The Sins of the Family

by jediman3477

Ever since the Rebellion , the Sentels had been in refuge within Winterfell, learning and growing, training and disciplining. All for the hope that one day they could return to the land that had been taken from them. The War of the Five Kings may present the opprotunity they've been waiting for. But as all know, there are many ways to play the Game of Thrones, but only two ends.

2. Chapter 1: A King in the Wolf's Den

Author's Note: It's been almost a year since I first posted the prologue to Sins of the Family, and the support for the story has been simply AMAZING! Follows, favorites and PM's galore! And I am not one to go back on a promise! Took me too many nights of writing, but I enjoyed every minute of it! Like, Favorite and Review if you enjoy or if you have any ideas to improve on the story! I really don't mind criticism! If anything, it helps me fix up my writing to the point of pure enjoyibility! The new Game of Thrones season was amazing, by the way! Loved every episode! I'm going to try to put this on a schedule along with both of my other stories because I hate these long intervels of silence on my stories that I have dug myself into. I will let you guys know the new schedule when I solidify it. In the meantime, NEW CHAPTER!

Chapter One: A King in the Wolf's Den (Beginning of S1, E1)

298 A.L: Seventeen years after Robert's Rebellion

Winterfell, Stronghold and Keep of House Stark, Wardens of the North:

Brandeth

Brandeth Sentel felt another twinge of sympathy and the beginnings of a humerous smile cross his face as he watched Bran's second arrow thunk against the top of the stacked barrels, a couple feet from the hay target the arrow was intended to hit. The eldest son of the Sentels crossed his arms as the young Stark's expression contorted into one of frustration. He couldn't blame him.

He remembered being that age, feeling like anything that could be accomplished in this world would be accomplished by his young hands. It certainly wasn't an age that one could tolerate any kind of failure, especially in a skill that one had hoped to fully master. And it's especially not an age one could tolerate failure in front of their brothers.

"As I said before, Bran," Robb chuckled from somewhere behind Brandeth. "You would fare better with a sword in hand. It is a much simpler weapon to wield then a bow-and-arrow."

Bran scowled at his brother as he nocked another arrow. "According to Father, a man with a bow-and-arrow is more valuable and capable in battle then a man with a sword," Bran retorted. "And I want to be as valuable as I can be."

Brandeth felt a smirk cross his expression as he turned to Robb. "One can not argue against those words." He said to the eldest Stark.

"You can not argue with his words, Brandeth," Robb replied with a smirk of his own. "But a brother can always find the fault in his younger brothers words." He turned to him. "You should know this all-to-well."

Brandeth felt himself thinking back, back to when his youngest siblings were just children. And how he could methodically find every wrong word or wrong idea possible in their sayings without much effort.

He chuckled. "I can not deny that there is a great load of truth to that," The eldest Sentel replied. "Still, I see no problem in letting Bran pursue the path of an archer. Take it from me, there is no harm in having a skilled archer assisting your ranks."

A sudden and very familier guffaw filled the space, prompting an immediate internal groan from Brandeth. The Sentel knew who that tone and pitch belonged to. And he could safely say that he had hoped it would be a tone he would not hear for the remainder of the afternoon (or the rest of the day, for that matter).

The woman who approached seemed to be an almost exact match to what Brandeth remembered his mother looking like, her long black hair and emerald eyes synonymous with the mother of the young Sentels. She also shared, from what Brandeth had been told by others, the quality of a fair amount of beauty that should have made her a revered woman of King's Landing. But, beneath it all, she garnered interests that no proper woman of the capitol would dare to think of. And she proudly displayed it in the light armor she sported as she approached.

"'From me'," Riyana Sentel playfully mocked as she moved towards the group. "A strange way to set your words, brother. Especially when those words come from the boy who could barely nock an arrow without shooting the dirt, the wall or his own foot," She moved towards her older brother and clasped her hand on his shoulder. "And you have not improved with age."

Brandeth turned to his sister, a mix of humor and mock anger across his expression. "Not all of us were given pity handouts by the Gods, dear sister," He replied. "They only gave you a natrual ability with a bow-and-arrow to replace the fact that you would otherwise have been useless in battle."

"They could have given it to me for that," Riyana answered. "Or they gave it to me to make sure you lived to see your man years. The Gods know how many times I saved your life when we were children."

Brandeth fixed her with a glare and a smirk. "You did not save me that many times."

"You're sure about that?" An advancing and familer voice commented. "I recall many times in our past hunts when an arrow that was not your own had to save you from a charging boar."

Brandeth smirked as he turned to face the messy black haired and bearded bastard that he had long since called friend. "The boars that I was UNPREPARED for. The boar YOU saw fit to let run past you. I was young, but I was far from blind, Snow. I saw how many boars you let find their way to me."

Jon chuckled. "You cannot put all the blame on me." He retorted. "We all agreed you would not see much battle in the back of the pack. Can you fault us for wanting to give you proper hunting and battle reflexes?"

Brandeth shot a few glares at both Riyana and Robb, both of whom devilishly grinned at the Sentel. But, as much as Brandeth wanted to argue against Jon's words, he found he couldn't. In the moment, it certainly wasn't the most pleasant of training methods, having wild boars purposely driven towards him. But he had to admit, he had gained quite a bit of reflex in dodging the charging animals and had perfected his forward sword jab to fend off the animals.

It also gave him a courage that he had to admit, he probably would not have gained on the average training field. Men have been known to quickly falter or flinch at the sight of a full grown boar charging at them, quickly ensuring serious injury or even death. Brandeth, thanks to being dealt the situation so many times, had lost his falter at the sight of a charging enemy a training skill that even his Father admitted would be paramount in a battle situation.

In the end, no matter how much he wished he had the upper vocal hand over his friendly rival, he was right in the fact that their planning and conniving was essential to giving him training that was achieved outside of a training field and, most importantly, prying eyes.

"No," Brandeth replied to him with a smirk. "Can not fault you in the least. We're all just lucky that the Gods looked down favorably on your methods and went out of their to make sure I did not perish as a result of your 'help'."

Jon laughed as he made his way to Bran, who placed another arrow within the bow. "It wasn't the Gods who got you through those attacks, Brandeth," He replied as he crouched alongside his half-brother as the others looked on. "Go on," He said before looking up behind him. "Father's watching."

"And it appears he is not the only Father watching." Riyana said beside Brandeth, prompting the Sentel to look to see what his sister was talking about.

Brandeth followed Bran and Jon's gaze as they looked up to the balcony above them and, to Brandeth's surprise, the three figures that stood above them and watched. The two heads of the Stark family, Ned Stark and his wife Catelyn, were a common sight when it came to watching the training of their children, which was understandable. The Starks were the ruling house of the North and they had to ensure that their children had the knowledge to defend their inheritance. However, the figure that stood and watched beside them was definitely not expected.

There, beside Ned and Catelyn, stood Rellon Sentel, their Father and only surviving parent. The aging man had his attention on Bran and Jon as they attempted to adjust their archer stance, but that did not stop him from shifting his gaze back to Brandeth and Riyana and giving them a slight nod, prompting both Brandeth and Riyana to nod back.

Their relationship with their Father had been a rocky one since the Fall of Goldhaven and... the death of their Mother. It had hit the whole family with an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and sadness, especially with Brandeth and Riyana, who had both been young at the time. They were rendered inconsolable at the fact that their loving and kind Mother had been violently ripped away from them as a casualty of a war that they never wanted to be a part of. It hit them all hard, but it hit none as hard as it did their Father.

He became cold and distant in the aftermath of her death, putting every ounce of fault that he didn't put on Robert to himself. He sank most of his days the few years following her death to visiting her grave and frequently apologizing for the war he had put her through, he had put them all through. He put so much time into grief that he was distant through most of Brandeth's childhood. And Brandeth was the first to admit that he held a certain kind of anger towards his Father for abandoning him during a time when he needed him most.

But, thanks to the words and actions of Ned Stark and his family, he had slowly began to emotionally heal from the experience. In time, he stepped back into what he used to be before the attack and began to work his way to become the Father that Brandeth and Riyana cherished and respected. He still, however, had his days where he would slip into the forest and go to mourn at their Mother's grave, which always gave the Sentels the worry that he would slip back into what he once was. There were still days when the two eldest siblings of the Sentels would look to their Father in a cold tone, biterness overtaking them as they remembered how he just threw them aside for self-pity.

But there were now many more moments and days in the recent years that showed he was more their Father they had come to love in their younger years then the mourning man that once was. And the two eldest Sentels were more than happy to have their Father back.

It was a pleasent surprise to them both to see him out in the open, watching them train. He loved them both, but he had always shown a kind of wariness when it came to stepping outside too often, out of fear of endangering himself and them if he was to be caught by one of King's Landing ever-prying eyes. Brandeth and his siblings were often permitted out on the case that they were too young at the time of Goldhaven's fall to really garner recognition at their current age. But their Father could still be easily recognized by anyone who once knew him. The fact that he was present here and now with a present smile was enough to put Brandeth in an uplifting mood.

But the uplifted mood did not stretch to the second youngest Stark, who's frown continued to deepen at the sight of his arrow slamming into the side wall, nowhere near it's intended target. Jon, Robb and Riyana chuckled and smirked in good humor. Even Brandeth could not stop a humored smirk from stretching across his own features as Bran went for his second arrow.

