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275 AC
The North
Winterfell - Solar of the Lord.
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In the- not as rare as one would expect- quiet times such as these, my thoughts drift to my children… as they oft do.
My first born and heir; Brandon. Oh my brash Brandon. Brash and brave. A pup of mere ten-and-three, and he is still a pup no matter how he may argue.
Fostering at Borrowton under care of Lord Dustin, a loyal and steadfast ally. He will no well by my boy, but I still worry. It has only been a year- or is it two?- since Bran left for the Rills.
However the letters sent home assure me of his health and growth, and improving penmanship- though that's not saying much.
Brandon's writing before he left were no better than Lyanna's, and she was six.
I suppose Lord Dustin's wife- a good lady she- was making good on her offers to teach him letters. Normally a job for the maesters, but Brandon had proven far to wild for them to teach properly.
A mother's firm hand works best.
'Not even the Wolf Blood can fight that, the ear pinch of doom shall quell all far and wide...'
I allow myself a chuckle.
My second son; Eddard. The Quiet Wolf. Not even ten-and-two yet already he has a moniker, one I suspect would stick. Only a year younger than Bran, yet their differences were- hur hur hur- stark, so to speak.
'... I find entirely too much amusement at such litter japes.'
My little pup Eddard, fostering away Eyrie under Lord Arryn for four years now…
'The South…'
The North must connect with the South. For the good of my people, I must foster good and healthy relations with the Southern Lord. I know this to be true in my heart and committed to my decision, yet it still pains me to send my son away so far.
And so young too, three years before his older brother, I worry. I worry he may feel slighted or unwanted. I worry he may think I do not love him. I worry he may feel Winterfell is no longer his home. I worry...
I worry… and yet I do not call him back. Something that had left me in the cold with my lady wife for almost two years.
I sigh heavily.
We reconciled eventually, but once more I felt the cold bite of her winter when it came to foster away Brandon- I certainly do not flinch at the thought- but at least this time she was quicker to sway around.
No doubt to do with the relatively close proximity of Barrowton and her tentative- now rapidly growing- friendship with Lord Dustin's wife.
My thoughts drift on to my third child and only daughter.
A smile come unbidden to my face; daughters will always be the pearl of their father's eye.
'My wild little winter rose.'
Freight with wolf bloo-
*Knock Knock*
-My thoughts are interrupted.
"My lord, there is an issue." Came the voice from behind the solar door.
I certainly do not groan, but it was a close thing. I was in my happy place and all.
But I was also the Lord.
And Lords don't get nice things.
Not for long anyway.
"What is it? I believe the smallfolk have been settled and castle affairs have been seen to already." And wasn't that a trial.
It was winter, North Winter that is. A time when icicles get icicles and have baby icicles that then run of and elope with other icicles to have grandbaby icicles.
It's rather cold.
As such, most remote villages and much of the North's towns have been evacuated to larger and warmer holds till the harshest of Winter may pass.
Of course, one such hold is Winterfell. A new batch from the what could only be called the "midlands of the North" had settled in that day. Sleeping arrangements, food supplies and space allocation must be sorted whilst inventory must be took.
It was a tiring morning... and afternoon... and evening…
I had hoped it might be a peaceful night, but…
Alas, that cannot be helped. I am the Lord, this is my duty. I shall do my duty.
But maybe it is nothing to trying hmm? One can hope. One can only hope.
"Wait. Come in first, no point in talking to you from behind the door." I straighten myself in my chair, fixing the furs I wear into a more lord-like style.
The oakwood door swung open easily, I always found the faint groan of it's hinges at work to be a pleasant sound- the proof of well done workmanship.
In marched one of my bannermen; Korak if I remember correctly. Hails from White Harbor, eldest brother of three, both parents alive, family all of good health.
As a loyal bannerman and night-shift guardsman, It was not rare I would see him on my occasional night walks after a restless dream or simply taking a stroll to clear the mind having forgone sleep that night.
But it was not he that was the focus of my immediate interest, but his shorter charge following in next to him.
'Dornish...?'
...No. Half Dornish at best. Perhaps even some ancestry from Myr? A rare sight in the North indeed, but not completely unheard off. There are some Dornish whores living around the neck, and I'm sure some at least one Dornishman has settled here for whatever reason at some point in time.
However, I do believe this is the first time a man of Dornish decent has set foot in the Lord of Winterfell's solar in at least a hundred years... Or mayhap ever. This arrival may be the first in history.
Certainly the first in living memory.
Wasn't that a thought.
Stranger still is that the "man" isn't a man, but a boy.
He couldn't be much older than my little Lyanna, certainly younger than Eddard and Brandon.
Short, barely coming up to Korak's waist, face still rounded by baby fat but his light brown skin was weathered only in the way days of hard outdoor labour could do.
Black, silky hair, a texture you wouldn't see on most Northman's head, fell down to his forehead. The cut was clearly amerturely done, there were tufts longer than others and his ears bangs uneven, but it gave him a boyish charm.
