconds, and he looked up at her, his smile fading as she lowered her gaze. He knew something was wrong, and he was right. Catelyn held a scroll in her hands, and clutched it.
"I am so sorry, my love," She said, solemnly.
"Tell me," He replied, almost pleading.
"There was a raven from King's Landing," She began, pausing before speaking again, "Jon Arryn is dead," She admitted, "A fever took him."
Ned paused, his gaze wandered, then lowered as his hand froze against the blade, his face blank and his hair softly blowing in the wind.
"I know he was like a father to you," Catelyn murmured as she gazed at her husband.
Ned turned back to her, "Your sister, the boy?"
"They both have their health," She nodded, gratefully, "Gods be good."
Ned's gaze lowered again as he clutched the rag in his hand. Catelyn sat down next to him, "The raven brought more news," She hesitated, and his gaze met hers again as she continued, "The King rides for Winterfell, with the Queen, and all the rest of them" She informed him, a knowing tone with a hint of exasperation, like she knew what it meant.
He lowered his gaze again, "If he's coming this far north... There's only one thing he's after," He deduced grimly.
Catelyn cocked her brows, "You can always say no, Ned," Her tone trembled.
In the Great Hall of Winterfell, Catelyn begins delegating to the staff to set the hall up for the arrival of the King and Queen. Chandeliers are hung up and lit, tables are moved, meat and food is prepared all in a busy gathering inside the Great Hall as Catelyn walks among them alongside Maester Luwin, a tireless small grey-haired man with thinning hair who wears a robe of grey wool with voluminous sleeves.
"We'll need plenty of candles for Lord Tyrion's chamber. I'm told he reads all night," She informs Maester Luwin, who stands beside her with a peace of paper as she walks through the hall.
"I'm told he drinks all night," The Maester quipped.
"How much could he possibly drink?" Catelyn asked in disbelief, "A man of his... stature?"
The maester grinned, "We've brought up eight barrels of ale from the cellar. Perhaps we'll find out," He cocked a brow.
"In any case -- candles," She reiterated.
Meanwhile, in the barber, Alek, Robb, Jon and Theon are groomed before the arrival of the King and Queen by Tommy, a middle-aged bald with a stocky build who is the barber of Winterfell. The room is fairly ordinary with candles laid about, illuminating the stone walls that surround the room.
Robb is in the process of having his face shaved, his hair cut to ear-length, Tommy uses a small, curved blade to shave his jawline. Theon leans against a post, Jon leans against the wall across from Jon and Alek next to him. Theon and Alek have already gotten their hair and face sheared, although Alek's hair was only trimmed from shoulder-length to neck-length and his facial hair only trimmed down but not shaved bald like the boys.
All of them are shirtless, revealing athletic physiques. Theon and Theon's are leaner and wirier while Robb is more muscular for his height. Alek, on the other hand, was large for his size with the body of a direwolf, weighing over twenty stone with broad shoulders, a barreled chest, arms the size of hams and legs the size of a stallion’s. Even his posture was that of a confident and watchful wolf guarding his pack as he crossed his arms.
Jon sighs as he watched Robb get shaved, "Why is your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the King?" He grumbled to him.
"Tullys are fond of appearances," Alek sighed, his tone dry and flat.
Robb nodded in agreement, "And he'll be here soon. Mother will have our heads if we're not ready for the arrival," he added.
"It's for the Queen, I bet. I hear she's a sleek bit of mink," Theon smirked.
"I hear the prince is a right royal prick," Robb spat with derision.
"Think of all the southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick," Theon sneered.
"They're all royal pricks," Alek snarled.
"The girls or the prince?" Theon snickered.
"Both," He said tersely.
"Not the king. He's a good man," Robb corrected with reverence to his tone.
Alek scoffed, "Once, perhaps. Now he's a fat idiot who cares more about getting drunk and fucking girls than running a kingdom."
"Careful," Robb warned, "If mother or father heard you talk about the King like that-"
"I've said worse to his face," He muttered.
"You could be killed for saying such things," Robb said.
He shrugged, "Let them try."