The four eldest of two families watched as Bran took a breath, slowly drew back the arrow and fired. To the dismay of the young Stark, the arrow soared over the target itself, over the small wall and dissapeared into the trees.

Bran's expression molded into one of young dismay as the gallery of the eldest laughed once more. They felt nothing but sympathy for Bran at the moment, but none of them could deny the hilarity of the situation as Bran tried again and again to unsuccessfully hit the target in front of him. Brandeth knew he couldn't help but laugh. The mini continuous cycle of trial-and-error that Bran had found himself caught in was something that even the most sympathetic person would find themselves chuckling at. And the Sentel knew he was no exception.

"And which one of you were a marksmen at ten?" The voice of Ned Stark called down to the group, humor laced in his tone.

Brandeth looked up towards the head of the Stark family, smirk on his expression. The Lord of Winterfell did present a boding question that, by the looks of the three around Brandeth, wasn't one that could be easily answered by any of them. Even Riyana wasn't the prodigy she claimed to be at ten years. It was a question that ended their audible laughter in quite a hurry.

"Keep practicing, Bran." The Lord of Winterfell urged to his son, no small amount of pride in his eyes. "Go on."

All eyes turned to Bran. He nodded to his Father, turned to the target and pulled another arrow back, pure concentration in his eyes. His lips stretched forward as he exhaled, his vision firmly locked in front of him.

Jon leaned forward to Bran's ear. "Don't think too much, Bran." He said to his young half-brother.

"Keep your grip firm." Brandeth chimed in.

"Account for the wind." Riyana informed.

"And relax your bow arm." Robb finished.

Brandeth heard the entertained chuckles of Ned, Catelyn and his Father echo above the group, their attention like the others centered on Bran and his shot. The young boy stretched the arrow against the bowstring, his fingers white as they tightened around the feathered back of the arrow. His eyes narrowed as he took aim.

THUNK

The arrow impacted against the marked hay bale, digging itself deep into the target as the high speed pushed the weapon forward. Brandeth, surprised at the sudden precise impact of the arrow, turned to Bran in awe. "Bran, that was-!" He found himself twice shocked when he realized that Bran's arrow had never left his quiver. Instead, a small girl behind Bran slowly lowered her now empty quiver, smile evident as she looked on at her shot. Arya Stark looked to the group that now faced her and graciously curtsied, a small laugh escaping from her lips and joy dancing in her eyes.

Brandeth felt himself outright chuckle at the completely shocked look that Bran directed towards his sister. He turned to Riyana, who met her own brother's gaze with a surprised look of her own. "Hell of a shot." He said, looking back at the target behind her.

Riyana smiled, mouth still agape in shock. "Couldn't have done it any better myself," She said, raising her voice so that Arya may hear as well. "I'm impressed, Arya! Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

Arya's grin got far more large at the praise coming from Riyana, which didn't surprise Brandeth. The young Stark girl connected with Riyana in regards to their wants in the society of Westeros since the day Arya learned to talk. There wasn't a day Brandeth could remember that the two weren't seen together and talking with one another.

"I taught myself!" Arya declared proudly. "There's a spot in the woods far away from Sansa, Septa Mordane or anyone! I took my bow there every day I got the chance and-"

Whatever Arya had planned to say was quickly cut off when Bran took off at a dead sprint towards his sister. Arya tauntingly took a few steps back before taking off towards the center of Winterfell, laughing the entire way as Bran angrily pursued.

"Run, Arya! Run!" Riyana called out inbetween her laughs.

"Quick, Bran! Faster!" Robb yelled out as well, shooting a playful grin towards Riyana. She quickly responded with a mock glare before quickly moving towards where the two children sped off to, smile stretching across her expression as she pursued the two squabbling siblings.

Robb looked to Brandeth. "Every ounce of gold I have in my pockets says Bran has caught her already!" He exclaimed as he began his own pursuit of his siblings.

Brandeth felt himself laugh out loud. "You, my friend, have a wager!" He said as he ran after Robb. "Now the only question you will have to ask yourself is what I will buy with your coin once I win! Gods only know the assortement of lovely company your coin can get me!"

Robb guffawed. "It'll take far more than any amount of coin we currently hold in Winterfell ITSELF to even convince any kind of woman to give a second-glace towards you, Brandeth!"

Brandeth smirked as Robb dissapeared from view "Seeing how we get mistaken for one another so often, your words may wound you more than me, Wolf!" Laughing, Brandeth briefly stopped and turned back to Jon, who made no moves to pursue like his siblings and friends had. "Jon, would you like a seat in this lovely little wager of ours?"

Jon looked up to the Sentel. "As much as I enjoy seeing both of you lose your weight in gold," Jon replied with a chuckle. "I will keep out of this for now. I like my gold where it is." He glanced towards Brandeth with a smirk. "This does not mean I will not sit back and enjoy the chaos though."

"I thought as much!" Brandeth replied as he took off on a run once more in pursuit of the distant yells and calls. "After I return with Robb's pouch of gold, drinks for the entire Stark and Sentel family on me!"

As Brandeth ran to catch up to the pursuit, he heard Jon laugh behind him. "I'm going to hold that to you, Brandeth!" He called to him. "Drinks for everyone!"

Brandeth smiled as he turned and raced through the streets of Winterfell, his senses trained on where the group went to. The feeling of excitement and happiness that raced through the young adult Sentel as he searched was one that he had found often these days among the Starks. It was a feeling that was often felt by every member from the two families within the walls of Winterfell; happiness and content.

Unfortunately, it was a feeling that was not destined to last, and one that would all be forgotten, especially in the coming months.

Rellon

"I must admit, Stark," Rellon said with a grin as he watched his oldest children quickly pursue the Stark siblings. "I was quite worried when they first arrived in Winterfell."

Ned turned to him, smile apparent. "And what worried you, my old friend?" He asked.

The Head of the Sentel family chuckled. "Back then, the very possible reality that the Sentel and Stark children would rather strangle each other than raise a word to one another."

Ned laughed as his words. "I must admit, I partly shared that worry. Do you remember the first days into your stay, when Jon and Brandeth came to blows over the the amount of training room they had to share?" A flicker of anger seemed to flash in Catelyn's eyes at the mention of Jon's name, but if Ned noticed, he gave no notion as he continued. "It escalated to the point that every one of the Stark and Sentel children were fighting in the training yard."

Rellon smirked. "Incredible what years of close quarters can do to once bickering sides."

"You both forget how quickly children are willing to forgive and forget," Catelyn chimed in, looking to both heads of the family. "When they are that young, they are never ones to hold overly long grudges on each other. Curiosity eventually wins out on all of them. They just want to converse with the new energy and the new personality within the room. And, once they begin to truly learn about the other, they begin to find things that connect them." She smiled at them. "It was lucky you introduced them to each other when you did. I feel they would have not been so curious and willing to talk if they met now."

Rellon smiled. "That, I do not doubt."

"Lord Stark! Lord Sentel!"

The group turned to see the rapidly approaching form of Rodrick Cassel, the Master-at-Arms of Winterfell. While normally a strategic and kind person in Rellon's opinion, his concerned look told of news that Rellon could bet all of the coin in the North that he didn't want to hear.

"My Lady," He said with a nod to Catelyn before coming to a stop in front of them, the shaggy haired form of Theon Greyjoy appearing at his side. He looked to Ned grimly. "A guardsmen just rode in from the hills. They've just captured a deserter from the Night's Watch."

Rellon felt a rush of cold throughout his body, and it was not on the account of the weather. He could tell the same rush hit Ned and Catelyn as they looked to each other grimly. They all knew the restrictions and laws concerning the Night's Watch, especially the one that concerned deserters of the Brotherhood. There was to be no trial, no defense, no way out. It only and always ended in one way. And it was the responsibility of each and every Lord in Westeros to enforce that way.

"... Was he pursued in any way?" Rellon cautiously asked.

"No, my Lord," Rodrick replied. "No pursuing Brothers, no pursuing wildlings." He visibly hesitated. "... Nothing else."

The vaugeness was more than acceptable for Rellon and the Starks. They had no need or want to speak about a subject that should be long forgotten. And they all felt nothing but relief that no attempt to bring them up was even tried.

Ned lowered his head for a brief moment before looking up towards Theon. "Get the lads to saddle their horses." He commanded. Theon nodded in compliance and dissapeared down the hall.

"Do you have to?" Catelyn asked as Ned began stepping to follow.

Ned turned to his longtime wife. "He swore an oath, Cat."

"A binding oath," Rellon chimed in. "An oath that cannot be broken without consequences." He turned to Ned. "I am coming with you."

"No," Ned stoutly replied. "You know there is too much risk. You know Robert and his family are on their way here. If you're sighted even once by anybody who would recognize you..."

"Anyone that would recognize me is miles to the South, Ned. No doubt near King's Landing to ensure their continued fund of Baratheon/Lannister gold." Rellon couldn't help the bit of venom that dripped from his voice at the mention of the Baratheon name. "It is the duty of every Lord or Former Lord of Westeros to be present in the execution of a deserter of any kind." He looked to the group around him. "It has been long since I last ruled over a city, but that will not be an excuse for me and my family to forget the hardships that come with ruling."

Ned remained silent for a moment before sighing. "Very well. I feel I do not need to tell you about the precautions that must be made for you when you leave Winterfell, Rellon."