It was also worthy of note that his hair was strangely clean of grease and dirt common to smallfolk.
Dressed in furs common to the North, but of course of far lesser quality to the ones I wear. There were threads and stitches hanging loose, most likely the clothes were well worn.
In the relative shadow of my candlelit solar it was hard to tell but I could see the silhouette of two handle like things poking out over his shoulder.
'Swords?'
No- is shake my head- it couldn't be.
As the two- my bannerman and the boy- stepped forth into the solar, I could pick out more features of the child.
My eyebrows lifted slightly.
A bruise. The area around his eye was darkening, by the morrow he would have a black eye. I had to squint slightly to see, but there was also a cut on his lower lip- that would probably swell painfully later.
However what really caught my eye was his eyes. Amber. A strange shade, one I find myself surprised at not noting sooner. Like pools of molten gold or perhaps a tone darker, they glowed like soft night lamps all the same.
I find a man's eyes tell much about his character, I have honed and used this skill for years on experienced nobles and cunning fighters alike, yet these eyes of a boy no older than my second child betray nothing.
I find myself at loss.
I look to Korak in question. "For what reason is this child here? Why is he hurt?" I question.
Korak looks uncomfortable, shufflign slightly as he opens his mouth yet struggles to find the words.
"W-well-" "-I beat up one of your guardsmen and demanded an audience."
'... What?'
I look to the boy and blink in befuddlement.
"What?"
The boy nodded seriously and continued to look me in the eye- he had not stopped since he came in- I note. An act numerous grown men struggle to achieve, my Stark-grey eyes are known to stifle many.
"I needed to see you. I explained as such to the guardsmen at the gate but they would not listen and said to come back tomorrow, however I needed to see you now, so I beat them up. This, as I expected, caused a scene drawing more attention, after which I stated my desire once more. This time my words were heeded thus here I am."
'... What did I just hear?'
His words were mature and sophisticated without any trace of accent. A feat far beyond the normal smallfolk, but I, not even a minute of our "audience", had already come to realise this boy was far from normal.
I once more looked to Korak in question- to question what exactly I am unsure. Regardless Korak nodded, at least confirming the boys words as truth.
There was much I wanted to ask, much I wanted to know, but for now I could only focus on the most simple.
"Why, prey tell, could you not wait till the morrow child?" Yes, my mind latched onto the easiest question.
"Because my sisters may not make it through the night." He answered promptly.
… Well that just begets more questions.
"Sisters-? Wait no-" I raise a hand to stall the answer and brough the other to my forehead. "Explain from the beginning. Who are you, why might your sisters not make it through the night, why do you want to see me?"
Though I suspect the answer to the last question has something to do with curing his sister.
Unfortunately, unlike how many smallfolk choose to believe, I am not almighty. I am only a man. I hope the child does not hold unrealistic expectations of me.
However, somehow I doubt he is so ignorant.
Once more the child nodded seriously and I curse my inability to read his eyes. His words and straight backed posture proves him mature beyond his years- abnormally so even- but I cannot get a grasp of his true nature.
Hopefully the boy's story may lend some insight.
"We hail from the midlands, a nameless village settled east of Torrhen's Square. We arrived this morn with many other smallfolk." He starts.
"-Wait, wait." I hold up a hand. "First tell me your name."
The boy blinks, then suddenly looks slightly abashed. The first break in his solemn expression and finally one that suits his age. For reasons beyond me I felt a slight sense of relief.
"The name's Arthur." For the Sword of Morning perhaps?
The boy- Arthur- looks ready to jump back into his story but Korak interrupts.
"Milord."
Both Arthur and I look to the guardsman, but he was only looking at Arthur.
"What? I'm not yer lord." Ah, there's the accent. He did well to suppress it.
"My name is Arthur milord." Korak corrects.
Oh.
Korak is right, I had not heard Arthur address me properly since he came in. But my mind was too distracted by his words to notice.
It is forgiven seeing as there was no reason for a smallfolk to be taught etiquette, especially not so young, but it is strange given the sophistication of the rest of his words that he would lack the basic knowledge on how to address a lord.
The reaction of Arthur is not expected however.
His face twisted and nose scrunched up into a look of disgruntlement.
I felt some amusement at the sight, he looked much like Lyanna being scolded at that moment.
The boy my daughters age looked to me.
"Do I hafta?" There was such childish discontent in his words I had to fight down a grin.
"Well…" I only mildly drag out the word. "I am the Lord."
He shifts.
"... Is that a no...?"
I stare.
"Tch." He click his tongue and this time there is a quirk of my lips. After a snort through his nose and brief glare at Korak I finally looks to me again. No less displeased as before. "... Name's Arthur… milord." The word is almost git out.
Such pride from a smallfolk yet I just can't find it in myself to be angered by the child.
