The outlanders had made their use in the 11 days they had been present here, having helped with construction and told the Stark children various stories about the land from which they came which was now in Reed territory. Howland was still facing "monstrous threats in his land", so these were certainly dark times. But his new allies, and the dire wolves returning had brought hope to Winterfell as well. A hope for cooperation regardless of different worlds, and for developments to be made.
This 'Nathan' was exceptionally skilled both with these 'guns' and at building things from scratch. Within just this last week, he had managed to build new shacks to house small folk, his companions and even an improved kennel. He had also shown the bannermen of the castle how to construct these 'guns' that would prove vastly more efficient than any crossbow he had ever seen. So far, about 17 of these had been constructed, including a 'snyper' that could be used for long range assaults and defensive strategies.
Piper, the woman of the group had taught the writers the benefits of the typewriter and ballpoint pen, which would allow a free press to be published by anyone, allowing news to spread around much quicker and more accurately than before, and hopefully with less bias. Strong's and Hancock's forms puzzled Maester Luwin as something he had no experience of. When he first saw Hancock, he thought he was some kind of Other! Word had even got around that a message from the Dreadfort had been received, and that Lord Bolton wished to see these new "specimens" as he referred to them as in the letter.
The "robot" proved an excellent help and wonder for the children, and was useful for teaching the girls about manners while also cutting wood and timber for the new buildings and celebratory structures. Now their stood wooden carvings of a Dire Wolf, a Stag, a Lion and a Falcon, to honour the three great houses that would be involved as well as the late Jon Arryn, who was truly dear to him. Another lesser sculpture was of a woman with a scroll on her hand and a dire wolf by her side. something Nathan had personally seen to, only this one was made of metal. "Thank you for your kindness and willingness to help, Codsworth. I hope your pursuits go well for you." He said solemnly.
"The pleasure is mine, Lord Eddard, or do you prefer Ned? Dad always was good for leadership and for helping people out, in both the old world and the new ones. It's a shame Mum isn't here to see him." His voice changed to a more grieving tone- incredible for something supposedly created by the hands of man without any reliance on Magic. He saw the others were hard at work. It wasn't long now. His children had gathered into position along with Cat, while Nathan, Preston and their bodyguards stood to the side. He turned to Codsworth and said-"where are Hancock and Strong? I doubt it would be in good taste to make them a public sight in front of the King and the children." Codsworth stated that the two were in their own buildings, out of sight for now. If he had more time, he would prepare some kind of exhibition for them. But he could hear that the Royal escort was now here.
The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, over three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.
Ned knew many of the riders. There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face. The tall boy beside him could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them was surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannister. The only one unfamiliar was a man of dark skin and with some black glasses and wearing a leather armour, clearly looking uncomfortable as he moved.
Yet the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard, seemed almost a stranger to Ned . . . until he vaulted off the back of his warhorse with a familiar roar, and crushed him in a bone-crunching hug. "Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours." The king looked him over top to bottom, and laughed. "You have not changed at all, which is better can be said for most of the world nowadays!"
Would that Ned had been able to say the same. Fifteen years past, when they had ridden forth to win a throne, the Lord of Storm's End had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden's fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when he donned his armor and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a veritable giant. He'd had a giant's strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron warhammer that Ned could scarcely lift. In those days, the smell of leather and blood had clung to him like perfume.
Now it was perfume that clung to him like perfume, and he had a girth to match his height. Ned had last seen the king nine years before during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion, when the stag and the direwolf had joined to end the pretensions of the self-proclaimed King of the IronIslands. Since the night they had stood side by side in Greyjoy's fallen stronghold, where Robert had accepted the rebel lord's surrender and Ned had taken his son Theon as hostage and ward, the king had gained at least eight stone. A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes.
Yet Robert was Ned's king now, and not just a friend, so he said only, "Your Grace. Winterfell is yours."
By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Robert's queen, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the castle gate. Ned knelt in the snow to kiss the queen's ring, while Robert embraced Catelyn like a long-lost sister. Then the children had been brought forward, introduced, and approved of by both sides. The strange man came and tried robotically to shake hands with Ned.