Tommy patted Robb on the shoulder, signaling that he's finished, and Robb stood up, rubbing his face. He approached Jon, patting him on the shoulder, "Go on, Tommy, shear him good. He's never met a girl he likes better than his own hair," He teased with a grin on his face as they all laughed while Jon sighed, sitting down and Tommy began shearing his hair.
Down the road from Winterfell, which stretches along grassy hills with the forest in the distance, the King's retinue comes into view. A large gathering of armed knights, soldiers and various people of nobility and importance, easily dozens or hundreds of people.
Bran sits on top of the castle wall overlooking the group as they come into view, slowly traveling along the path. He grins excitedly and begins climbing down the castle wall as his direwolf, Summer, only a juvenile now, sits patiently and looks up at him.
Catelyn walks through an entry tunnel to look for Bran alongside Maester Luwin, when she passes through it, she turns to her left and sees Bran's direwolf.
"Gods but they grow fast," She commented as the wolf stared up at Bran as he climbed down, and she looked up at what the wolf was looking at and saw her son climbing down the castle wall. "Brandon!" She called out to him in a scolding manner, her hands on her hips.
"I saw the king! He's got hundreds of people!" Bran exclaimed in excitement. Catelyn sighed, tilting her head.
"How many times have I told you no climbing?!"
"But he's coming right now -- down our road!"
Bran jumped onto the ground and Catelyn approached him, bending downwards to meet his gaze. His look of excitement quickly faded as the look of his mother's fury took hold.
"I want you to promise me, no -- more -- climbing," She demanded firmly, her gaze fierce.
Bran's gaze lowered to his feet before he looked back up at his mother submissively, his tone soft as he spoke, "I promise."
She straightened up, and her face softened, twisting into a wry smile, "Do you know what?"
"What?"
"You always look at your feet before you lie," She cocked her head, raising her brows with a grin.
Bran chuckled, smiling.
"Run and find your father. Tell him the King is close," she said. Bran did as his mother said and ran off with his direwolf following close behind.
Shortly after, the King's retinue approached Winterfell, and meanwhile everyone gathered in the courtyard, including Ned, Catelyn, Alek, Maester Luwin, most of the children, the guards, the castle workers and a few other nobles in a row. Arya has a helmet on as she climbs on top of a carriage, watching as the convoy passes through the castle gates, consisting of the Kingsguard, cloaked in silvery, almost white, armor plates and white cloaks alongside the Lannister bannermen, who wear sturdy, red-dyed leather augmented over steel armor plates.
The Lannister bannermen wave the House Lannister banner, a golden lion on a field of crimson, while the Kingsguard waves the House Baratheon banner, a crowned black stag on a field of golden yellow. Leading the group is Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard, behind him is prince Joffrey Baratheon with short golden hair with a red cloak with a black fur trim. Accompanying Joffrey is his personal bodyguard, Sandor Clegane, known as The Hound, who wears a worn black suit of plate armor with a helmet in the shape of a snarling dog's head.
In the courtyard, the Starks await in a lineup outside the keep, with the guards lined up behind them.
The lineup is from youngest to eldest, Rickon, Bran, Sansa, Robb, Alek, Catelyn and Ned. Behind them is the rest of the staff, workers and handmaidens that are close with the royal family, such as Ser Rodrik, Jon, Theon, the blacksmith Mikken, and various others such as handmaidens.
However, one of their own is missing.
"Where's Arya?" She asks the group, turning to her eldest daughter, "Sansa, where's your sister?"
Sansa shrugs in response, eliciting a scoff and an eye roll from Catelyn.
Then Arya comes running back to them to quickly get in line, Ned notices her helmet and quickly stops her, "Hey, hey, hey. What are you doing with that on?" He murmurs as he quickly removes it.
Arya pouts as her helmet is removed.
Robb, Alek and Jon in the grin in amusement.
"Go on," he shoos her to get in line.
She grumbles and groans as she goes to stand beside Sansa, squeezing herself in line as Sansa rolls her eyes in annoyance. Ned, with an amused smile alongside Catelyn, hands the helmet to Ser Rodrik behind him as he also smiles.
