The brisk wind that blew across the courtyard of Winterfell was barely noticed by Torrhen as he, along with his brothers Robb, Rickon and his half-brother Jon Snow watched his second youngest brother Brandon practice archery as his mother and father watched from the ramparts above. After Bran's latest shot had embedded itself in a nearby barrel, Torrhen watched Jon put his hands on Bran's shoulders and whisper reassurance in his ear.
"Go on. Father's watching." He paused to look back. "And your mother." Torrhen couldn't help but wince slightly at that last part but remained focused on his brother's efforts on trying to score a bulls-eye. Just as before Bran notched his arrow, drew back and let loose. Only for the arrow to sail over the target. Despite himself, Torrhen laughed as did the others until Eddard Stark's voice boomed from the ramparts above him.
"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Embarrassed, Torrhen admitted his father had a point. He had to work until he was at least thirteen before he could call himself a competent archer."Keep practicing, Bran. Go on." So as Bran notched another arrow and drew the string back to his cheek he and the other spectators remained quiet.
"Don't think too much, Bran." Jon advised.
"Relax your bow arm." Robb contributed.
"Take a deep breath and hold it when you draw. It'll steady your aim." Torrhen offered his own wisdom. But suddenly an arrow appeared dead center. But it wasn't Bran's as he was still holding. Turning around he saw his youngest sister Arya holding a bow. As they stood dumbstruck before exploding in laughter, Arya offered a rather sarcastic curtsy just before she took off with Bran hot on her heels.
"I think our sister is Nymeria reborn. Don't you think, Father?!" He was met with his father's warm smile before someone called him from the balcony. He, along with the others, began collecting arrows. As he turned to see Rickon handing Jon some arrows, he watched as his mother's expression darken as she looked upon the child that wasn't hers. As Jon looked up to her, Torrhen saw a look of disgust cross her face. Jon lowered his head and turned away and Torrhen felt the bile rise in his throat. Just because he didn't have the Stark name didn't make him any less a Stark. He forced himself to continue finding arrows until he heard his father call for them.
"Torrhen, Robb, Jon, saddle your horses. You too, Bran" When Torrhen was about to ask why he saw his family's weapon, the Valyrian steel greatsword Ice being handed to his father by Ser Rodrik Cassel, the Master at Arms of Winterfell. He also saw Theon Greyjoy, his father's ward, saddling his horse and he knew what was going on. Father was taking them to an execution.
"Who is it, father? Some outlaw?"
"Some out-riders caught a deserter from the Night's Watch this morning."
"Why is Bran coming, father? He's only ten."
"He won't be a boy forever, just like you and Robb. Sooner or later, you will all have to understand the responsibilities of power." Torrhen wanted to argue against it, but one look from his father silenced him. He and Robb had been the same age when they saw their first execution, and they both learned a valuable lesson. Like it or not Bran and even Rickon, when his time came, would learn the same.
(-)
When the party arrived, the outriders had already prepared the area and were holding the deserter by their horses. With a nod from Father, they brought him forward and Torrhen could see him clearly. He looked not much older than him and Robb, with blond lanky hair and pale white skin common to all men of the North. He looked thin and haggard as if he hadn't eaten anything for days and muttering about seeing...something. As he was brought before his father and the execution block, what he said next made Torrhen's breath catch in his throat.
"I know I broke my oath. I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them but... I saw what I saw... I saw the White Walkers." Torrhen had heard the stories of the White Walkers. Creatures made of ice that came from the Lands of Always Winter and had made war upon the Seven Kingdoms, raising the dead to hunt the living, before being driven back in the War of the Dawn and barred from returning by the Wall. But that was eight thousand years ago. They couldn't still be around, right? Obviously, the deserter thought differently. He asked his father if his family could be told that he was a coward and that he was sorry. His father, expression never changing once during his confession, signaled to the outriders holding him. Forcing him to the block, the deserter resumed his mutterings while his father drew Ice from the wolf pelt sheath held by Theon and began to speak the words of judgment.
"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."
"Don't look away. Father will know if you do." Jon said to Bran. Torrhen wasn't told this the first time he and Robb saw, it was something he knew instinctively. Didn't stop him from vomiting behind a tree in the wolfswood when it was over. Suddenly, Eddard Stark's powerful arms swung Ice and cleaved the man's head from his body with nary a sound. Torrhen looked to Bran, and saw that he had kept his eyes open. "You did well," Jon said before turning to see to the horses. Torrhen came up to Bran and placed his hand on his shoulder with a comforting squeeze.
"It never gets easier, watching a man die. Nor should it. Remember that." He followed Jon to the horses while Robb took Bran by the shoulders and followed behind him. Later, Torrhen watched as Father gave Bran the same speech he had given him. Word for word, he thought. "Robb, what do you think of what the deserter said? About the White Walkers?"
"I don't know. It's been eight thousand years since the last time they were seen in Westeros. But even then, who knows if they really existed in the first place?"
"So you think he was lying?"
"I don't know, but you saw how he looked. It could be just the ravings of a madman. Who knows what he saw?" Admitting that Robb had a point but unable to shake a feeling of uneasiness that had come over him, he mounted his horse and with the rest of the company rode for Winterfell.