"The name of this unit is X6-88, and I came to see King Robert to establish ties with the Institute. We promise to bring about great technological upgrade and reform to the people of Westeros and would prefer if you helped us take part in this." He said with a stoic voice that reminded him somewhat of Roose, but this was at normal voice and without the sinister tone that the Lord of the Dreadfort had. "I managed to save his Grace's knights from an attack by a pack of raiders and their hounds, even a deathclaw. This is how we became familiar and established ties. I only hope you can establish ties with us too." After this, Ned couldn't even state a word or question before this 'Ex Six Dash Eighty-Eight' went over to greet his children. He didn't feel secure about letting them near such a stoic person, assuming it was even a person at all and not one of these Institute controlled 'Synths' Nathan had warned him about. Around he saw the Lannister children and the Queen gathered around Codsworth, showing a strange curiosity about him.
No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had come up and said to his host, "Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects."
Ned loved him for that, for remembering her still after all these years. He called for a lantern. No other words were needed. The queen had begun to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first. The dead would wait. She had said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her quietly by the arm, and she had said no more.
They went down to the crypt together, Ned and this king he scarcely recognized. The winding stone steps were narrow. Ned went first with the lantern. "I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell," Robert complained as they descended. "In the south, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined. And the dangers we've seen. Some of which no man should see. "
"I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?"
Robert snorted. "A strange journey to say te very least. We found this new land Howland had written to me about, with those ruined buildings and savages. The monsters were incrediblr. Rotten wights with no masters, vicious clawed reptiles that could tear through metal armour with their claws, huge crabs and lobsters, packs of feral dogs, even giant manticore and flies! Gods, it was a strange place. The settlers were alright, but no brothels in sight and barely any inns. We managed to stay a bit in the Shamtock once we cleared this place. There was this metal man or 'robot' that served ales and such. Never been so drunk on my life that night! That bitch Cersei despised it all, but I liked having adventures again, the way we used to back in the day, remember? After we got out of the ruins into the country, there wasn't that much. Where are all your people?"
"Likely they were too shy to come out after the stories and legends," Ned jested. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth. "Kings are a rare sight in the north."
Robert snorted. "More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!" The king put one hand on the wall to steady himself as they descended.
"Late summer snows are common enough," Ned said. "I hope they did not trouble you. They are usually mild."
"The Others take your mild snows," Robert swore. "What will this place be like in winter? I shudder to think."
"The winters are hard," Ned admitted. "But the Starks will endure. We always have."
"You need to come south," Robert told him. "You need a taste of summer before it flees. In Highgarden there are fields of golden roses that stretch away as far as the eye can see. The fruits are so ripe they explode in your mouth—melons, peaches, fireplums, you've never tasted such sweetness. You'll see, I brought you some. Even at Storm's End, with that good wind off the bay, the days are so hot you can barely move. And you ought to see the towns, Ned! Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the summerwines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone is fat and drunk and rich." He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a thump. "And the girls, Ned!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat. They swim naked in the river, right beneath the castle. Even in the streets, it's too damn hot for wool or fur, so they go around in these short gowns, silk if they have the silver and cotton if not, but it's all the same when they start sweating and the cloth sticks to their skin, they might as well be naked." The king laughed happily.
Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. That was not a charge anyone could lay at the door of Eddard Stark. Yet Ned could not help but notice that those pleasures were taking a toll on the king. Robert was breathing heavily by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, his face red in the lantern light as they stepped out into the darkness of the crypt.
"Your Grace," Ned said respectfully. He swept the lantern in a wide semicircle. Shadows moved and lurched. Flickering light touched the stones underfoot and brushed against a long procession of granite pillars that marched ahead, two by two, into the dark. Between the pillars, the dead sat on their stone thrones against the walls, backs against the sepulchres that contained their mortal remains. "She is down at the end, with Father and Brandon."
He led the way between the pillars and Robert followed wordlessly, shivering in the subterranean chill. It was always cold down here. Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed in the vault overhead as they walked among the dead of House Stark. The Lords of Winterfell watched them pass. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed the tombs. In long rows they sat, blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great stone direwolves curled round their feet. The shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to stir as the living passed by.
By ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts. The oldest had long ago rusted away to nothing, leaving only a few red stains where the metal had rested on stone. Ned wondered if that meant those ghosts were free to roam the castle now. He hoped not. The first Lords of Winterfell had been men hard as the land they ruled. In the centuries before the Dragonlords came over the sea, they had sworn allegiance to no man, styling themselves the Kings in the North.
Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern. The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children and theirs. Ned did not like to think on that. "Here," he told his king.
Robert nodded silently, knelt, and bowed his head.