"Indeed not," Rellon replied. "I will keep my face hidden throughout the entire process. That will go for my children as well."

Ned turned back to him, eyes narrowed. It didn't take a Spymaster to know that Ned did not take well to the idea of Rellon bringing his children along. However, the Head of the Stark family did not immediatly stop him. He instead asked, "Who do you intend to bring?"

"My two eldest," Rellon replied. "As well as Clayse and Culler."

"Culler?" Catelyn asked in shock. "The others I understand, Rellon, but Culler has never been exposed to things of this nature! He is but a boy of fifteen."

"Culler will eventually be exposed to these elements as he reaches adulthood," Rellon softly replied. "And I would much rather prefer he meet it on my terms then that of Westeros's."

Both Starks looked to the Sentel, varying expressions across their faces. Catelyn looked on at Rellon, her expression a mix of worry and surprise as Ned looked to Rellon with grim understanding and what seemed to be moderate admiration.

"Rellon is right," Ned said as he turned back to his Master-at-Arms. "Tell Bran he's coming too."

If there was defiance in her eyes before, it was nothing compared to the flash in Catelyn's eyes upon hearing what exactly her husband had said. She quickly took a few steps forward as the Master-at-Arms nodded and made his way down the hall.

"Ned," She pressed, prompting him to turn towards her. "Ten is too young to see such things."

"He won't be a boy forever." Ned somberly replied. "And Winter is coming."

That left Catelyn at a visible loss of words as Ned turned and began to make his way down the hall.

"If you wish to leave with us, Rellon," The Stark called out without looking back. "Culler and the others best saddle quickly. We leave within the hour."

Rellon said nothing. Instead, he shot one last glance at the wordless Catelyn before quickly moving down the hall as well. His hell had come seventeen years ago and he was not prepared as a leader or ruler. He was not going to let his children face the same fate.

Culler

"A traitor to the Night's Watch?" Culler asked in a mix of shock and awe, curiostiy completely peaked. "I thought it was forbidden to even think about leaving the Watch. That it is a brotherhood that you could never leave from."

"It is," Brandeth said solemnly behind him. "That does not stop some from attempting to leave though. Some can not handle the solitude, the bracing cold, the mix of many thieves, bastards and murderers that occupy the same settlement as you." Culler's older brother visibly hesitated before his next words. "The myths of what lies beyond the Wall."

"So they attempt to run," Robb piped in beside them. "Put as much space between them and their oath as they possibly can. They think they can run away from their promise and duty." His jaw clenched. "And it falls on the Lords of Westeros to make sure they know the consequences of breaking an oath."

Culler felt a chill run through his blood at Robb's words as he looked on and up the hill in front of him. The fog seemingly exumed a thick layer of cold air throughout the greening grass as both the Stark and Sentel lords stood in a line a ways back from the looming forms of Ned and Rellon. Both Lords paid little heed or attention to them as their focus is kept on the approaching restrained figure flanked by two Northmen guards.

The man they had in their grasp was a dirty and grubby figure, his face smeared with a mix of black smudge, blisters and blood. His eyes looked wild and scared and his grimy hair slightly whipped as the wind kicked through. He seemingly muttered under his breath as he was pushed forward in front of the long that rested at the top of the hill. As he neared the log, he came to a stop and faced Ned and Culler's Father (who stood a ways from Ned to give the impression of a bodyguard to the Lord of Winterfell).

The man took a few moments, than spoke. "I know I broke my oath," He said to Ned in a shakey and exhausted voice. "And I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but-" He hesitated once more, his face morphing from one of fear and regret to one of grim determination. "I saw what I saw." He declared. "I saw the White Walkers."

Culler was never much of a fighter in his family. He would always be made fun of by his brothers and sister about the way he struggled when it came to combat and training and his complete ineptancy at it. He also did not deal in the ways of books and study like his brother Clayse. However, for what he lacked in combat training, he more than made up for in the ability to read people's body language. He may have only been fifteen, but as a child, he had come to the quick realization when hiding and lying to keep out of sight of everyone his Father told him to avoid, the most important skill to have when one's life was on the line was the ability to read one's body language.

And it didn't take a master in body language to see the ripple of tenseness that went through everyone present at the mention of the White Walkers. And he could not say he blamed them.

The story was one that was long spread across Westeros, to every Lord and commoner who could hear. And the stories were always ones that could chill the most stout of men. The details of the brutality and merciless way the White Walkers slaughtered every person in front of them to add to their own ranks was enough, in Culler's opinion, to give the bravest men horrific night terrors.

"People need to know," The Night's Watchmen said. "If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry."

Culler found himself looking to Bran at the man's words, looking for any sign of regret for what they were about to do. There was a slight twinge of doubt resonating within the young Sentel about wether or not he could handle what he was about to see. He had seen animals killed and slaughtered in the past, but this was a man. An oath-breaker, but a man. He could not be the only one with slight reservations about what was about to happen. But his siblings kept their gaze firmly locked on the Night's Watchmen. Bran's face was visibly moving as he seemingly racked his thoughts about the situation at hand and the fate that was about to befall the man. But he made no action or move to stop the execution. Culler, seeing that every person present bore the same state at the man, unwavering and locked, would not break his own gaze, no matter how much his body said otherwise. If his family could handle the sight, he could as well.

Whatever fear or uneasiness the man tried to give them with his words, it did not stop or halt what fate entailed for him. Ned grimly nodded to the two men at the oath breakers sides and they shoved him forward and against the wooden hold.

Theon Greyjoy stepped forward and twisted the seathed blade in his hands towards the Lord of Winterfell. Ned reached out, entwined his fingers firmly around the hilt of the sword and pulled it free with one tug, giving full sight to the very large intimidating long sword blade Ned preferred above all else.

The Night's Watchmen eyed the blade for a moment, fear engraved within his pupils, before once more solemnly lowering his head against the wood.

"Forgive me, Lord." He muttered before looking back down at the grass in front of him.

Ned firmly placed the sword on blade-point down in the ground in front of him. Without a second thought, the Lord of North kneeled his chin on the blade hold and closed his eyes.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of Andels and the First Men..."

Culler felt himself tense in obvious anger and frustration at the mention of the King. He was not there at the Sacking of Goldhaven, but he had heard the horror stories from his siblings. The details of how Robert's men set fire to every part of their home, how their men showed no mercy, how Robert Baratheon, once friend of their Father, let his men swarm across Goldhaven with a no mercy mentality, even when it came to... Culler's fists clenched painfully at the thought. Why a person like Robert was King, he had no idea. If he had a chance and the power, he knew he would not hesitate. And he didn't think any of his brothers or sisters wouldn't say the same.

"...I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die." With that, and with little hesitation, Ned quickly and decisively hoisted the massive sword to his side, raised it over his shoulder and brought it down in one swift strike.

Culler felt himself effectively flinch and slightly faulter back at the echoing slutch as the blade effortlessly cut through the muscle and bone of the Night's Watchmen's neck. There was a spray and squelch of blood at the base of the man's neck before his head toppled from the spewing stump, thudding hard against the grass as his eyes locked forward, now and forever lifeless.

Culler felt his jaw clench as his sight locked on the head of the Night's Watchmen, then to the bloody stump that was leftover from the execution. It was the first time he had seen a man outright killed in this manner. He never had the chance like Bran and the Stark children to be exposed to actions like this at a young age, so seeing an execution outside of the pages of history. He always read how the first sight of a killed man was one that would send a person into a cold and sick feeling, one that would never easily be recovered from.

And Culler wasn't sure if it was from being watched and judged by the Starks and his family or from another factor only the Gods knew of, but he felt only a little rush of cold and nausea, no crisis at the sight of the slayed man, no real sadness at the man's befallen fate. He felt himself slightly shake and falter at the sight of the gushing blood from the body, but he remained staunch and constituted. And the boy didn't know if that made him feel more proud or scared.

Before another thought could pass through his mind, he felt a hand press against his shoulder. Culler looked up to see the eyes of his older brother, locked on him with an expression of sterness but concern. "Are you okay?" He asked.

Culler looked back to the body and slowly nodded. "...Yes." He replied. "Yes, I'm fine."

Brandeth nodded as he looked up to the body as well. "You understand that we had to show you this for a reason? It is every Lord's duty to oversee an execution personally." He looked to Culler. "We may not be Lords now, Culler, but we Sentels have to keep our traditions alive. It may not seem relevant now, but when we reclaim Goldhaven, you will be happy you prepared yourself for situations like this."

Culler looked to his brother. "And how are we going to reclaim Goldhaven while Robert Baratheon holds the Iron Throne? You know he will never let us have it."

Brandeth's jaw angrily set. "We will find a way." He staunchly replied. "One way or another, we will find a way."

"Culler."

Culler, broken away from the churning thoughts in his mind, turned from prepping his horse for the ride back to Winterfell and found himself looking into the eyes of his Father, who steadily moved towards him. He came to a stop in front of Culler and looked to him.

"How are you faring?" His Father asked.

Culler lightly nodded to him. "Well."

Rellon nodded. "Considering the circumstances, I am glad to hear so." He paused. "You understand why I brought you here today, yes?"

"Yes," Culler replied. "Brandeth told me. You're preparing us for what comes after the day we take back Goldhaven. You do not want us to be unprepared and unexperienced in lordship, especially after we begin to settle Goldhaven back to what it once was. You're doing all this to get us ready."