The front end of the convoy arrive through the passway into the courtyard, Jaime Lannister nods as his horse comes to a stop, The Hound opens the front end up his helmet, the visor and bevor, which are the separate portions of a full-helmet, to reveal a scarred burned face underneath with a grizzled beard. Joffrey stops alongside him, grinning at the eldest Stark daughter, who blushes and averts his gaze.
The King arrives with the Queen alongside him, the King has long black grizzled hair, a large belly, a puffy face and scruffy beard, while the Queen has golden blonde hair, sharp features and a cold gaze. He wears a long black cloak with a fur trim while she wears a flowing gold and red dress that she has to hike up to avoid the dirty ground of Winterfell.
Everyone in the lineup kneels before him. Some Stark servants bring a stepping stool when the King's horse comes to a stop, and the King struggles to get off, his belly obstructing his attempts. Ned glances up momentarily, and the Queen glances at him, a hint of irritation and disgust at her husband.
Eventually, he makes it down and approaches the Starks, stepping in front of Ned, looking down at him, almost dwarfing him in size with his height combined with his burly and overweight physique.
"Your grace," Ned greeted, his voice low and deep, respectful and dignified.
"You've got fat," The King remarked bluntly with a bite to his tone.
The group look at them nervously. Catelyn's lips tightened, stifling a smile as she gazed downward.
Ned cocked his brow, amused, his gaze gesturing downwards to his belly.
Robert let out a belly-aching laughter as Ned laughed with him and the two embraced each other in a tight hug. The two old friends let go and the king turned to Catelyn, "Cat!" He exclaimed.
"Your grace," She greeted with a friendly smile as they embraced.
He turned back towards his old friend letting out a sigh of content, "Nine years... Why haven't I see you? Where the hell have you been?"
"Guarding the North for you, your grace. Winterfell is yours," Ned grinned.
He began going down the line, turning to Alek, standing tall at the same height as himself. He smiled, extending his hand, "Gods, look at you!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Last time I saw you, you were just a squire, now you're a man!"
The young warrior smiled, nodding as he shook his hand firmly, "Well met, your grace."
Robert chuckled as he shook his hand firmly, “Aye, strong, just like your father," the King remarked as he let go of his hand. "Barristan asked me to pass on his regards."
"My thanks," Alek nodded, cocking a brow, his tone soft.
Robert proceeded down the line, turning to Ned's eldest son, "You must be Robb," he reached out, and the young heir shook his hand with a friendly nod and a smile.
He turned to his eldest daughter, "My, you're a pretty one," He smiled at Sansa, who smiled back with a blush, her gaze lowered.
Then he turned to the youngest daughter, bending down with a playful gruff expression, "And your name is?"
"Arya," She replied.
He nodded and proceeded down, turning to Bran, "Oh, show us your muscles!" He joked, and Bran held out his arms and flexed, and the King chuckled, "You'll be a soldier!"
He proceeded further, and then turned to the younger son, Rickon and ruffled his hair.
Jaime Lannister removed his helmet, revealing a charmingly handsome face resembling the Queen's with long golden blonde hair and a stern expression as he rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, his helmet tucked under his arm.
Cercei approached Ned, extending her hand out to him, and he dipped down and placed a kiss atop her hand, "My Queen," he greeted respectfully.
Catelyn bowed, "My Queen."
"Take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects," Robert interjected.
"We've been riding for a month, my love, surely the dead can weight," She protested, her tone dry.
"Ned," Robert pleaded, ignoring his wife entirely.
Ned nodded, "As you wish."
The Queen sighed and the two men walked away towards the keep.
Arya turned to her sister, looking up at her, "Where's the Imp?"
Cersei turned to Arya then turned back around, approaching Jaime, muttering impatiently, "Where is our brother? Go and find the little beast," She ordered, and he sighed, walking off.
Beneath the Winterfell keep, Ned and Robert walked side by side through the dark corridor, torchlight illuminating their path, the flickering shadows dancing around them.
Ned turned to his friend, "Tell me about Jon Arryn."
"One minute he was fine then... Burned right through him, whatever it was... I loved that man," He said, solemnly.
Ned's gaze lowered, nodding, "We both did."