There were three tombs, side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, Ned's father, had a long, stern face. The stonemason had known him well. He sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers holding tight to the sword across his lap, but in life all swords had failed him. In two smaller sepulchres on either side were his children.
Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. His father had been forced to watch him die. He was the true heir, the eldest, born to rule.
Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride.
"She was more beautiful than that," the king said after a silence. His eyes lingered on Lyanna's face, as if he could will her back to life. Finally he rose, made awkward by his weight. "Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like this?" His voice was hoarse with remembered grief. "She deserved more than darkness . . . "
"She was a Stark of Winterfell," Ned said quietly. "This is her place."
"She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean."
"I was with her when she died," Ned reminded the king. "She wanted to come home, to rest beside Brandon and Father." He could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister's eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. After that he remembered nothing. They had found him still holding her body, silent with grief. The little crannogman, Howland Reed, had taken her hand from his. Ned could recall none of it. "I bring her flowers when I can," he said. "Lyanna was . . . fond of flowers."
The king touched her cheek, his fingers brushing across the rough stone as gently as if it were living flesh. "I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her."
"You did," Ned reminded him.
"Only once," Robert said bitterly.
They had come together at the ford of the Trident while the battle crashed around them, Robert with his warhammer and his great antlered helm, the Targaryen prince armored all in black. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of his House, wrought all in rubies that flashed like fire in the sunlight. The waters of the Trident ran red around the hooves of their destriers as they circled and clashed, again and again, until at last a crushing blow from Robert's hammer stove in the dragon and the chest beneath it. When Ned had finally come on the scene, Rhaegar lay dead in the stream, while men of both armies scrabbled in the swirling waters for rubies knocked free of his armor.
"In my dreams, I kill him every night," Robert admitted. "A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves."
There was nothing Ned could say to that. After a quiet, he said, "We should return, Your Grace. Your wife will be waiting."
"The Others take my wife," Robert muttered sourly, but he started back the way they had come, his footsteps falling heavily. "And if I hear 'Your Grace' once more, I'll have your head on a spike. We are more to each other than that."
"I had not forgotten," Ned replied quietly. When the king did not answer, he said, "Tell me about Jon."
Robert shook his head. "I have never seen a man sicken so quickly. We gave a tourney on my son's name day. If you had seen Jon then, you would have sworn he would live forever. A fortnight later he was dead. The sickness was like a fire in his gut. It burned right through him." He paused beside a pillar, before the tomb of a long-dead Stark. "I loved that old man."
"We both did." Ned paused a moment. "Catelyn fears for her sister. How does Lysa bear her grief?"
Robert's mouth gave a bitter twist. "Not well, in truth," he admitted. "I think losing Jon has driven the woman mad, Ned. She has taken the boy back to the Eyrie. Against my wishes. I had hoped to foster him with Tywin Lannister at Casterly Rock. Jon had no brothers, no other sons. Was I supposed to leave him to be raised by women?"
Ned would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin, but he left his doubts unspoken. Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word. "The wife has lost the husband," he said carefully. "Perhaps the mother feared to lose the son. The boy is very young."
"Six, and sickly, and Lord of the Eyrie, gods have mercy," the king swore. "Lord Tywin had never taken a ward before. Lysa ought to have been honored. The Lannisters are a great and noble House. She refused to even hear of it. Then she left in the dead of night, without so much as a by-your-leave. Cersei was furious." He sighed deeply. "The boy is my namesake, did you know that? Robert Arryn. I am sworn to protect him. How can I do that if his mother steals him away?"
"I will take him as ward, if you wish," Ned said. "Lysa should consent to that. She and Catelyn were close as girls, and she would be welcome here as well."
"A generous offer, my friend," the king said, "but too late. Lord Tywin has already given his consent. Fostering the boy elsewhere would be a grievous affront to him."
"I have more concern for my nephew's welfare than I do for Lannister pride," Ned declared.
"That is because you do not sleep with a Lannister." Robert laughed, the sound rattling among the tombs and bouncing from the vaulted ceiling. His smile was a flash of white teeth in the thicket of the huge black beard. "Ah, Ned," he said, "you are still too serious." He put a massive arm around Ned's shoulders. "I had planned to wait a few days to speak to you, but I see now there's no need for it. Come, walk with me."
They started back down between the pillars. Blind stone eyes seemed to follow them as they passed. The king kept his arm around Ned's shoulder. "You must have wondered why I finally came north to Winterfell, after so long."