Rellon was silent for a brief moment. "Yes, I brought you here to prepare you for the lordship of Goldhaven. But I also brought you here to prepare in another regard." Culler looked to him curiously. "Westeros is not a kind place, Culler." Rellon looked to the body of the Night's Watchmen. "I've spent years planning and trying to find a way to lay our claim back to Goldhaven. But any way we try in the future, Culler, there will be enemies. Not just the Baratheons, but a fair amount of families that would rather see us in the ground then back in Goldhaven." He looked to Culler. "There may be routes and neccessities that we may not like, but we need to take in order to perserve our family. Gods hoping we do not have to, but if we do..." He looked to the body. "... I'd rather have you use to these sights now rather then freeze on them in a moment that means life or death."

Culler took a moment to fully process his Father's words. It was a frightning thought that no matter what they did to get Goldhaven back, there would be an enemy made that they would have to contend with and it gave Culler a complete chill through his blood that there were those out there who would do anything to destroy the family. But, even with that in mind, there was one name that was mentioned that centered Culler's thoughts completely.

"And the White Walkers?" Culler nervously asked. "The Night's Watchmen spoke of them before he died. Was what he was saying true? Are there White Walkers beyond the Wall?"

Rellon pursed his lips for a moment, then shook his head. "The White Walkers have not been seen for thousands of years. And any sightings of them recorded throughout the years have been time and time again proven ramblings of the mad and addled." He placed his hand on his sons shoulder. "Don't worry, Culler. The White Walkers will not rise again." With that, he nodded to Culler and moved on towards his own horse.

Culler turned back to securing the saddle of his horse, his thoughts moving quickly through his head. His Father was right. The White Walkers were long since dead and gone. They had to keep their focus on the people in the here and now. The families that didn't want Goldhaven back on the map. The enemies who would rather see them dead. And, based on what his Father had told the Sentels beforehand, it was in their best interest to return to Winterfell quickly.

Because the greatest enemy to the Sentel's existance at the moment was on his way to Winterfell alongside a full Baratheon/Lannister garrison. And the Sentels needed to prepare now more then ever before. More eyes meant the higher the chance of them getting caught if they faultered. And a faulter for one the Sentels meant certain death for them all.

Brandeth

"You're fucking with me, aren't you?" Clayse Sentel asked again, his expression one of disbelief. "Culler didn't faulter or break at all?"

"Not at all, dear brother," Brandeth assured as they continued down the forest path behind the horsebacked convoy of Starks and Sentels. "He may have been shaken, but he certainly stood his ground and remained on his feet. Father even came over to talk to him afterwords. He was certainly proud. It's the first time Culler has been present to that kind of event. And he handled himself remarkably well." He looked over to Clayse with a grin. "Who knows? The way he acted today, I'd say there's a chance that Father has already placed him one ahead of you, Clayse, in the inheritence line."

Clayse snorted and glared at his older brother. "May the Gods give you every ounce of bad luck they have, Brandeth," He replied back, which Brandeth smirked at. "Father will not hold Culler in higher regard then me based off of this alone. Seven Hells, we ALL went through being present at an execution at one point or another in our lives. Just because Culler managed to do what we all did does not mean anything in terms of inheritance."

Brandeth smiled. "Comparing the way you first reacted to any kind of blood to Culler today? We shall see." He drawled to Clayse. He laughed out loud as Clayse shot him another glare and looked at absolute frustration at his brother.

Brandeth knew that there was absolutely no chance that the inheritance line would be changed whatsoever. It was very rare that any Lord of Westeros would change the oldest-to-youngest system unless something absolutely devastating and unexpected slammed into them. But, even with that in mind, Brandeth didn't see the harm in jabbing his younger brother at all, especially given their history of going back and forth.

While Brandeth had always centered himself around combat training and try to replicate the kind of training that the eldest Stark children had gone through, Clayse had centered himself on another goal entirely. The now nineteen yeared man had spent his childhood centered around the words of the court, studying every text and law he could find in the books of Winterfell to better prepare himself on the political battlefield. He always felt that the bigger war would always be in communication and talk between the Lords of Westeros. And the way he talked about it, Brandeth could see his side of the argument. Certainly not fully, as Brandeth still considered blade-to-blade combat was and always would be a considerable decider in the fate of Westeros Kingdoms, but he could see his brothers points in the matter. But, where Clayse lacked in convincing Brandeth, he made up for in convincing their youngest brother, Culler.

Clayse and Culler has ALWAYS been completely attached to each other. The day Clayse learned that he was going to have a younger brother, the well-read Sentel had all but sworn to the heavens that he would look after and befriend their younger brother and make sure he would follow in his footsteps. At the time, Brandeth, Riyana, Robb and even Jon had laughed. It sounded like a child's promise to them. No doubt was in their mind that he would most likely forget about it when he got older and grow to distance himself from Culler.

But, to all their shock and pleasant surprise, Clayse would far from forget his promise. He spent a good majority of his days teaching the young Culler everything that he had learned from his own teachings. From their youngest days to the present, they had always conversed, learning and talking to one another, always relying off of each other, jabbing each other, playing jokes on one another. And always competing. They were the two speakers and probably the most competitive brothers Brandeth had ever known.

"If I properly recall," A familier voice piped in a mocking tone. "There was fair bit of vomit and skin-white shading when it came to your first sight of blood. If anything, I would say that would put him above you in any kind of sense."

As Brandeth laughed, Clayse turned to the man beside him and scoffed. "And here I thought years of friendship would mean something in these kinds of situations. Fuck you, Zandren."

Zandren laughed as he adjusted the reigns to his horse. "Yes, and years of friendship should have taught you well, Clayse, in the regards of your moments in life, I am never one to let you forget." He said with a sinister smile.

Clayse continued to glare as Brandeth continued to laugh at the exchange in front of him. Zandreth and Clayse were always good for a laugh when you were near enough to hear them talk to one another. It has been like that for as long as Brandeth could remember, ever since Zandreth had first been brought in to squire for the Sentels. He was brought up from one of the poor families near King's Landing, one who traded in meat and food in the town. The story goes that he was found by their Father in the midst of beating and stopping a thief from making his way out of town with his family's gold earnings for the day.

Impressed by his ability to pursue and risk his life for those he cares about and saddened to learn about his families gold trouble, Brandeth's Father took him on as his squire and tasked him with becoming a bodyguard, safeguard and friend to his children. He was of matching age to Clayse, so Zandren was given task to befriend the young Sentel, learn the same way and time Clayse was learning. It was a way for Zandren to leave his constricted and poor life and become something, provide for his family.

Zandren took the role immediately, becoming fast friends with Clayse and a partner and bodyguard to the Sentel. He had a drive that pushed him past everything he knew and drove him to become the perfect squire and ally to the Sentel children and to become someone they respected. And the drive was needed, especially following the years after the Fall of Goldhaven.

"And let me remind you, dear friend," Clayse replied with a smirk of his own. "That I recall plenty of your moments in this family as well. Would you care for a reminder about the day you attempted to court my sister with a 'display' of birds that ended up flying rampet through Winterfell..."

Brandeth smiled as Zandren's own smile dropped. "And she was not even aware it was a message," Brandeth laughed out. "She thought it was just a rampet flock of birds."

"It was when we were young and idiotic!" Zandren defended. "When we did not know any better about each other. Damn you to all the hells for bringing it back up, Clayse."

"I am only striking the metal that you had struck first." Clayse haughtily replied.

Before Zandren had the chance to retort to his longtime friend, a loud clopping of hooves against mud garnered the attention of the three men. They all turned to see Riyana approach on her horse, a grim look on her face.

"We are halting," She relayed to them. "Father and Lord Stark's orders."

Brandeth looked to her, confused. "For what reason?"

Her lips pursed, almost as if she was about to something, before she answered. "It's best you come see for yourselves." With that, she turned her horse and made her way back down the line.

Brandeth, Zandren and Clayse looked to each other, their humerous smiles now completely replaced with a grim confusion and curiosity. Without a word, the three men quickly rode along the line and followed Riyana back to the front.

"What is it?" Jon asked as Ned took a couple steps forward towards the body in front of them.

"Mountain Lion?" Theon asked as he stared on.

"A Mountain Lion would not be this violent in it's kills," Rellon said as he circled the carcass. "It would simply break the neck and take it back to where it resides, not gut it like this."

"There are also no Mountain Lions in these woods." Ned added.

"Wolves, perhaps?" Brandeth asked as he dismounted his horse and fully examined the corpse in front of them.

"Maybe," Robb answered. "But these bite and claw marks are too large for any regular wolf. It was killed by something bigger."

"Only thing bigger in these woods then a wolf is a bear." Riyana said.

"But these tracks and scuffs are not those of a bear." Rellon replied as he examined the dirt marks.

Brandeth looked to Clayse, Culler and Zandren, studying to see if they had any idea what this was. But their expressions said that they knew just as much as him. With nothing given by the people beside him, Brandeth turned his attention back to the corpse, that of a gutted elk laying on it's side in the road. It's blood was sprayed in front of what remained of it's stomach, trails of intestines stringed out of it's gaping body. Flies clouded around every inch of the corpse, from it's lifeless eyes to it's patchy fur, all the way to it's inner chest and lolled tongue.