The way he tried to say it mockingly at first then realised it hurt him more than I and forced the word out as quick as possible reminded me far too much of Lyanna.
'Perhaps my precious flower may find a playmate to chase away her winter boredom yet.'
"Anyway!" The boy almost shouts to hide his wounded pride, as Lyanna often does. "We come from east of Torrhen's Square, and by we I mean myself and my two sisters."
"We are not related by blood, but my bond." He states. "We are orphans, I have looked out for them as long as I can remember, and they I."
'Ah. Orphans in a small community are either treated rather well or quite bad depending on their parentage.'
"We were something close to pariahs." Oh. "I was too small to join the menfolk in lumberjacking, and the jobs to carry fallen logs were taken by the lumberjacks sons. My sisters had no mother to teach them sewing or how to do household chores- not that we had much of a house anyway- so all three of us scraped by foraging in the forest. Myself sometimes making the trek to the nearest river on foot to fish."
"We lived of off berries, the occasional fish, the extremely rare times my traps caught some meat and pity."
'... Sadly not a rare story.'
"But when winter came, people couldn't afford pity. Thus they adopted the tried and tested out of sight, out of mind technique." The boy said ruefully, his words far older than his voice, yet his eyes timeless as ever.
"My sisters fell sick." Arthur said abruptly. "As is to be expected. We had inadequate clothes food and housing for years, we were unprepared for the cold and they are frail. We had a choice between Barrowton and here, I decided their only chance of better housing a food here in the larger Winterfell."
My heart sank. I feel for the child but-
"I can't-" "-Provide such preferential treatment for free?" Arthur interrupts.
I nod silently.
"I know." The boy states. "I realised as much travelling here."
He shook his head.
"There are far more people in the North than I expected. I suppose that is to be expected. I had been in a tiny little village all my life, I should not judge the world by my standards." Truer words had rarely been spoken.
"In truth I had hoped to beg for your kindness at first, but I was disillusioned of the notion fully when we arrived at Winterfell. My sisters and I could only barely get a dry corner to ourselves and that again was only out of pity for our age and circumstance." He was bitter, but resigned.
"However I could not give up. I was already pondering a plan travelling here, though I say plan, I was really just clutching at straws. I could barely think, I would give the most of our rations to my sisters, the starvation was getting to me… as was the cold and exhaustion too I suppose. I was carrying to extra bodies by myself after all."
My eyes brighten slightly- such strength from someone so young- but then darken again. Even then there are others who are sick, others who are orphaned, I cannot make needless exception. For these children to eat another must starve,
"However it came to me." Arthur smiled. I was taken aback by the look, there was an indescribable emotion on his face. "It gave me strength, I was considering dying with my sisters at that point, it would certainly be easier..."
There was a far off look on his face, but his eyes were as unreadable as ever… Disregarding that I lean forward at the excuse Arthur may present to me so that I may save his sisters.
Arthur shakes his head to clear his thoughts and looks me in the eye.
'!'
- My thoughts pause at the sheer intensity of his gaze.
"You are the Lord." He begins. "Your duty is to the betterment of you people correct?" He asks pointedly.
"... Yes." I answer eventually, the way the question was posed one might expect a trick, but I found none.
"Then I will present to you something that will better the lives of all of the North. An idea and object that I suspect will become standard come the next winter. A thing that will save hundreds of lives just this winter with its utility and hundreds and thousands more in the years yet to come...if-" The word came out strong and stressed.
"... Only if you provide my sisters and I safe, warm housing and healthy food for the duration of this Winter." Arthur states his case. "I can work around winter town for clothing and medicine, but I alone cannot provide them stable food nor housing."
Arthur holds my eye in his. "That is all I ask." He finishes.
… I should dismiss his words as folly. By all right they should be, what can a peasant come up with that should have such impact, this should be folly, I should dismiss him… such words do not come to mind even once.
'Is this a spell? Some magic? A blessing of the Old Gods? If not, I pray ask of you- why can't I look away?'
"... What is it?" My voice is thick and mind confused. The absurdity bordering insanity of his words, yet sheer conviction he has in them have shook me to the core. A humorous thought, a child shaking this great Lord of the North, yet the truth nonetheless.
This has all happened too quick, it has all been to strange, almost dreamlike.
I am off balance to say the least.
"First promise. Promise that if my gift is up to standard you will provide for myself and sisters."
"So I swear."
Arthur nods.
The reaches back over his shoulders… to the two handles?
"Frankly, I'm amazed no one has thought of these before." He draws the things, what is shown are not swords or blades, but two flat… baskets? "These are called snow shoes."
'... What?'
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AN: This is my first attempt at a ASOIAF fic, can you tell? Have I messed up Rickard's character already? Do tell me if I got any dates and ages wrong.
If anyone can tell me what happened to Rickard Stark's wife I would appreciate it. I think she died of grief after his death at Kings Landing, but I can't remember where I read that. It might be wrong.