For miles, all he saw was scorched earth. The land was black, great pillars of flame still present. The scent of smoke was in the air, as was the scent of burnt flesh. Before him was a nightmare, before him was the destruction of man. Destruction caused by dragons, caused not by the steel of a sword but the heat of a breath. It took them much longer to join in the war, they having had to travel from the far north of Winterfell. And yet, here, a different winter fell, for instead of snow and diamond dust, what fell was soot and ash. The cold wind did not scream the harrowing sounds of winter, but rather carried upon it a deathly silence, one so oppressive that it left him deaf. What little wind did blow here was warm, and yet, still it sent shivers down his spine, for he heard no whistle, just the echoes of many lost souls.
He did not bother turning, for he knew the young man was beside him. More than a child but not quite a man yet, he had served his king faithfully, and always did he remain by his king's side. He looked out at the Field of Fire, horrified, but all the while, his king wore a stone face. When he spoke to him, he panicked at first, surprised, his king's voice bringing him back to his senses. "Tell me, what would you have me do?"
"Your Grace?" The King never took his eyes off the field before him, the boy looking to his King, confused as to what he asked.
"We've crossed many leagues to find ourselves here, but when I look out…I don't see the aftermath of a war…I see the mess of a slaughter…and yet, still, the many lords beneath me want to fight…they are restless, their spirits strong…but what does that amount to in the face of dragons…what can man accomplish against such demons…they would have me fight, while my enemy would have me pledge fealty…so, I ask you, my cupbearer…what would you have me do?"
The boy could see his face has serious. His expression was solemn, chiseled with age, his hair dark and his face long. He looked every bit a northman. As a King, he ruled, but as a man, he was the same as any other, a man of the north. Perhaps that is why the Starks have stood as kings for so long. Because they were no different, because he did not stand above the other members of the north. No, the Starks regarded them as ilk, for they are all part of the north. They all followed him because what they saw wasn't a king, but a northman. And yet, now, it seemed as though Torrhen Stark stood alone. He was against not only an army he could not defeat, but an army at his back, ready for war. The boy knew how they were, for he served King Stark within his tent, as well as at his wat councils, and there he saw all the northern lords speak only of fighting. But as the boy looked at his king's face, he saw not a man ready for war, but a man, tired, having lost the will to fight, the very awe of the destruction before him draining all his energy.
"I-it is not my place, Your Grace, to tell you what to do…I believe you should talk to the lor-"
"The lords would sooner we fight, but I see that should we meet the Targaryen's on open field, we will only fall." His voice was stern. "I am not asking you for battle strategies. No, you are but my cupbearer. The lords of my land want war, and so, they push this goblet in my hands, telling me to drink, telling me to move my army forward. They pester me, 'Drink, drink, drink,' and so, I ask you, as my cupbearer, is the cup they offer me poison? Or," he motioned forward, his arm sweeping, showcasing the entirety of the Fields of Fire, "should I give in to their offer should I drink this wine they have served me."
The boy fidgeted, looking down at his feet. His voice cracked as he spoke. "Your Grace…why would you ask me…why would you trust me over the others…I come from no great family…"
"Aye…it's because you don't that I trust you…your grandfather came to Winterfell, to my home, with little less than copper pennies and a couple of silvers, asking that we take you in. He was willing to forfeit all the money he had come to possess, all for you. HE was willing to sacrifice all he worked hard for. All because he wanted something better, not for himself, but for you. You may be lowborn, but I took you in all the same, made you my cupbearer, for I knew you were humble, for I knew you saw me as King and not something less." The boy's eyes opened wide. "I trust you for you are no warrior. Should we fall here, his army will continue north. If that happens, our snows will melt from dragon flame. What is more important, to die on the field, or to live beneath the rule of a different King."
There was silence, but the King remained stoic and patient, waiting for the child to speak again. "Your Grace…why would you ask me…when you yourself already know the answer…"
Torrhen closed his eyes. The boy, on the verge of tears, looked away, ashamed. "Thank you, my loyal cupbearer," Stark said, and with that, he turned away from the scene, leaving the child to cry. He paused. Not bothering to turn back, he spoke once more to the child. "Find my brother Snow and have him and the maesters come to my tent. I will send word to this Targaryen conqueror. I shall pledge my fealty." The boy fell to the ground. "Do not weep. I am grateful to your service. You have done what no one else has. You have spoken truthfully to me, and have spoken with reason. No crown is worth the blood that is to be shed. I will not let pride stand before what is most important. I will not let it stand before my people."
He continued forward, leaving the boy.
He closed his eyes.
And as he opened them, he was somewhere else, a new day had arisen and behind him ran the Trident. Before him stood a man, tall and with broad shoulders, his short hair was the color of silver and his eyes were a mystifying purple. He looked not of this world. He spoke. "Have you come to pledge fealty, King in the North?" King Stark sighed at this, an action that did not go unnoticed to Aegon Targaryen.
He looked away, as if staring off into space. In the distance he saw the many banners that belonged to the northern houses, waving in the soft wind. "Those people," he began, "are what is most important. They are everything. They sing songs only for heroes, for those who stand the test of battle and emerge victorious. If I must throw aside my crown, my riches, my lands…so be it…should they never sing a single lyric…so be it…" He bowed his head, removing his sword-crown of bronze and iron. "I, Torrhen of the House Stark, King in the North, do forfeit my crown, my lands, my riches, everything, all to protect the people of the north, and thus, do I pledge my fealty to you."
And so, he bowed.