(On top a green hill overlooking plains the view stretches many miles to the distant hazy background in the North, marking the edge of the Wolfswood. The castle of Winterfell looms below, a mighty, cluttered fortress resting on a hill with a dozen or so towers clumped around its centre, there is a mud trodden path that leads right to its main gate. To the east is the small village of Wintertown and some tilled fields where several hundred of the smallfolk can be seen hard at work. Sheep are wandering in amongst the other hills. The King's party to their rear of about three hundred strong carrying the banners of Gold Lions and Black Stags are moving at a sedate pace. 2nd son Prince Steffon Baratheon and his father King Robert Baratheon are at the head of the party on their horses a while ahead of the others. Robert is a gruff man grown enormously fat over the long years and his face is starting to droop from excess drinking, his eyes are sunken and he speaks with a gruff and boisterous tone. Steffon is more measured, near the appearance and strong build of his father in his youth, but without the fire. His eyes however are noticeably blue/green but his hair like his father's is deep black and he always appears solemn and deep in thought.)
Robert: Well, is the Northern climate to your liking then? I remember I once visited up here many years ago travelling on this same road on a trip with Ned. Gods must have been nearly twenty five years ago when we were visiting his home together. My first time up in the North. Only then things weren't so bloody complicated.
Steffon: And now you plan on bringing him south to King's Landing. I'm guessing he has few good memories of the place where his father and brother were murdered.
Robert: (Looks at Steffon sternly) What are you trying to say boy?
Steffon: Hear me out. I know you haven't seen him for years and he's the only one to be trusted. But he has no history in politics, or understanding of the court. He's a newcomer and his position will be a precarious one if he does not learn and adapt quickly. And the Starks and Lannisters already have a mutual disdain for one another so it will be a challenge to prevent their rivalry from spilling over.
Robert: (heatedly) So what do you suggest? Does it look as if I have any choice? What would have me do? Concede all power to those Lannisters?!
Steffon: (after a slight pause) I think I'm ready to enter politics father. I've passed my fifteenth nameday. Appoint me to the Small Council and I can help Lord Stark navigate his way in King's Landing. I can also try to smooth out tensions between the two parties and I'll report directly to you if there's any trouble. It's high time I found something active to do in court anyways.
Robert: You've got some strange blood in you boy wanting to go into politics. (He takes a gulp from his wine flagon and snorts. His face reddens) I will appoint you to the Small Council to help Ned. God knows he'll probably need it now that I think about it. (He slaps Steffon on the back and chuckles). But you've some nerve just coming up to me like this. And you'll be able to tell me how he's doing and what the rest of the stink are up to. Give 'em hell for me, eh? (He canters off ahead quickly while Steffon falls back with the rest of the party and a member of the Kingsguard overtakes him to catch up with the King. He eventually turns his horse around and makes his way to near the back of the procession where a large resplendent carriage decked with rubies and fine silken sheets and lace is being pulled by a team of matching stallions. Tommen and Myrcella, his siblings aged twelve and eight are riding together next to it on two noticeably smaller ponies that look weary from the long journey.)
Steffon: (manoeuvring his horse to ride alongside them and slowing to a canter)
Myrcella: (not noticing his approach until the last moment) Steffon! Where have you been all day? We've been looking for you and mother says you shouldn't stray too far off the Kingsroad like that.
Steffon: I was having a word with father about our arrival. We're only an hour's ride from Winterfell, you know. If you follow me, I know a good place where you can see all of it and get a good picture of the surroundings. I know you and Tommen are only allowed out of the carriage for a couple hours per day. (Smiles benignly at Tommen)
Tommen: I want to go. It won't take too long to get mother angry right?
Myrcella: (looks guiltily back at the carriage and follows her brothers as Tommen struggles to keep pace.
(They gallop at a gentle speed around the nearest hill back to where Steffon had earlier ridden with the King)
Myrcella: So that's it then. (Surveying the vast expanse of hilly plain before her) It's vast and somewhat majestic, but a bit rough and plain don't you think?