It was obviously dragged down fighting and torn into the minute it hit the ground. With everyone grouped in around the body experienced in hunting, Brandeth knew it was common knowledge. But the teeth marks, the trail marks. The way the body was contorted as if a heavy force collided with it. None of it was relating to any local predators. The question on everyone's mind was what exactly could kill an elk like this.

As the thought crossed through his head, he noticed that Ned's head and sight turned to the woods on their left. He immediatly stood and moved towards the forest brush, face set in concentration.

"What is it?" Brandeth asked as the Lord of the Winterfell started to make his way down the hill.

"Listen." Ned replied.

Brandeth was puzzled for a moment, but as silence fell over the group, a distant sound pricked at his ears. The sound of a high-pitched echo that drew the attention of everyone on the road.

Ned looked to Brandeth. "There's a trail and a bridge," He said, motioning down the hill. "It moves straight down near the river."

At that, Rellon, Rodrick, Jory, Zandren and Clayse draw their blades and follow Ned down the path of the hill. Brandeth, without missing a beat, draws his sword as well and follows the group down. As they make their way through the ferns and across the bridge, a grey form ahead catches the eyes of Brandeth and, most likely, the entire group.

The grey form was exceedingly large, larger than anything Brandeth could recall seeing in these woods before. It almost seemed to be as large as a bear, yet lacking in any kind of mass. It looked as though the large creature was built for muscle and speed, an animal that was made to match the running speed of any creature it desired to hunt. It was one of the most intimidating creatures Brandeth had ever seen. And it became even more intimidating when, upon reaching the creature, they came to a realization of what exactly it was.

"It's a wolf." Clayse said almost breathlessly, mouth agape.

"It's a freak!" Theon proclaimed, looking on in horror at the monsterous beast in front of them.

"... It's a direwolf." Ned said grimly. All eyes turned to the Lord of Winterfell as he stood, his expression unreadable as his eyes remained on the fallen creature in front of them.

At first, Brandeth couldn't bring himself to believe it. In all of his time at Winterfell, he had never seen a direwolf. In fact, he thought they were extinct. That they had died off long ago and became another Legend Beyond the Wall, a tale made to scare the young children of Westeros and those who dared to cross over the Wall. He always heard that they were just a rare sight, but he had believed that they were all gone from this world.

Yet, here the direwolf layed, unmoving and devoid of life, but real all the same. And, to his saddened shock, the direwolf was not alone. Nuzzled in it's unmoving chest was a wiggling mass of fur, all clamering over each other to get back their mother's warmth that was all but lost. A small pack of direwolf pups. Almost instantly, Brandeth felt a rush of cold through his blood. If direwolves were still active, moving and breeding away from the Wall, he could only wonder what other legends were more then just story.

"Tough old beast." Ned commented as he pulled out a pair of antlers from the bloody neck of the wolf with a wretch. The direwolf pups yelped in concurrence with the pull as the force of the pulled antler shifted their mother's body.

"It's a miracle she was able to make it this far down the hill," Riyana commented, looking up to the top of the hill. "Especially given the situation."

Robb took another look at the wolves in front of him before turning to the group. "There are no direwolves south of the Wall."

Jon looked to him. "Now there are five." He answered his half-brother as he reached down and picked up one of the pups. He turned to Bran, who looked on in shock and confusion. "You want to hold it?"

Bran's face betrayed his pure excitement as he gingerly took the whining pup from Jon's hand and cradled it in his hands. He took a moment to study the pup as it moved restlessly in his hands as the Starks and Sentels looked on.

"What do we do about them?" Brandeth asked, motioning the pups that remained.

Rellon turned to him. "Their chances of survival to adulthood are nonexistant, especially without their Mother." He turned to Ned. "It would be wrong to let them suffer to their death, Ned."

The Lord of Winterfell looked to his longtime friend for a moment, looked back to the body of the mother direwolf and set his jaw in thought. His looked, even to Brandeth, looked none to favorable towards the fate of the wolves. Bran seemed to notice this as well as he looked to his father in a worried wonder.

"Where will they go?" Bran asked, worry evident in his voice. "Their Mother's dead."

"They don't belong here." Jory said aloud.

"And what let's you decide that?" Brandeth asked, his eyes locked on Jory. Jory glared back without hesitation.

"Brandeth," Rellon called out cautiously. "This is no decision of ours." Brandeth looked to him, a bit of anger in his eyes.

He felt they had as much decision in this as the Starks did. They had both arrived at the direwolf at the same time, they had lived among each other for so long. Seven Hells, they had made so many decisions together as well. "What makes this different, Father?" Brandeth asked aloud.

"This is a family decision of the Starks." Rellon replied in a hard tone. "They are the Wardens of the land, it is their decision."

Brandeth pursed his lips in thought. He knew his Father was right. The territory and decision rightfully belonged to House Stark. But they had resided in the area for so long, trained alongside the family of Winterfell. Seven Hells, they made so many decisions together they may as well have been one large family. However, before Brandeth could make his next move, Ned stood up.

"My decision is it is better a quick death." He turned to the gathered group and began to make his way back up the hill. "They won't last without their mother."

As he made his way up the path they had taken, Theon drew his knife, took a step forward and plucked the pup away from Bran. "Right. Give it here."

Complete horror and shock grew across Bran's features as Theon neared his blade to the whimpering pup. "NO!" He yelled out, startling Theon and the group around them.

"Put away your blade." Robb growled, disgust evident in his voice.

Brandeth took a step forward as well. "You're not killing these pups." He said, ignoring the looks shot at him by his Father and his siblings.

Theon glared at both of them. "I only take orders from Lord Stark."

Bran whirled to his Father. "Please, Father!"

Ned turned to his second-youngest, features grim. "...I'm sorry, Bran." He said.

As Bran's features completely crestfalled and as Theon once again rose his blade and, Brandeth's thought process shot to unimaginable speed. After everything that this Direwolf did to try to keep her pups alive, to the point of coming to them even on the verge of death, Brandeth knew that the pups didn't deserve death like this. He felt that they deserved any chance to live, especially animals like these. As he stood there for the few seconds for the thought to flow through his head, trying to decide what to do in that moment, another voice stopped it all.

"Lord Stark?" Jon Snow called out. "There are five pups.." He looked up to him. "One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. They were meant to have them."

A silence, save for the yelp of the direwolf pups, settled across the group as they all turned to Ned, their expressions wondering. The only exception was Bran, who looked to his Father with complete hope and plead.

"... It can't be a coincidence, my Lord." Brandeth heard Clayse add as he continued to look from the pups to Ned.

"One could say it was almost fated." Riyana added, her arms crossed.

Ned looked to the Sentels and his children for a brief moment before letting out an audible sigh. "You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves." With that, the Lord of Winterfell took only a brief moment to glace at Brandeth with an unreadable expression before moving back up to the road, Rodrick, Jory and Rellon following close behind. As his Father passed him, his eyes locked onto Brandeth's, showing a partly frustrated, partly dissapointed look. Wether it was directed at him or another matter entirely, Brandeth could not be sure as his Father passed by him and made his way back up to the road.

Brandeth stared after the Lord of Winterfell, thoughts curious about what the stare to him was about before Bran's movement broke him out of his inqusitive state. The young boy wasted no time in scooping his pup back from Theon, who had seathed his knife and looked on in a studying expression as Bran cradled the young direwolf in his hand.

As Jon took a step forward and past Brandeth and began picking up and passing the remaining pups back to Robb, Culler came to the side of Brandeth.

"Father is not going to be happy that you still voiced opposition against Lord Stark's order," Culler said to his older brother.

Brandeth crossed his arms. His younger brother was certainly not wrong. But, in Brandeth's thoughts, he didn't exactly see certain actions his Father took as right ethier. "When I was young, Father had always told me to never falter from my stand," The oldest Sentel said, looking towards Culler. "He had always said that, when it came to what one believed was right, they should never yield to those who would attempt to barrel over what your mind was set to. It was the way Father held out for so long in Robert's Rebellion, even when all the odds seemed against him at the beginning of the war. He passed that thought process down to us when we were born." Brandeth smirked. "It is the best advice I've been given throughout my entire life. And today, I've stuck by it. Father did as well."

"And I thank you for your word and opinion in the matter, Brandeth." Robb said, looking to his friend. "I did not wish for these pups to die any more than you did and am glad you voiced your support in the matter."

"A lot of good it provided," Brandeth replied with a smirk. "The mercy-killing of the pups would have carried on if not for the interference of Snow. He is more to thank for the matter than I."

Robb nodded. "Yes, that may be true. But it is still true that you risked the anger of your father, your family in regards to these pups. And your voice of opinion on this matter will be one we will soon forget."

At that, both Jon and Bran, who were listening in at the conversation, both nodded to Brandeth as Bran and Robb took their pups up the hill and after their family. As the Starks moved up the hill. Riyana, Culler, Clayse and Zandren looked to Brandeth, varied questioning and wondering expressions on their faces. He wasn't surprised. After everything that had taken place, he would have been surprised if he had not been questioned in any way.

Riyana took a step towards her brother. "Something tells me Father will be far less appreciative of your little moment than Jon, Bran and Robb were."

"I knew of that much the moment I saw Father's expression." Brandeth replied. "Allow me to worry about Father. As I recall, we all have another more prevelent problem to worry about at the moment."