Ned had his suspicions, but he did not give them voice. "For the joy of my company, surely," he said lightly. "And there is the Wall. You need to see it, Your Grace, to walk along its battlements and talk to those who man it. The Night's Watch is a shadow of what it once was. Benjen says—"
"No doubt I will hear what your brother says soon enough," Robert said. "The Wall has stood for what, eight thousand years? It can keep a few days more. I have more pressing concerns. These are difficult times. I need good men about me. Men like Jon Arryn. He served as Lord of the Eyrie, as Warden of the East, as the Hand of the King. He will not be easy to replace."
"His son . . . " Ned began.
"His son will succeed to the Eyrie and all its incomes," Robert said brusquely. "No more."
That took Ned by surprise. He stopped, startled, and turned to look at his king. The words came unbidden. "The Arryns have always been Wardens of the East. The title goes with the domain."
"Perhaps when he comes of age, the honor can be restored to him," Robert said. "I have this year to think of, and next. A six-year-old boy is no war leader, Ned."
"In peace, the title is only an honor. Let the boy keep it. For his father's sake if not his own. Surely you owe Jon that much for his service."
The king was not pleased. He took his arm from around Ned's shoulders. "Jon's service was the duty he owed his liege lord. I am not ungrateful, Ned. You of all men ought to know that. But the son is not the father. A mere boy cannot hold the east." Then his tone softened. "Enough of this. There is a more important office to discuss, and I would not argue with you." Robert grasped Ned by the elbow. "I have need of you, Ned."
"I am yours to command, Your Grace. Always." They were words he had to say, and so he said them, apprehensive about what might come next.
Robert scarcely seemed to hear him. "Those years we spent in the Eyrie . . . gods, those were good years. I want you at my side again, Ned. I want you down in King's Landing, not up here at the end of the world where you are no damned use to anybody." Robert looked off into the darkness, for a moment as melancholy as a Stark. "I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one. Laws are a tedious business and counting coppers is worse. And the people . . . there is no end of them. I sit on that damnable iron chair and listen to them complain until my mind is numb and my ass is raw. They all want something, money or land or justice. The lies they tell . . . and my lords and ladies are no better. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools. It can drive a man to madness, Ned. Half of them don't dare tell me the truth, and the other half can't find it. There are nights I wish we had lost at the Trident. Ah, no, not truly, but . . .
"I understand," Ned said softly.
Robert looked at him. "I think you do. If so, you are the only one, my old friend." He smiled. "Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the King."
Ned dropped to one knee. The offer did not surprise him; what other reason could Robert have had for coming so far? The Hand of the King was the second-most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. He spoke with the king's voice, commanded the king's armies, drafted the king's laws. At times he even sat upon the Iron Throne to dispense king's justice, when the king was absent, or sick, or otherwise indisposed. Robert was offering him a responsibility as large as the realm itself.
It was the last thing in the world he wanted.
"Your Grace," he said. "I am not worthy of the honor."
Robert groaned with good-humored impatience. "If I wanted to honor you, I'd let you retire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and whore myself into an early grave." He slapped his gut and grinned. "You know the saying, about the king and his Hand?"
Ned knew the saying. "What the king dreams," he said, "the Hand builds."
"I bedded a fishmaid once who told me the lowborn have a choicer way to put it. The king eats, they say, and the Hand takes the shit." He threw back his head and roared his laughter. The echoes rang through the darkness, and all around them the dead of Winterfell seemed to watch with cold and disapproving eyes.
Finally the laughter dwindled and stopped. Ned was still on one knee, his eyes upraised. "Damn it, Ned," the king complained. "You might at least humor me with a smile."
"They say it grows so cold up here in winter that a man's laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death," Ned said evenly. "Perhaps that is why the Starks have so little humor."
"Come south with me, and I'll teach you how to laugh again," the king promised. "You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done."
This offer did surprise him. "Sansa is only eleven."
Robert waved an impatient hand. "Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years." The king smiled. "Now stand up and say yes, curse you."
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace," Ned answered. He hesitated. "These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife . . . "
"Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must." The king reached down, clasped Ned by the hand, and pulled him roughly to his feet. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men."
For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. He was faced with threats that even they had never faced before now. And winter was coming.
Suddenly, after just a few steps of walking, they both heard a scream of a girl and a boy, with gasps of shock among all. Ned rushed upstairs to see what the commotion was all about, while Robert wheezed behind him.