Steffon: Northerners have never been known to value ostentation of any kind. I even admire them for that. There's not much room to think about anything here except utility and survival and that is reflected in their customs, their architecture, their manner of speech.
Myrcella: Tommen no come back here! (She rides after her brother who has begun a gallop excitedly in the direction of Winterfell. Steffon chuckles slightly before turning away from them to ride back towards the procession)
(The party are passing through a set of double wooden gates already thrown open in welcome. On the other side they emerge in the main courtyard where all the inhabitants, soldiers of the castle are standing to receive their King. In unison they all fall upon their knees as Robert Baratheon rides forth at the head of the procession, flanked by two Kingsguard. Immediately behind rides Joffrey, his firstborn son dressed in rich finery with long flowing blonde hair next to his sworn shield Sandor Clegane his scarred face concealed under his dog helm. Two dozen more Lannister and Baratheon knights follow immediately afterwards carrying the banners before Steffon, Myrcella, and Tommen emerge, followed not long afterwards by the carriage, and bringing up the rear the rest of the guardsman)
Steffon: (Dismounting before helping his siblings do the same. The three walk somewhat shakily due to long hours of riding. Steffon watches his father warily as he introduces himself to the Starks who respond with good initial courtesy. Behind, the carriage has stopped and Cersei, Robert's Queen and Steffon's mother descends from the steps wearing furs and a long-sleeved auburn gown, her hair windswept from travelling. She walks immediately towards her children)
Myrcella: Mother I did try to stop them from riding out too far but Tommen was really excited to see the castle.
Tommen: (smiles widely pointing at Steffon) He showed us the hill where we could see everything down below and there was mist and ramparts and battlements.
Cersei: (cooly surveying Steffon) You should know better than to lead your younger siblings into potential danger. Out here anyone could be lurking, tailing us, looking for ransoms. Next time you wish to wander off, be sure to bring a guard.
Steffon: You forget mother that I am more than capable of protecting myself, Tommen, Myrcella from the common brigand. (Fingers the hilt of his longsword) And from the hill we could easily see for miles and rest assured there was no one nearby.
Cersei: (with a somewhat resigned expression) Well, now I have to go and greet the Starks. We'll talk later my loves when we're settled into our quarters. Steffon, make sure that you learn to find your way so your siblings won't get lost in this infernal maze. (Steffon nods and Cersei takes her leave of them towards the party of Starks who have just finished greeting the King. Robert is striding alone with Ned Stark with his Kingsguard following discretely fifty paces behind)
(A servant approaches the royal siblings and bids them to follow. After retrieving and carrying his own bags, Steffon follows with his siblings behind with a pair of guardsman following. They enter into a long gallery hallway with sunlight seeping through the panes)
Servant: (bowing) My princes, princess, this tower has been prepared for the Royal Family's visit and will be your lodgings. The King has his own tower which is a five minute walk away from this one.
(Steffon thanks him and after having mounted the staircase and found spacious rooms at the top, deposited their luggage and the siblings return to the courtyard. The atmosphere is still festive with a decent amount of chatter ongoing.
Myrcella: (excitedly) Come on, let's go and meet the Starks. (She eyes Steffon's longsword disapprovingly) Did you have to bring that thing along? We're not at war you know.
Steffon: But I already left my shield and bow at home. And a man should always carry his sword by his side always. And don't you have your dagger with you? Above your left knee?
Myrcella: (grins) At least mine is not noticeable. Yours sticks out horribly.
Steffon: (teasingly) Fair point my lady. (Ushering Tommen and Myrcella forwards towards the Stark party) Hello, you must be Robb Stark. (Proffers a handshake which is received) Steffon Baratheon, these are my siblings Myrcella and Tommen Baratheon.