Riyana looked to him for a moment, then solemnly nodded. There would be no argument from her or anyone else in that regard.

Bran Stark had only ascended a couple of steps up the hill before he came to a stop. He turned to Jon with a questioning expression, his pup yelping and moving in his arms as he did so. "What about you?"

The eyes that remained on the scene all turned to the Bastard Son of Winterfell, who's gaze turned down for a moment before looking back up at the young Stark.

"I'm not a Stark," He staunchly replied, his expression readless. "Get on."

Bran took a moment to look on at his half-brother before restarting his trek up the hill without another word. Brandeth looked to Jon, as did Riyana and Clayse. They had always told Jon that being a bastard of the Starks was something that could never be controlled. It was something that he could not change or alter, but that did not stop him from constantly and methodically telling himself that he would never be a full Stark, no matter how much he did. The Sentels had always tried to steer his thoughts differently, but it was a thought process that a man who was called a bastard his entire life could not and would not easily shake away.

Jon, noticing the looks that had been given by the Sentels, only sighed and motioned for them to continue up the hill. Brandeth, knowing that any attempt to talk Jon out of his current mindset would only be met with disregard and silence, nodded sympathetically to Jon and motioned for his siblings to begin to move up, to which they began to do so.

Brandeth followed closely behind his siblings and had begun to near the small wooden bridge that crossed to the path to the road itself when another high-pitched whine and shifting behind him caught his attention. He turned just in time to see Jon stand back up from a small patch of green bush, a pure white direwolf pup now in hand. The young pup was far less noisy and smaller then it's bretheren and seemed to shift to Jon's grasp surprisingly well. It's eyes were a dark red and it's blizzard white fur stood out against the green backdrop of the forest itself.

Beside Brandeth, Theon laughed. "The runt of the litter! That one is yours, Snow." The Greyjoy laughed once more before continuing up towards the bridge. Brandeth stayed and looked on as Snow placed the young direwolf pup in his arms and took a couple steps forward and up the hill.

The oldest Sentel brother smiled. "It may be a runt, but you must admit that it is quite a gift from the Gods."

Jon looked to Brandeth as they began to walk. "A gift in what way?"

Brandeth shrugged. "All of the Stark children were blessed with a direwolf as a symbol of their family. You also received a direwolf, the sigil of House Stark. I cannot imagine a clearer sign that you are a proper member of the Stark family."

Jon smirked. "It is a runt, Brandeth. Different than any of the others."

"But a direwolf nonetheless, my friend." Brandeth replied, drawing a snort from Jon. "A sign from the Gods that you are not fated to be just a discarded bastard. You are meant to be fully part of the Stark family."

At this, Jon laughed. "I will believe your word that it is a sign from the Gods the moment I am legitimized. it when it happens." He replied humerously.

Brandeth laughed as well before turning his attention to the pup. "Did you have a name in mind for the runt?" He asked.

Jon looked to the pup squirming in his arms, his expression scrunched in thought. "Compared to the rest of the litter, this one was pretty quiet. Wouldn't have even noticed it if not for that last squeak. Quiet as the dead." His expression changed into one of pure confirmation. "Ghost. I will name him Ghost."

Rellon

There was little doubt as to where his son had gone. The laughter and conversation had carried itself quite heavily on the air of Winterfell itself. Seven Hells, Rellon felt he could have sat outside of Winterfell itself and he would have heard the laughter of the Sentel and Stark children. The Starks were busy readying themselves for the immeneint arrival of the King of Westeros by making themselves presentable and clean. The Sentels were preparing for the king in a much different way and for a much different reason. One that would have to be expanded by Rellon, as the situation at hand differed from before, in difficult ways.

As the former Lord of Goldhaven approached where the boys of the Stark and Sentel families had bunched, their conversation became discernible.

"... your Mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the King?" Jon asked aloud.

"It's for the Queen, I bet. I hear she's as slick as a mink." Theon mused.

"I hear the prince is a right royal prick." Robb said.

"I hear they're all right royal pricks." Brandeth replied, which drew a heavy amount of laughter from those around him.

"That sounds about right." Clayse said with a chuckle.

"Wouldn't expect anything less from royalty." Robb piped up, smiling as his shave continued.

"Even with the prince being a prick, I can't help but envy him." Theon added.

"Why is that, Greyjoy?" Zandren asked as Rellon turned the corner and began to enter the barber room.

"Think of all the Southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick." Theon drawled with a sly grin on his face.

"There is now no doubt about what head Theon thinks with in any situation." Zandren said, ignoring the protest by Theon.

"Go on, Tommy," Robb said to the barber with a smile, shoving Jon forward. "Shave him good. He's never met a girl he likes better than his own hair."

"That, I can believe." Rellon said as he came into full view of the group.

Almost instantly, both the Stark and Sentel boys straightened up. The Starks (and Greyjoy) nodded respectfully to the former Lord of Goldhaven, each with a respectful "Rellon." Zandren also nodded respectfully alongside them, while Brandeth and Clayse each slightly bowed. "Father."

Rellon respectfully nodded back to them. "I apologize for the interruption," He said to them before turning to his eldest son. "Brandeth, a word."

Brandeth looked to him for a moment, nodded and followed his Father out, slipping his undershirt back on as he did. As they stepped out of sight of the others, Rellon heard his son let out a sigh as he crossed his arms.

"Father, if this is about the situation with the direwolves, I want you to know that I was only-" He stopped as Rellon raised up his hand.

"We have a far more important situation at the moment, one that takes all precedent over any other matters that have happened in the past week." At Brandeth's nod of understanding, Rellon continued. "As you have probably been well informed of already, my son, the King of Westeros is arriving at Winterfell today. He comes to the North for the same reason he always does: to continue to mourn his loss of Lyanna Stark and drink away every problem he makes as the damn fool who sits on the Iron Throne." Rellon did not bother hiding the venom in his voice at the last part of his words. He knew Brandeth would be the same way when talking about Robert Baratheon.

"I'm well aware of all this," Brandeth said in confusion. "Robert makes it a point to travel here as often as he can in order to continue his mourning. We will do what we've always been instructed to do by you, Father: Keep out of sight, stay in the underground of Winterfell and do not ascend till your word. We all know of this."

Rellon looked to him with a smile. "I am glad to hear that after all these years of keeping out of sight, the strategy has been so engraved in your memory." His smile dropped. "But that won't help you or your siblings. Not this time."

Brandeth was visibly taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"As you know, Robert does not come to Winterfell alone. He's bringing the entire Baratheon/Lannister family with him." Rellon crossed his arms. "And they're bringing every guard from King's Landing here with them. Not only for the reasoning that they are currently the highest authority in Westeros, but the Lannisters do not trust the Starks in even the tiniest regard."

"The mistrust is mutual, given what I've seen." Brandeth muttered, turning his gaze back to where the rest of his siblings and friends were.

"Very mutual." Rellon replied. "So mutual that the Lannisters are going to bring every spare guard they can, ethier to try and intimidate Eddard and his family or just so they have quick way to destroy Winterfell, should they find any reason to." At that, Rellon made complete eye contact with his son, who paled a bit as he came to the realization that they were more than a reason to. "The guards will be very through in the protection of the King. They'll check every crack in the stone for any hint at suspicion, including the underground of Winterfell."

Brandeth scoffed in an equal mix of slight frustration and slight fear. "What would you have us do, Father? If we cannot take refuge in the underground, there are no options left. They will no doubt scout the woods of Winterfell in the check of safety for their King. They will check the city itself for any kind of suspicious activity. There are no other places to take refuge, Father."

"No," Rellon answered. "No, there isn't. And Eddard has come to that realization as well. That is why we must take a drastic action."

"What type of action?" Brandeth asked.

"You and the others must hide in plain sight, don the armor of Winterfell guards, keep out of suspicion by keeping part of the Stark's guard force. Ned has already retrieved three guard uniforms for you, Zandren and Clayse. Culler and Riyana will be outfitted as peasents of Winterfell-."

"Father, no!" Brandeth exclaimed. "You had always said to keep out of sight and out of mind out of fear of someone recognizing us! We will be recognized if we attempt this!"

"Robert had always invited Ned and I outside of our respective cities in order to tear us away from the 'bullshit of politics'. He had only seen you on a couple of occasions, and when you were very young at that. You have grown and changed. I doubt Robert will recognize you as you are now. And we never associated with the Lannisters in the past. They will not recognize you or the others."

"And what about you?" Brandeth asked.

"I will keep to the higher points of Winterfell, donned in a guard uniform as well. If anyone, I will be the most recognizable in the eyes of Robert and the Lannisters. So I will keep to the guard post on the overlook position." He noticed the look given to him by Brandeth. "I'm not leaving you or your siblings out in front of the wolves. I will be looking over all of you," He his hand on Brandeth's shoulder. "Like I always am."

Brandeth seemed to go through intense thought before turning to his Father. "The risk we're taking is immense, Father. If even one of us is recognized..."

"I realize the risk," Rellon replied. "And the present danger to our family as a whole. But we have little options and no time left." He dropped his arm from Brandeth's shoulder and began to make his way back to his quarters before stopping. He turned back to his son. "Ensure that your siblings and Zandren keep what you know in mind. Keep out of mind, out of regard of any of the Lannisters or Robert himself. Do not make yourself known in any way. Keep to your positions and your roles until the King see's fit to leave Winterfell." Brandeth nodded in understanding to his Father, who smiled slightly. "I have faith in you all. 'We sow the truth, sow the lies...'"