When he came out to the surface, he saw that Strong and Hancock had made their way out of their settlements and has found their way into the courtyard against his wishes. What were they thinking, he thought as they approached the Royal escort. The screams came from princess Marcella and prince Tommen, who were both little children frightened of the monsters.
The crown prince cried- "gods, what are those things? Kill them, dog!" As his bodyguard Sandor Clegane took out his sword to go. Hancock, or John as he was revealed later, was merely ugly and in different attire, but Strong was in another category entirely. The 'supermutant' was allegedly big even by his kind's standards, and towered over everyone else there. He appeared bigger compared to the seven foot Hodor than Hodor did compared to Jon, who himself was a meagre five and eight. Strong cried out with fury and gathered his weapon from his pocket to fight, while another cry came from behind him. The Kingsguard drew their swords as well, with the queen holding onto Jaime's non-fighting arm as he drew his out and prepared to fight. Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander along with Boros Blount, Mandon Moore, Meryn Trant and Arys Oakheart drew their weapons to respond to the threat. Ned thought there was going to be war.
"In the name of your King, stop this now!" The Kingsguard withdrew their swords, and after a few seconds, so did Hancock and Strong with their weapons. "What is the meaning of this?" The King bellowed. Strong and Hancock looked at each other. "He stepped on my toe and I freaked out, I fell out of our apartment and he came after for some reason. Then came the screaming and all that. Not my fault." He got a grunted reply- "Hancock get in Strong's way. Strong not mean to step on ghoul, but Stronf have no room! Your fault!" The two looked away from one another.
Eddard tried to to defuse the situation. "You've frightened the guests, the Roual guests! What you did was innappropriate and childish. You know what-" Robert pushed him aside. "I'll sort this out, Ned". He marvelled like he was a young child again at the size and power of Strong. "You look like hoe I did in my youth, with those massive arms and barrel chest! Not like I am now, of course. You must be at least a couple feet taller." It was true, the tall Robert didn't even reach to Strong's collar bone, or where his nipples would be if he had any. "Of course, I'm not green all over, or so big. What are you, and why are you here?"
"Strong a supermutant. Strong and supermutants hated humans, but then man told Stronf about the milk of human kindness, and how it made humans better than supermutant. Strong wish to find milk, drink milk and become stronger than human. Main man is friend to Stronf, not like filthy Hancock. Strong love to smash bad guy and help friends!" Almost everything the giant said was on the form of some shout. Robert laughed with a roar. "If only you'd been at the Trident, Strong. Those Targaryen scum would have shit themselves at the sight of you! What's that weapon you have? A Warhammer like mine?" He pointed at Strong's Super-Sledge. Nathan stepped up to explain.
"Your grace, if I may, the super sledge is an enhanced form of super-melee weapon of you will. It resembles the war hammers that your strong warriors use, but it also has a small rocket attached to it which activates when the user wants it to swing. This propels it to unnatural speeds which even the strongest beings such as Strong himself, wouldn't be able to reach unassisted. With modifications, I can also add heating pads which deal burns or even electric shocks to enemies." Robert raised an eyebrow. "You mean like a blacksmith's forge, or even lightning, only in the form of a hammer?"
"Potentially, yes, Your Grace." He said as he bowed and stepped aside. Strong took out another super sledge with a 'battery' attached showing the difference between the two modifications, with one of these deadly hammers in each hand.
"Incredible! If all our blacksmiths had your expertise, we'd have conquered the world by now! Isn't that right men?" He turned to his kingsguard. "Of course, your grace" Lord Commander Barristan replied.
Robert looked at Strong again. "If I had you in the Kingsguard, no one would dare challenge me to combat again. That's both assuring and boring at the same time! How long can your kind live? These 'super mutants'?"
"Strong and supermutants don't age or get sick like humans. Strong knows mutants over a century or even century and half old but still think and fight. The older mutant get, the bigger mutant get. Oldest ones twenty feet tall, though rare." The King shook his head and sighed, while his men looked nervously at the green giant, hoping it didn't try anything dangerous. Joffrey looked viciously at this thing that captivated his father so much. The queen was definitely not happy at the sight of the newcomers, only Codsworth seemed to make her at ease, and even that was relative.
The King turned to Eddard. "You've got no worries Ned. I'm loving these people already. I cannot wait to feast alongside such legends."
Ned felt an uneasy feeling about all that was going on, but tried to push it to the back of his mind. Winter may be coming, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the summer while it lasted.