They were silent for several seconds before Robert spoke again, "He never had to teach you much, but me? You remember me at sixteen?" He bumped his friend's shoulder, and Ned let out a chuckle. "All I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls. He showed me what was what."
"Aye," Ned said, giving a knowing smirk at Robert, who turned to him, seeing the look on his face and laughed.
"Don't look at me like that. It's not his fault I didn't listen," He said as they walked through the stone hallway, both laughing.
Robert stopped and turned to face Ned as their amusement died down, "I need you, Ned," He admitted, "Down at King's Landing. Not up here where you're no damn use to anybody."
Ned's expression fell, averting his gaze as Robert declared, "Lord Ned Stark, I would name you The Hand of the King."
The Stark lord's lips parted as he knelt before him, bowing, "I am not worthy of the honor."
"I'm not here to honor you, I'm trying to get you to run my kingdom while I drink and whore my way to an early grave," He grinned, and reached out and patted his friend on the shoulder, "Damn it, Ned, stand up," He said softly.
Ned stood back up and met his gaze.
"You helped me win the Iron Throne, now help me keep the damn thing," He said, firmly, a stern look in his eyes, "We were meant to rule together. If your sister had lived, we'd have been bound by blood. Well, it's not too late. I have a son, you have a daughter."
Ned looked at his friend apprehensively, his lips still parted as his gaze wandered, and before he could speak, Robert finished with, "We'll join our houses," as he walked down the hallway, and Ned followed beside him.
They had arrived to the crypt, a dark room filled with ancient statues and candles, dimly lit and dusty, the room reeked of age and the smell of smoke. The floor and walls are made of stone. According to tradition, only Stark lords and Kings in the North that died were buried within statues that functioned as tombs, however Ned bent this tradition to include his sister, Lyanna Stark, when she was raped and killed by Rhaegar. Her statue sat next to the statues of his brother, Brandon, and his father, Rickard.
They stop before Lyanna Stark's statue. A beautiful young woman with long hair, dressed in armor.
Robert looked upon the statue, his gaze lingering and longing, his lip trembling as he placed an eagle feather on the hand of her statue. Ned stood behind him, supporting through his presence.
Robert shook his head, his voice trembling, "Did you have to bury her in a place like this?" Ned's gaze lowered solemnly as Robert continued, "She should be on a hill somewhere with the sun and the clouds above her."
"She was my sister," Ned said firmly, but softly, "This is where she belongs."
"She belonged with me," He lamented.
Robert reached out and cupped the face of Lyanna's statue, "In my dreams, I kill him every night."
"It's done, your grace," Ned reminded him, "The Targaryens are gone."
Robert lowered his gaze, removing his hand from the statue slowly, his lip twitching, "Not all of them," He muttered gruffly.
In the Winterfell keep, Catelyn is standing behind Sansa, styling hair before the feast begun, tying it into southern braids as she sits in a comfortable wooden chair with the fireplace crackling.
"Do you think Joffrey will like me? What if he thinks I'm ugly?" She pouted, her tone soft.
Catelyn gripped her daughter's shoulders, leaning down to her, "Then he is the stupidest prince that ever lived," She said firmly. Sansa smiled.
"He's so handsome," Sansa wooed.
Catelyn sighed.
"When would we be married? Soon? Or do we have to wait?"
"Hush now. Your father hasn't even said yes," Her mother said.
"Why would he say no? He'd be the second most powerful man in the kingdoms."
Catelyn raised her brows, her tone softening in worry, "He'd have to leave home. He'd have to leave me. And so would you."
"You left your home to come here. And I'd be queen someday."
As her mother continued styling her hair, Sansa paused before turning around to meet her mother's eyes, "Please make him say yes."
"Sansa-" Catelyn began, her tone soft and her eyes reluctant.
"Please, please!" She pleaded, "It's the only thing I ever wanted..." She begged, her tone soft with a desperate glint in her eyes.
Catelyn gazed at her daughter, unsure what to say. Her gaze wandered as her lips parted.
The feast was in session in the Great Hall, everyone gathered, ate, drank, sang, and mingled. Robert gathered around a crowd while he ate, drank and kissed a wench while Catelyn and Cersei sat at the table, talking amongst themselves, the Queen's expression cold and sharp, and Catelyn's kind, gentle and sympathetic. As the Queen watched Robert fervently kiss a wench, her gaze lowered as her expression became one of disgust.
