A/N: Hey guys, so just to warn you, the story starts with a timeskip. After all, who wants to read about some snot-nosed brat? Please leave reviews!

Chapter 1

-19 years later-

Patrick Worrel was no knight, but you'd be hard pressed to tell from looking at him. In fact, he wasn't a knight for one very simple reason: his House did not follow the Seven, and so they had no knights. Their armored cavalry was revered as some of the fiercest warriors in the north, however, which is how Patrick founds himself riding towards Winterfell, seat of the Starks for centuries, with twenty men to pledge themselves to the current Lord Stark, Eddard.

They had set out from House Worrel's ancestral home in the Lonely Hills, the Barrow nearly a week ago, and at last the walls of Winterfell were in sight. As they made their way towards the kingsroad from the side trails they had been following, another party of mounted men appeared, wending their way along the road towards Patrick's party. There appeared to be about nine or ten of them, and Patrick turned towards his men, gesturing for them to dismount. No sense scaring other travelers with an armed, mounted party double their size. Patrick and each of his men wore half-plate, including breastplates, greaves, and bracers, with half-helms on their heads and swords at their sides.

As the other party advanced towards them, Patrick recognized them. At the head of the party rode Lord Eddard Stark, flanked by Jory Cassel, the captain of his household guard and his son, Robb. Behind rode his other sons, Bran and his bastard, Jon Snow, along with a few other members of his guard. Patrick led his horse towards them, signaling the rest of his men to hold back.

"M'lord Stark!" he called.

Lord Stark reigned to a halt, with Jory moving his horse in front to confront the lordling in front of him. "What do you want with Lord Stark, boy?" he queried.

Patrick dropped to one knee, still addressing Eddard Stark. "My lord, I am Patrick of House Worrel, come with twenty of my men to pledge myself to your House and your own service," he spake.

The high lord urged his horse forward, addressing Patrick himself. "House Worrel. I believe you and your father visited my seat some years ago to reaffirm your allegiance," he mused.

"Yes, my lord," Patrick replied. "It was three years ago. I sparred with your sons while my lord father spoke with you."

"I remember," Lord Stark began, starting to chuckle. "If I remember correctly, you gave Robb and Jon a sound beating each." Robb, behind his father, reddened a bit before regaining control of his emotions. "I would be glad to have you take service in my household, and your men as well if they are as skilled as you are. Ride with us back to Winterfell."

"Yes, my lord," Patrick smiled. He turned back to his horse, mounting and signaling for his men to remount and fall in. They rode back to Winterfell with Lord Stark's party, and it was then that Patrick noticed small bundles of fur in each of the boy's and some of the guardsmen's arms. Bundles that he quickly realized were direwolves. Inside, he gave a cheer. He had arrived precisely when he hoped to, right as the events of the first book began. It was time to begin the reshaping of Westeros.