"'And collect the soil'." Brandeth finished proudly.

"I saw the King!"

The yell of Bran jolted Rellon out of his thoughts, his armored hands resting on the railing overlooking the pathway to the main hold of Winterfell as his gaze set on Bran, who quickly climbed down the castle wall, grin evident.

"I saw the King!" He exclaimed again as he hopped down from the side of the wall and ran up to his less-than-pleased Mother who stood beside Luwin and Bran's fast-growing direwolf. "He's got hundreds of people!"

Catelyn only looked to him dissaprovingly. "How many times have I told you: no climbing!"

"But he's coming right now!" Bran said with excitement as he climbed down the last section of roof he had climbed on. "Down our road!"

Rellon looked to the gates of Winterfell, a bit of relief flowing through his blood. When Ned first told him of the new possiblity of the King bringing an excess amount of King's Guard and the Lannisters, he felt a little doubt at the sheer size of people Ned had described that were coming to Winterfell. This was no different than any other visit. Why would the King bother with such an excess of guards. But, hearing now that what Ned had described as a possiblity was now reality, he was glad he had listened to the Lord of Winterfell about the fulety of hiding in the Winterfell catacombs.

As Bran at last touched onto the dirt ground, Catelyn stepped forward and lowered her gaze to the young boy. "I want you to promise me, no more climbing." Her tone said that there was no discussion in the matter, and Bran knew it.

The boy lowered his head for a moment before looking back in his Mother's eyes, joy now gone from his expression. "I promise." He replied sincerely.

Rellon slightly chucked at the sight of this, fresh reminders of how he and his wife had disciplined their children back when they were young. Goldhaven was made by his ancestors in the hopes of making a city that would rival King's Landing in respect and culture. That sure as hells did not stop his children from finding every ounce of trouble they could while they lived there. As a result of all the trouble, Rellon could easily discern when any of his children were lying to him. Bran was currently no exception.

Catelyn was not fooled for a moment as well. She stood to her full height in front of Bran and looked to him. "Do you know what?"

"What?" Bran asked in genuine curiosity.

"You always look at your feet before you lie."

Bran looked to his Mother in brief astoundment before he cracked a smile at his own expense. Catelyn smiled at her son as she regarded him with a humored expression.

"Run and find your Father," Catelyn told him as the neighing of horses began to echo behind Winterfell's gates. "Tell him the King is close."

Bran nodded with a smile and took off at a sprint to find his Father, his direwolf close behind him.

Rellon watched the boy run off before turning his attention back to the Winterfell gates. A horn echoed across the city as Winterfell soldiers began to line the sides next to the gates, followed closely by the citizens who wished to get the best view of the King and his family (though Rellon was sure they would all get a fairly large eyefall, given his size his last visit to Winterfell).

As the people and the soldiers surged to the gate to greet the King and Luwin advised Catelyn that it was time to greet their guests, the Queen of Winterfell shot once last glance up towards Rellon, her expression one of questioning and a bit of worry.

Rellon only nodded to her in assurance, not daring to use his voice so close to those who would recognize it. Catelyn nodded back with a bit of hesitation before making her way into the crowd and dissapearing.

Rellon sighed as he began to methodically pace the space around him, his entire focus on the gates and those who surrounded it. This was, without a doubt, the closest Rellon had come to the King and his forces in a very long time. Brandeth was not wrong in the fact that there was an excess amount of risk that came with the positions that they had taken today. The former Lord of Goldhaven knew that one mess up would result in the methodical hunting of what remained of the Sentel family and, possibly, the destruction of Winterfell and House Stark. He could only silently pray that the Gods would grant everything they were hoping today would be.

As the last of the civilians, soldiers and Starks got in their places, the King and his forces arrived. A stream of armored soldiers on horseback rode in, the second in lead carrying the red sigil of the Baratheon/Lannister throne. The first in lead was clad in gold and white armor, a proud cape resting against the back of the gleaming protection the knight wore. Rellon didn't even need a moment to know who it was behind the armored mask.

Directly behind the gold clad knight was the unmasked son of the king, Joffery Baratheon. His blonde hair bounced as he rode in, his sword holstered properly to his side, his light blue eyes scanning the crowd in greeting and joy (especially when his gaze had locked on Sansa Stark, who smiled in return). Behind the son of the King was an individual of great legend around Westeros itself. The man wore a large iron helmet, shaped into the face of a black snarling wolf. The darkness of the helmet complimented the darkness of his armor perfectly, giving no show of any loyalty to any House in particular. He had his large sword latched to his back for easy access and he rode his horse with purpose and conviction. The hooves of the horses clopped noisily on the mix of wet dirt and stone as they made headway through the gap provided by the gathered crowd.

Behind the three men rattled in a large carrier being pulled by two horses. The top carrier was decorated in the colors of House Lannister, with it's sides proudly showing off the flag of the Lions of Westeros. And as it clattered in, it was followed by a gold clad guardsmen of the crowd and, finally, the King of Westeros himself, Robert Baratheon.

Words could not describe the anger and fury that flowed through Rellon at the sight of his former ally and brother-in-arms. They had been through peace and war, through thick and thin, through everything that the world had thrown a them. But he had showed no mercy when he tore everything that Rellon had ever cared about away for him. His city, his wife, his entire way of life... Robert Baratheon destroyed it all. And they crowned the bastard for it.

His fists clenched painfully as he took deep breaths, tearing his gaze away from the man who took everything from him and to the walls around him. As much as he wished to do something, to run down there and drive his sword through his gut, asking him why he did it when they had been through so much together, he knew he couldn't. The pure amount of guards and swords down there would make it suicide to even begin to charge towards the King, not to mention a death sentence to his children, who would all be quickly hunted down by everyone loyal to the King and executed.

He also could not put Ned in a situation that would result from an attempted assassination on the King. Ned had always told him that, even though he more than understood the anger that Rellon held for Robert, that he could not attempt to kill Robert. Not only would that destroy the Stark's sense of peace with the Crown forever, it would turn all of Westeros against the North, possibly starting another war. Ned had saved Rellon's life and that of his families because he did not want his friends and brothers-at-arms to kill each other. Nothing had changed for him. He would not let Robert kill Rellon and he would not allow Rellon to kill Robert. Not as long as he lived.

Rellon took a few more breaths to calm and compose himself before turning his gaze to where he had seen his children at. Brandeth was nearest to the Starks, clad in guard armor and a helmet, sword at his side. It was quite a risk placing Brandeth and the others so close to the Starks, but the way Ned had seen it, the closer the Sentels were to him, the better they could protect them if things indeed went wrong.

Brandeth, based on his expression, was having trouble keeping together as well. His gloved hand was clutched at his side, visibly tightened and locked into a fist. He didn't make any moves towards the King, but Rellon could tell he was trying everything not to charge forward and towards the king. To Brandeth's side was Zandren, who kept close by the firstborn son of the Sentels. Rellon could not make out if they were saying anything to each other, but he felt himself hoping so. Zandren did not hold Robert in the same view as the Sentels. If there was anyone who could calm Brandeth, it would be Zandren.

Beside them was Clayse, who kept his gaze forward and away from Robert himself and to the front. Rellon knew Clayse hated Robert as much as any of them, but he kept all of his attention and thought on his ploy as a guard in order to prevent his anger from overtaking him. He knew himself enough to know that he would not be able to stand the sight of Robert without lashing out. He needed all of his attention elsewhere.

A ways back were Riyana and Culler, embedded in with the other civilians a ways away from the Baratheon/Lannister forces. They were not close enough to see Robert himself, but they still had looks that entailed their feelings of anger and frustration towards the King of Westeros. However, they also kept their gazes on Rellon, looking to him worriedly as they saw him pace and fume. Rellon appreciated their concern and nodded to them to make sure they knew as much, but they knew he couldn't keep his gaze back on them for long. All it took was one seen suspicous action between Rellon and his children to unravel everything they had done to hide their existence over the last seventeen years.

As Robert's horse came to a full stop in front of the Stark family, they all bowed to him, alongside the civilians and guards beside them. Although Rellon hated the very idea, he too bowed from the top level of the structure to avoid suspicion.

A horsemaster rushed forward to take the horse's reigns as a steward stepped forward with a wooden step, placing it at the side of the horse. King Robert unsaddled from the horse, descended the steps and made his way to the Starks, his dark cape slightly flapping in the cold wind, his expression stern. He came to a stop in front of Ned, looking down to the Lord of Winterfell. He made a quick gesture that they could stand, so stand they all did.

"Your Grace." Ned greeted, bowing slightly.

The King regarded him for a moment before speaking. "You've got fat."

An awkward silence fell upon the crowd, unsure of where the conversation was going to go next. Ned looked to Robert, then regarded the King with an expression that said "What about you?". Robert was silent for a brief second before both he and Ned erupted into laughter before embracing each other. They seperated as Robert turned to Catelyn.

"Cat!" He exclaimed as he embraced her as well.

"Your Grace." She greeted with a smile.

Robert laughed again as he released her, then ruffled Rickon Stark's hair before making his way back to Ned. "Three years- why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"

"Guarding the North for you, My Grace." Ned replied with a smile. "Winterfell is yours."