Outside in the training yard, Jon trained with his sword, swinging and slicing at a training dummy wrapped in a burlap sack and filled with hay when a man road up on a brown horse, cloaked in black and armed to the teeth. He had grey eyes, long dark brown hair and a long gruff face with a lean build. The man turned to see Jon slicing at a dummy, smiled and called out to him, "Is he dead yet?"
Jon stopped, turning around and a wide smile appeared on his face as he approached the man, dropping his sword on the ground, "Uncle Benjen!" He exclaimed.
Benjen got off his horse and the stable-hand led his horse to the stables, and the two embraced each other in a tight hug, laughing.
"Aye, you got bigger!" He exclaimed as they let go, the two looking each other in the eyes, "Rode all day. Didn't want to leave you alone with the Lannisters," He grinned, "Why aren't you at the feast?"
Jon's gaze grew heavy, his brows cocked, "Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their midst," He explained, his tone soft.
Benjen nodded solemnly in understanding, his gaze lowering before meeting his eyes again, "Well, you're always welcome on the Wall. No bastard was never refused a seat there," He offered.
Jon nodded, excitedly, "So take me with you when you go back!"
He sighed, "Jon-"
"Father will let me if you ask him!" He pleaded, his brows cocked, "I know he will."
His uncle looked at him, his lips tightened, "The Wall isn't going anywhere," He assured him softly.
"I'm ready. I'm ready to swear your oath," Jon protested softly, fiercely determined.
Benjen sighed, "You don't understand what you'd be giving up. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons-"
"I don't care about that," Jon said, his tone bitter as he shakes his head.
"You might, if you knew what it meant," He warned, his tone soft, melancholic, his gaze empathetic, growing distant, "I remember myself at your age, lad. That need always comes. The Wall has no place for it. Once you take the black, there's no turning back. You must put yourself between the realm of men and what lies beyond."
Jon shook his head, his gaze lowered, solemnly, "The realm of men has no place for me," Jon said, his tone low.
Benjen gazed at his nephew, his lips tightened, and patted his shoulder. Sounds of rattling and laughing echo from within the Great Hall, catching Benjen's attention as he turns toward the source of the sound before turning back to his nephew, "I'd better get inside, save your father and cousin from their guests," He grinned as cold winds blew, "We'll talk later."
Jon nodded, and the pair departed as Benjen quickly walked toward the entrance to the Great Hall while Jon resumed his training.
Inside, Benjen pushed open the door and was hit by a blast of heat from the fireplace. He looked around and saw the feast, the people singing, dancing, drinking and laughing, and saw the King surrounded by people, wenches, and women.
Benjen proceeded through the room looking for his brother, walking through the crowds, the laughter, and music. He spotted Ned in the corner drinking with Alek, who leaned against a post, keeping him company.
Benjen approached the two, "You at a feast -- it's like a bear in a trap," He grinned as he patted his brother and nephew's shoulder, who chuckled back at him.
"Good to see you, uncle Benjen," Alek grinned, pulling him into a hug.
"Aye, good to see you, Alek," He smiled warmly as he embraced his nephew.
Ned turned to his brother, "The boy I beheaded, did you know him?"
"Of course I did. Just a lad. But he was tough, Ned. A true Ranger," Benjen said, his gaze heavy, his tone low. Ned looked away solemnly.
"We all have our moments of weakness," Alek added, his gaze wandering, "This one just so happened to have been what killed him."
Benjen nodded in agreement, "Aye, damn shame."
Ned turned back to his brother, "He was talking madness, said the Walkers slaughtered his friends," He said, his brow cocked, his tone confused.
"The two he was with are still missing," He pointed out, shrugging.
"A wildling ambush?"
"Maybe,” He sighed, his gaze growing distant. “Direwolves found south of the Wall, talk of the Walkers, my brother might be the next Hand of the King," He shook his head, chuckling. Ned and Alek both let out a chuckle as Benjen averted his gaze, his tone ominous, "Winter *is* coming."
