The Warden of the North sighed in comfort as he sat down in his chair. Reports were done for the day and he was granted a moment of rest by Maester Walys. A three taps against his door made a small groan jump from the back of his throat.
"Enter!" His voice commanding as it was annoyed. The wooden door opened, letting in the cold northern air, clashing against the warmness of the room. Maester Walys Flowers walked slowly into the room.
The Maester was around two-and-sixty short, balding hair that had turned white and thinned with age. He wore a dark brown robe made of wool with numerous sleeves not clearly visible. The Maester kindly, but sadly, spoke.
"My Lord, your son's condition…" He trailed off, angry at his failure as a Maester to help the Stark family. The Lord of Winterfell quickly understood and ran towards his son's room.
Entering the room, he found his son, William Stark, a boy of seven, with dark brown, almost black hair that fell to the top of his ears. His eyes were the Stark grey and were half-shut, sweat poured down his face as the boy's breath was laboured.
The reason?
His flesh from his right fingertips to the whole right side of his face was cracked and dead, stiff and looked like stone-scales. William had been infected with the Grey Plague, a virulent disease that turns its victims skin and insides into stone, though it is faster than Greyscale. However for some stupid, bloody reason not one piece of information mentioned the fact that Grey Plague actually hurt the victims. Even children have a higher chance of dying from it.
"Lord Rickard? Your cloth and gloves." He heard Maester Walys' voice behind him. He turned to see his Maester holding out a pair of rough leather gloves and a equally leather cloth. Walys having another pair that covered his hands and lower half of his face. He gritted his teeth, he couldn't even touch his son anymore viciously snatched the two objects from the Maester's grasp. Rickard looked down at the leather and covered his hands and face with them. He walked over to his son's bed, noting that there was only just his son's bed in the room with multiple furs covering the boy, like the boy's body was being smothered.
"...Father?" The broken, innocent voice of his son almost cracked the icy face of Rickard Stark. He quickly sat down on a wooden chair, shifted it so he was next to his his son's head.
"I'm here son. Are you alright?" Rickard quietly asked. William just grew a boisterous smile to hide his pain.
"I'm a wolf father, I won't let something like this kill me." William chuckled before wheezing for a moment until he roughly coughed. Rickard just grabbed a heavy cup and jug of water. He filled the cup with the water and gave carefully held it over his son's mouth. The water flowed out of the cup and into William's mouth. The boy drank the liquid and laid back down with tears falling down his eyes. His happy facade quickly broke.
"I'm sorry father!" He screamed, Rickard just watched with tears appearing in his own eyes. "I'm sorry I'm not strong enough! I can't touch you, hug you, or Brandon, Eddard, Lyanna and Benjen! I can't even remember mother's kisses or hugs!" His face was a waterfall of tears and snot flowed from one of his nostrils. "I just don't want to die!" He finished as he covered his face with the back of his hands. His cries filled the room, echoing back at the boy and his father, reminding them of the fate William has. Walys looked from the door, tears quietly climbing down his face.
The two stayed in the room until Rickard could get his son to sleep with Milk of the Poppy. They exited the room after burning the pairs of cloth and gloves. Rickard angrily walked back towards his room with Walys obediently following behind him. Before they entered the Lord of Winterfell turned his head towards the Maester, with his eyes showing the anger of a wolf.
"Don't come in Maester. I won't be in a good mood." He calmly said with a growl present in his voice. Walys nodded quickly, fearing what would happen if he didn't follow that order. Rickon entered his room and shut the door.
Rickard walked towards his desk and leaned over it with his hands propping himself up. It wasn't a minute later until he flipped his table onto its side. A loud 'BANG!' filled the room. The papers cascading onto the floor, splashing the area with noises of the crinkles of papers.
"AHHHHH!" He roared with all of his might, his frustration, his anger and his shame at not able to save his son made his roar even more terrifying to the people outside listening to the Lord's pain.
Down The Kingsroad
A black destrier trotted along the Kingsroad carrying numerous satchels and sacks along its saddle. Above it, was a figure covered in a hooded, midnight black robe and black leather gloves with black boots visible under the robe.
"Hopefully it's not far now. I hope the boy can survive." The figure's voice was masculine with a slight rasp to it. The man in black continued down the road when the man lifted his head to reveal amber cat-like eyes.