Robb: (Bowing slightly) Pleased to meet you my prince. May I present my brothers Bran and Rickon (stepping forward) and my sisters Sansa and Arya. (Sansa curtseys)
Myrcella: Pleased to meet you all. This is such a fascinating place isn't it? I'm afraid we've never visited too many places in the Seven Kingdoms and Winterfell is so far away from King's Landing.
Robb: You are right at that my lady (Myrcella blushes). Why don't we give you all a tour of the castle and the grounds. There are many places that you might miss otherwise.
Steffon: I'd like that. (The group begins to walk away from the large party. Tommen begins talking with Bran. Sansa with Myrcella.) I've never seen a castle with such varied architecture, not at all uniform. Winterfell must have been built over many generations, am I right? I see some stone ruins, uneven structures, haphazardly dispersed…
Robb: Well you're probably correct about that. It's common knowledge that Bran the Builder built Winterfell but Maester Luwin says it's more likely that he simply began its construction, and the layout evolved over many years.
Arya: (chipping in blithely) And Winterfell is built on hot springs and has the coolest crypts that you have to see.
Steffon: All in good time I'm sure (smiling at Arya) But my father is probably still down there and I do not wish to disturb him at the moment. (to Robb) Don't you sometimes wonder about history and how any of these vast structures were constructed, far beyond the means of our current builders. What caused such knowledge to be lost? The last great fortress constructed was the Red Keep and even that was dwarfed by Moat Cailin when it was still intact. It does sometimes feel as if we're living in the Dark Ages.
Robb: Moat Cailin probably fell into disuse after Aegon's conquest and perhaps magic still existed in those days that allowed such feats to be possible.
Steffon: (pausing, more to himself) Then I wonder what it was that caused magic to disappear from this world?
(The group have rounded out of the central part of the castle with Robb pointing out things of interest every once in a while. Silence has fallen in the group. They are wandering about side alleys, low walls and ramparts casting deep shadows across their footsteps. After passing through a small arch the group enters the Weirwood grove, the nearby pond is limpid and its waters are still)
Steffon: Ah Winterfell's weirwood. I've read about this. It's supposed to be the largest in the North.
Myrcella: It's beautiful. (Draws closer to the trunk examining its carvings)
Tommen: What's a weirwood?
Robb: (looks somewhat embarrassed)
Tommen: Is it just a tree? How can a tree be a god?
Steffon: Think of the Old Gods as spirits who use trees to communicate with followers and make themselves known to them.
Robb: (curtly) It's only a small part that you've seen so far but it's getting late and we must go and prepare for the feast.
Steffon: You've been a good and knowledgeable host. Thank you. We'll see all of you at the feast. (Robb smiles and departs with his siblings)
Myrcella: (reprimanding tone) Tommen you must try to be more polite to strangers. Especially when it comes to things like religion. You can't just speak what's on your mind all the time.
Steffon: He's only eight, he'll learn. There's no harm in it. Need I remind you how you acted when you were eight?
Tommen: But I really wanted to know. How was I going to know if I didn't ask it?
Steffon: (chuckles and slaps Tommen's back) Let's go back to our tower and get washed up and ready before mother finds out how far we've gone. I think I remember the way.
(The Great Hall is in a long rectangular with a high table at the far end and seating benches placed in vertical rows, seating four hundred people comfortably. Boisterous music is playing from the second floor where there is a balcony overlooking the hall. A wide variety of dishes, mostly wild game are placed strategically on all the tables and the guests are riotous and very merry. Large jugs of ale are borne by servants who intermingle with the guests dancing and conversing with them. The King is not seated at the high table but is in the midst of the guests and servants, groping various women serving him wine. Steffon is at one of the side tables with his siblings and Joffrey closest to the high table. The atmosphere among them however is subdued.)
Steffon: (to Joffrey) I hear father has made betrothal arrangements between you and Lady Sansa. (takes a swig of ale and grimaces) Water please! (gesturing to a servant) Look she keeps throwing glances in your direction. (Joffrey largely ignores his brother but returns Sansa's glances and smiles) I hope she is to your liking and you'll make her happy.