"Winter is coming," Ned repeated in agreement.
"Winter is coming," Alek echoed.
Robb approached the trio, putting a hand on Benjen's shoulder, "Uncle Benjen!" he greeted.
Benjen pulled him into a hug, "Robb boy. How are you?"
"I'm good," Robb answered, smiling as Ned and Alek shared a smile at their reunion.
Meanwhile, at the high table, Catelyn and Cersei watch as Robert continues laughing and kissing wenches.
Catelyn turns to the Queen, "Is this your first time in the North, your grace?" She asked in a friendly tone, trying to break the ice.
Cersei flashes her a smile before it quickly fades, "Yes," she said, briefly meeting her gaze before turning away, "Lovely country."
A handmaiden approaches Sansa a short distance away as she conversates with one of her friends, whispering in her ear. Sansa looks over at the Queen, who meets her gaze firmly, giving her a small smile. Sansa gets up, walking over to the table.
"I'm sure it's very grim after King's Landing," Catelyn smiled, trying to make conversation with Cersei, "I remember how scared I was when Ned brought me here."
Sansa approached the table in her purple ornamental dress, her auburn hair done in beautiful braids. She smiles sheepishly at the Queen.
"Hello, little dove," Cersei greeted sweetly with a warm smile, tilting her head. "You are a beauty. How old are you?"
"Thirteen, your grace," She answered.
Cersei cocked a brow, "You're tall. Still growing?"
She nodded, blushing, "I think so, your grace."
"And have you bled yet?" She asked, her smile faded slightly.
Sansa's smile faded, she turned to her mother, who gazed at her firmly, and she returned to the Queen, shaking her head, "N-No, your grace."
Cersei's gaze wandered slightly before she looked at the girl again, her smile returning, "Your dress, did you make it?"
Sansa's smile returned as well, beaming as she nodded.
"Such a talent," She praised her tone soft, "You must make something for me."
Sansa nodded, turning to walk away back to her seat.
"I hear we might share a grandchild someday," Cersei pointed out, avoiding her gaze.
Catelyn turned to look at her, a wry smile on her lips, "I hear the same."
The Queen turned to meet her gaze, "Your daughter will do well in the Capital," She averted her gaze, "Such a beauty shouldn't stay hidden up here forever," She gibed, her smile fading.
Catelyn's smile faded, and her gaze slowly turned away from the Queen.
The trio in the corner departed, scattering around the Great Hall. Benjen gathered near Robert, while Ned made his way over to the high table to keep his wife company. Alek decided to excuse himself and make his way outside to see Jon when Jaime Lannister approached him, blocking his path.
"Your pardon," Alek replied gruffly, attempting to walk around him when Jaime stepped into his way, forcing him to stop.
"Ser Alek Stark," He greeted, his tone sharp and his eyes dark.
"Ser Jaime Lannister," Alek acknowledged with a sigh and a reluctant polite and small smile, his voice gruff, "How can I help you?"
Jaime looked him up and down, his expression hard, his brow cocked, "I heard we might be neighbors soon. I hope it's true," He smirked.
Alek shrugged, "That all depends," He began, his gaze firm, "Lord Stark hasn't agreed to anything, yet."
"I'm sure we'll have a tournament to celebrate the new title -- if he accepts. From everything I've heard about you, it would be good to have you on the field," He smiled, his tone challenging, "The competition has become a bit stale."
"I don't fight in tourneys," Alek said bluntly as the two men stared each other down with the other clearly trying to test him.
Jaime was only a few inches shorter than himself. Intimidating to commoners, perhaps, but not to him. One of the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms, but not the most intimidating. Alek did not find golden blond hair and a pretty face intimidating.
"No?" He leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Afraid of losing?"
Alek chuckled, "I'd grow bored," He shot back, his tone was low and gruff as his gaze held firm.
Jaime's lips curled into an amused and respecting grin, "Well said."
Later, Ned and Catelyn lie together on their bed in their private chambers after the feast with a crackling fireplace burning a few yards across from their bed. Ned holds her close as her head leans against his shoulder as his arm drapes over her.
"I'm a Northman. I belong here with you, not down south in that rat's nest they call a Capital," He muttered.