As he spoke, the carrier was set down and the lone occupant exited. Cersi Lannister, Queen of Westeros and one of the most regarded Lannisters in Westeros. Rellon may not have dealt with Lannisters during his time at Goldhaven, but even he knew of the stories that regarded the beautiful daughter of Tywin Lannister.

As Arya and Sansa spoke to each other in a whispered tone just outside Rellon's earshot, Robert looked to Robb. "Who have we here?" He asked as he held out his hand to the Stark, who proudly took it. "You must be Robb." The King continued down the line of Starks, coming to Sansa.

"My, you're a pretty one." Sansa smiled and nodded to the King in a silent thank you. The King next came to the youngest daughter of the Starks. He lowered himself to her level in amusement. "Your name is?"

"Arya," Arya replied in no small amount of pride and honor.

He nods to the young girl and goes to Bran. He chuckles at the young boy. "Show us your muscles!" He humerously exclaimed. Bran happily flexes to the King, who lets out another laugh. "You'll be a soldier."

The gold plated knight behind the King removed his helmet, showing off the blonde hair, blue eyes and cocky expression that Rellon had expected to see. Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, a proud kingsguard and another Lannister of well known regard in Westeros, brother of Cersi Lannister and son of Tywin Lannister. Regarded as one of the best swordsmen in Westeros, which Rellon had to admit, was a skill of respect (and he was quite possibly one of the only Lannisters he held in high regard).

Cersi approached the Starks and took her place a ways from her husband, in front of Ned and Catelyn. She nodded to them in regard before holding out her hand to Ned, who slowly reached down and placed a kiss upon.

"My Queen," Ned said as he nodded to her.

"My Queen," Catelyn said, curtsying as she greeted her.

Cersi smiled to the two, but before she could speak once more, the King spoke instead. "Take me to your crypt," He commanded to Ned. "I want to pay my respects."

Cersi regarded her husband with a cold questioning look. "We've been riding for a month, My Love," She said to him. "Surely the dead can wait."

But Robert cannot, Rellon thought to himself as he watched the situation. Especially when it comes to Lyanna.

"Ned," Robert said again, his expression showing that he would not wait any longer as he quickly moved to the entrance of the crypt. Ned hesitated for a few moments, looking to Cersi and his family, before moving to follow the king below Winterfell.

An awkward silence fell upon the group once more as they looked to each other uncertainly, unsure of where to take the conversation next. The silence would have probably remained if not for the rather loud whisper from Arya. "Where's the Imp?"

It was clearly only meant to be heard by Sansa, but the whisper carried rather well due to the silence. Well enough that Cersi looked to Arya, embaressment flushed across her face. The Queen turned away from the Starks and to Jaime. "Where is our brother?" She asked in a strained voice. "Go find the little beast."

Jaime nodded and quickly moved back the way they had come and to the city streets of Winterfell, flanked by a regiment of guards from King's Landing. As Jaime dissapeared with his soldiers, the soldiers that remained behind began to spread as well, moving through the crowds and to certain points in Winterfell to ensure the King's safety.

Rellon felt himself sigh and feel a surge of worry as he watched the guards move throughout the keep of Winterfell. King Robert had indeedcome to Winterfell bearing a large regiment of his finest guards. Guards that would watch every aspect of Winterfell every hour of every day for as long as Robert wished to stay. The Sentels had come to Winterfell with the hopes of hiding from the eye of King's Landing. Now King's Landing had come to Winterfell itself, taking matters, and perhaps the safety of the Sentels themselves, into an entirely different direction.

Ned

"Tell me about Jon Arryen."

Robert looked to him in a bit of surprise as the two men continued down the tunnel of the crypt, their faces illuminated by the crackling torches lining the stone walls. It was obvious that the King had not expected this question, especially not at the moment. Nevertheless, the King turned back forward, his expression turning slightly solemn.

"One minute, he was fine." Robert replied. "And then... burned right through him, whatever it was." He let out a heavy sigh. "I loved that man."

Ned looked down for a moment, a moment of grief impacting him. "We both did." He replied.

"He never had to teach you much, but me?" Robert chucked, casting an echo through the crypt. "All I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls."

Ned chuckled as well, recalling how rowdy they all were at that age. Back than, at sixteen, it seemed they were invincible and untouchable, like the world had no impact on them. Before they knew any better...

"He showed me what was what." Robert said with pride in the memory.

Ned slightly smiled at the King's words. "Aye." He replied, barely controlling the growing smile on his face.

Robert looked to him with a frown after noticing Ned's smile. "Don't look at me like that," He smiled. "It's not his fault I didn't listen." They both laughed aloud at that, their laughs carrying a ways down the crypt itself. "I respected the hell out of Jon, far more than any of the other dead I know. Some of them I'm happy at the thought that they're resting at the bottom of the Seven Hells, flesh popping like cooked meat. The Mad King, Rheagar Targaryen, Rellon Sentel..."

At the mention of Rellon, Ned felt his blood cool slightly. He had known Robert long enough to know that he was one that held grudges even past the death of whoever was unlucky enough to anger him. Rellon was no exception. It did not matter their past. Robert now held Rellon in about the same regard as he did the Targaryens.

"We still don't know enough to start damning Rellon to the deepest pits of hell, My Grace," Ned replied. "He may have been doing what he felt was right in the situation he was in."

Robert scoffed. "I don't give a fuck what his story may be, Ned! He could have been saving every baby in Westeros, I don't fucking care! He deliberately slowed my army and cut me off from a victory that would have saved Lyanna and damned every Targaryen in the land to every kind of death! He betrayed me and you. And I made sure he payed for it."

And he would never forget that, Ned thought internally before continuing. "What he did during the Rebellion was questionable against all of us," Ned replied. "No one will say otherwise. But we all did questionable acts throughout the Rebellion. He was our brother-in-arms at one time, Robert. You cannot tell me there was not one part of you that was curious as to the ultimate means of the Sentel's actions."

"For a moment," Robert replied. "A moment. But if there was one thing that the Rebellion has taught me, it was that the fuckers who moved against you needed to be removed, quickly and efficiently. Rellon decided his own fucking fate the moment he routed us, regardless of how he fucking felt. He moved against us, he needed to be dealt with."

Ned felt himself mentally pull back at that moment. Every year the King had visited Winterfell, he had pushed as best he could to get Robert to consider Rellon in a different light so that he may slowly ease Robert to the point where he could allow the Sentels to return to Goldhaven. But Robert was stubborn and he had and seemingly always will hold Rellon's action throughout the course of the Rebellion as the mark of an absolute traitor. Ned, after hearing both sides of the conflict and situation, still hadn't come to a regard on who was in the right in the war. He personally thought that they had all commited horrific wrongs in the rebellion, but Robert and the Sentels were adament that the other had commited the more horrific wrong. In Ned's opinon, neither side was in the absolute right, not enough to justify what they did to each other.

Ned regarded Robert for a moment before nodding to him. "My apologies, Your Grace," Ned said to him as they continued down the crypt. "I didn't mean to open any old scars."

To the Stark's surprise, Robert laughed. "You're a loyal ally and friend, Ned. Seven Hells, you even give the damned dead a second thought before damning them. You are one of my greatest fucking friends and a fucking honorable man." The King looked to him. "And that is one of the reasons I trudged through the deep fucking snow to come to Winterfell this year."

Ned looked to his friend in a bit of shock and confusion. Before he could even think to ask what the King meant, Robert answered him.

"I need you, Ned," The King said to him. "Down at King's Landing. Not up here, when you're of no damn use to anybody." He looked to his old friend with pride. "Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you Hand of the King."

Ned was left speechless and baffled for a moment, a thousand thoughts running through every inch of his mind, regarding his family, the North, the Sentels. The Lord of Winterfell recovered himself and quickly took the knee in front of Robert.

"I'm not worthy of the honor." He replied, his gaze away from that of the King's.

"I'm not trying to honor you," Robert said with a slight chuckle. "I'm trying to get you to run my kingdom while I eat, drink and whore my way to an early grave. Damn it, Ned, stand up." He lightly struck Ned on the shoulder, prompting him to stand. "You helped me win the Iron Throne, now help me keep the damn thing. We were meant to rule together." His expression turned soft for a moment. "If your sister had lived, we'd be bound by blood."

A brief wave of sadness and guilt ran through Ned at the mention of his sister. Lyanna had so much to live for, so much love and happiness to give. If only he could have been a little faster... His thoughts were pushed aside as Robert looked back to him, softness gone.

"Well, it's not too late," The King said. "I have a son, you have a daughter. We'll join our houses." With that, Robert walked past the astounded Ned and made his way down the crypt tunnel.

A great deal of concerning thoughts ran through Ned's head as he continued to follow Robert down the crypt, all concerning the king's proposition. It was a well known saying that joined houses held no secrets against each other, not for long.

And the secrets that Ned carried were ones that he knew if were to be revealed now, could bring horrific destruction on his family, his friends and too many lives to count.

Next Chapter: With the King of Westeros and his forces residing in Winterfell, the Sentels must now go to great lengths to keep their survival a secret from the ever expanding eyes of the Kingsguard. But how long can they keep their existance hidden, especially with the Head of the Starks in a direct power connection to the King? That's an ever changing unknown to the lost family as they try to keep their peace and existance in a world that continues to grow in treachery, power-lust and secrecy.