Myrcella: These northern dishes are very heavy and there's so much of it. (she looks flushed)
Steffon: (seriously) Little lady shouldn't eat and drink too much. (Pats her on the shoulder.) I assure you'll regret it in the morning. Now if you excuse me I need to take a breath of fresh air. It's absolutely stifling in here. (Steffon edges his way slowly to the exit, the crowd mostly parts as he approaches.)
(Outside he stays still for a moment, thinking to himself than trots to his tower when a loud whacking sound catches his attention and he heads for that direction cautiously. He observes Jon Snow for a minute whacking a dummy with strength and ferocity for a minute than approaches him.)
Steffon: Hello! (Jon turns) Practicing at this time of the hour?
Jon: (Glares at him does not recognize him and turns back to the whacking)
Steffon: You're pretty good you know. Fast and ferocious. Precise. How about a practice spar to blow off steam?
(Jon turns and Steffon picks up a dulled practice sword lying at the corner taking a few practice swings. Jon charges and Steffon parries patiently moving until an opening presents itself, using deft footwork to evade and counter his attacks. He shows no great strain and is only slightly out of breath at the end of the intense duel when he manages to drive his elbow partway into his ribs which gives him a half second to sweep his sword to Jon's neck as he turns. Jon grimaces and lowers his sword looking shocked)
Jon: Is that how good soldiers are down south? How old are you anyway?
Steffon: (nonchalantly) No you needn't worry. I'm sure the average northman could outfight a southerner actually. I'm fifteen although people have said I look older.
Jon: (suddenly realizes) My prince! I'm sorry but I didn't recognize you at first (bows).
Steffon: Yes well it's my hair that my mother wanted me to do up. But no need for that except in public. You can call me Steffon.
Jon: I'm Jon… Snow. I'm Ned Stark's son.
Steffon: Ah I could have guessed. You do resemble your father somewhat.
Jon: Do you want to have another go? With live steel. (He picks up his steel sword. Calming down suddenly and looking embarrassed) Only a bastard can't hit a prince.
Steffon: (amusedly) A bastard can hit a prince with a prince's permission. But my sword would ruin your blade.
Jon: What do you mean?
Steffon: It's valyrian steel.
Jon: Where did you get a Valyrian steel blade?
Steffon: It's a long story but I unexpectedly found it in one of the dungeons of the Red Keep. Did you ever think about becoming a knight? There are plenty of places where they could use a good sword like yours. You're really quite good. I was forced to use my full strength and concentration and couldn't relax
Jon: Yeah well you were a lot better still. And you're younger.
Steffon: But I trained with the best. I've spent two hours per day with Ser Barristan since I could walk. He sort of took me on as his apprentice.
Jon: Then are you a knight?
Steffon: (smiles) No. I just wanted to avoid squire duties if I could help it so I never actually squired for anyone. Anyway it was nice talking to you Jon, I have something really important to do so you'll have to excuse me.
(Steffon is in his room at his desk rubbing his chin as he deliberates. Finally he grabs a roll of parchment and dips his quill in ink and begins to write. He pauses now and then before resuming. About thirty minutes later, he gathers up the scroll and reaching in his bags grabs a seal but does not stamp. He addresses the anonymous letter to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He then leaves the tower and asks a servant the directions to the library. Blazing torches are lit in the corridors as he makes his way past the courtyard again where Jon is still whacking a dummy and round the great hall ascending yet another stone drum tower, thicker and with far less windows. The winding stairway leads to Winterfell's library a circular room with upper levels housing a multitude of shelves and tomes. Candles give dim light to the room and casts flickering shadows. The air is musty and full of dust. Steffon climbs up two levels and finds the rookery situated in an adjacent room. In another room connecting to the rookery Steffon finds the empty Maester's study and lays the scroll across the desk immediately centre. He exits back in the library and browses several tomes of interest for another half hour before returning to his tower and after a half hour more of reading his own tomes, blows out the candles to sleep)