"I won't let him take you."
"The King takes what he wants," He sighs, "That's why he's king."
She sat up slightly to look at him, "I'll say, 'listen, fat man,'" She grinned, poking his cheek as Ned lets out a hearty but soft laugh, "'You're not taking my husband anywhere, he belongs with me now,'" She said as she nestled back against his shoulder.
"How did he get so fat?" Ned laughed.
"He only stops eating when it's time for a drink," She snickered as he chuckled.
They heard a knock at the door, "It's Maester Luwin, my lord," came a voice.
"Send him in," Ned called out.
The door opened and the elderly Maester stepped inside, shutting the door, "Pardon, my lord. My lady," he began, extending a scroll out to them, "A rider in the night, from your sister."
Catelyn turned to him, quickly removing the covers and getting up from the bed to approach the Maester, she took the scroll in her hands, examining it. She noticed it was a blue-colored wax seal with the emblem of a falcon on it, the seal of House Arryn.
Her eyes widened, turning back toward her husband, "It's from the Eyrie."
Ned got up from the bed as his wife opened the seal, quickly skimming the contents of the letter, "What's she doing at the Eyrie?" She muttered to herself as she read the letter, "She hasn't been back there since her wedding," She mused.
Her eyes scanned the context of the letter, and as her eyes fixated on the latter part of the letter, her eyes widened in shock as she looked at Maester Luwin, who gazed at her curiously with his tired weary gaze. She turned towards the firepit and walked briskly towards it, tossing the letter into the fire without hesitation.
Ned approached his wife, "What news?" He asked, his tone concerned, his lips parted. Maester Luwin looked on, his brows creased in confusion.
"She's fled the Capital," Catelyn admitted, turning to her husband, her lips parted and eyes wide, "She says Jon Arryn was murdered -- by the Lannisters. She says the King is in danger," She said, her tone full of shock.
"She's fresh widowed, Cat," He shrugged, his voice gruff, his gaze unfocused as his lips tightened momentarily, "She doesn't know what she's saying."
She shook her head, "Lysa's head would be on a spike right now if the wrong people had found that letter," She said with conviction, her eyes jumped in emphasis, "Do you think she would risk her life, her son's life, if she wasn't certain her husband was murdered?"
Ned averted his gaze downward, turning away, rubbing his face as he walked over to the window, putting his hands on his hips.
Maester Luwin stepped next to Catelyn, facing his back, "If this news is true and the Lannisters conspire against the Throne, who but you can protect the King?" He inquired, his tone was deep and soft, but filled with concern.
Ned stared at the window in deep thought, shaking his head slowly, as if his Northern instincts pulling him one way, while his sense of honor, duty and loyalty pulled him another.
Catelyn turned to the Maester, her brows knitted together in bewilderment, "They murdered the last Hand! Now you want Ned to take the job?!" She protested in concern and anxiety. The Maester turned to her, his gaze firm but soft, "The King rode for a month to ask for Lord Stark's help. He's the only one he trusts," he said softly but with certainty.
Maester Luwin turned back to Ned, "You swore the King an oath, my lord."
Ned's eyes closed, gripping the bridge of his nose, his lips trembled before he opened his eyes again, and his gaze fell.
"He spent half his life fighting Robert's wars," She argued, "He owes him nothing," She shook her head adamantly. She turned back to her husband, her brows arched upwards, her tone low and warning, stepping closer, "Your father and brother rode South once, on a King's demand."
"A different time," Maester Luwin gently dismissed with a soft tone, "A different King."
Ned took a deep breath, raising his gaze again, his lips tightening. His mind was set, but the furrow in his brow betrayed his unease.
Early the next morning, Robert and Ned went on a hunting trip with Alek, Robb, Theon, Ser Rodrik, Benjen, even Joffrey and Tyrion had all gone along with them. They readied their horses, preparing. Bran had been left behind with Jon, his little brother Rickon and the girls.
As they readied their horses in the courtyard, Theon passed Ned his gloves.
Robert rode up to him with his horse, "You as good with a spear as you used to be?"
Ned cocked his brows, "No, but I'm still better than you," He grinned as he looked back up at him.
Robert let out a laugh as the two smiled at each other, then his expression turned serious, his gaze lowered tentatively, "I know what I'm putting you through. Thank you for saying yes," He thanked gently as Ned's smile faded and eyes turned distant, "I only ask you because I need you. You're a loyal friend, Ned. You hear me? A loyal friend. The last one I've got."
Ned nodded in response, "I hope I serve you well," He said modestly.
Robert nodded in assurance, "You will. And I'll make sure you don't look so fucking grim all the time," He grinned as he rode off, eliciting a chuckle from his friend.
"Come on, boys, let's go kill some boar!" He called out to his other hunting companions.
Ned rode off with Alek behind him, Robb, Theon, Ser Rodrik and Benjen behind him, followed by Joffrey and Tyrion.
Bran leaned against a stone wall next to his direwolf, Summer, smiling at his father as the group rides off. The boy turns and walks through one of the gateway passageways, heading to the top of the wall. He walks up the stairway, and reaches the top of the tower where the Wall overlooks the vast forest and land below. Bran looks out at the vast green forests and the blue sky, admiring the view. He sees an abandoned watchtower just outside the walls. He climbs down and decided to go to his favorite tower, the broken one that had been abandoned
When he reaches the tower, it's overgrown and fairly old, clearly abandoned, but solid enough to climb on. Halfway up his descent, he starts to hear soft noises from up the tower. He climbs along the vines and overgrown roots. As he climbs further up, he can hear the distinct sounds of grunting, moaning and gasping. He climbs along a wall and sees an open window, and peeks in, the room was dark, but he can hear the sounds more clearly.
He sees two figures as he peaks into the stone window, a woman and a man, tangled together on a bed, mostly clothed but with their bottom ends open as the man rutted the woman from behind. The woman had long blonde hair, pale skin, and was slender while the man also had long blonde hair, pale skin but was muscular. The woman was covered in a regal nightgown while the man was covered in a more rugged burlap nightgown. Bran's mind couldn't make sense of what was happening as he watched curiously and in shock. The man wrapped his arms around the woman, pulling her up against him, and their faces came into view, it was Jaime Lannister and his twin sister, Cersei Lannister.
Cersei gazed forward as Jaime gripped her face, kissing her, and her eyes widened as she spotted the child watching them in the window, she gasped, "Stop... stop!" She pushed her brother away, causing him to look at her in confusion, his brows knitted together, then when he noticed she was looking at something, he gazed towards it and saw the child as well.
Bran gasped and quickly tried to descend from the tower, but slipped off a loose stone in his urgency, barely catching the ledge of the window, his direwolf whimpered in worry as it paced in a circle below him. Jaime jumped up, raced towards the window, his robe covering his indecency as he reached for his arm out the window and pulled Bran back in through the window by his shirt with one hand, setting him on the sill, "Are you completely mad?" He exclaimed in concern as he sat him down. The boy was panicking, shaking in fear.
"He saw us," Cersei said in fear, her eyes wide, her breath quickened.
"It's all right, it's all right," Jaime assured the boy softly as he steadied him on the sill, a hand on his chest as he held his shirt so he wouldn't fall again.
"He saw us!" She yelled in desperation and worry, her eyes wide.
Jaime rolled his eyes, "I heard you the first time," He called back out to her in irritation, turning to face the boy. "Quite the little climber, aren't you?" He chuckled.
Bran said nothing as he looked at him, his breath shaky.
"How old are you, boy?" He asked him.
"T-Ten," Bran answered, his voice shaky from almost falling.
Jaime's gaze grew distant, "Ten," He repeated to himself, his tone soft, almost dejected.
He let go of Bran, his hand hung at his side. He looked back at his sister, meeting her gaze, his lips tightened and his head tilted almost hanging like the rest of his body.
Cersei looked at her brother, her breathing shallow, her gaze intense as she looked at him.
He let out a sigh, shaking his head, "The things I do for love," he muttered loathsomely, not even looking back at the boy as he reaches out with his left hand and pushes him backwards.
Bran lets out a startled gasp as he's suddenly shoved out of the window and plummets to the ground below.