DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES OR ANY ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS

Just a forewarning. This chapter is essentially episode one copied and pasted. I did, however, add a few scenes and conversations that play into the plot, so it's worth a read, but if you don't wish to read it, then just wait for the next chapter. Thanks to all, and enjoy!

Chapter 9

298 AC

The sons of Lord Stark were gathered in the courtyard below the balcony. Robb and Jon, now seventeen year olds, were both overseeing Bran's archery training, along with Edric, who was now twenty-one. Now ten, Bran had taken to archery instead of a sword. Except for the fact that he was still struggling, evidenced by the arrow he fired into a barrel several meters left of his target.

Jon bent down and placed his hands on Bran's shoulders. "Go on, father's watching. And your mother."

Bran looked up at his parents, both smiling and encouraging. Bran turned back to his task, firing a few more arrows towards the target, narrowly missing each time.

Robb leaned to touch shoulders with Jon. "I wish Austin were here. He'd have more patience with this hopeless ness."

Jon nodded. "Aye, he would. But he left for a good reason. It's his choice."

"I do wish he'd come back, though. None of us has seen him in nine years. All we have is a vague location: the Wolfswood," Edric added.

Robb sighed. "I suppose the only option we have is to let him come back to us, though we have no idea how many more months or years it will be."

The three were jerked out of their side conversation as Bran loosed another arrow, this time sailing at least three meters over the target, hitting a tree and startling some birds.

Robb turned around in embarrassment as Jon and Edric cracked up laughing. Even little Rickon joined in from his seat on a nearby saddle.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Lord Stark called from the balcony above. "Keep practicing, Bran. Go on."

Bran nodded and prepared another arrow. "Don't think too much, Bran."

As he drew back, the three young lords watched. "Relax your bow arm," Robb instructed.

Just before Bran could loose his arrow, however, one appeared right in the center of the bullseye. Edric, Jon, Robb, and Bran whipped their heads around to search for the unknown archer. They were astonished to see their younger sister Arya, holding a bow. She smiled and curtsied before Bran threw down his bow and chased her in frustration.

The rest of the men laughed as the two young ones ran around the courtyard. Shrugging, Edric began helping Jon retrieve the arrows. A few minutes later, Theon appeared and told them to saddle their horses. "Edric, Lord Stark says you're coming, too."

Edric looked confused, but did as he was bade. When he saw Lord Stark, though, he approached him. "Lord Stark, why am I to attend such matters? I am not of the North."

Lord Stark shook his head. "No, you are not of the North, and you do not follow the Old Gods, but if you are to ever be the Lord of Starfall, such duties must fall to you. Besides, I have taught you how to rule as a northerner. It would comfort me greatly to know that the lord of such a powerful house as House Dayne was an honourable man. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

Edric nodded and bowed slightly at the older lord's words, following him out the gates of Winterfell. The ride to the sacred location where Lord Stark did all of his beheadings was long and cold, but Edric's thirteen years in the North made him used to it. There were several guardsmen already there, holding a man dressed in all black by the shoulders. He had his arms tied behind his back.

Dismounting, Edric moved to stand next to Robb and Jory, the captain of Lord Stark's guard now that Torrhen Snow had died, as Lord Stark approached the wooden block. He heard the deserter's last words before drawing Ice. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, rightful King of the Andals and the First men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard, of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

With that, Lord Stark flipped Ice in his hands and brought it down in one true swing, severing the man's head from his shoulders. Edric would forever marvel at the sight of Ice's Valyrian Steel. It was beautiful. The blood and decapitated head, however, were not.

The business quickly over, the lads began to mount their horses. Edric noted Lord Stark's conversation with Bran before the group departed.

"Hey, Edric, fancy a race?" Robb asked.

Edric nodded. "Jon, too. To the bridge."

The trio got ready and bent low in their saddles as Robb shouted "GO!"

Edric took off, his destrier hitting top speed in a matter of seconds. Unfortunately, Robb's and Jon's horses were bred just as well as Edric's, and it was a three way tie for most of the race before they pulled back on the reins when they saw a bloody mess blocking the road. They dismounted and drew their swords, waiting to approach until Lord Stark arrived.

As the Lord of Winterfell dismounted, Edric, Jon, Robb, and Theon shadowed him. The bloody mess turned out to be the disemboweled remains of a buck. One side of his antlers were missing, however, and Lord Stark followed a trail of blood down to the bank of the stream below. Laying immobile in the dirt was the largest wolf Edric had ever seen. This dwarfed the largest wolves he'd seen since arriving in the North.

"It's a freak," Theon tried.

Lord Stark knelt next to the animal. "It's a direwolf. Tough old beast," he said as he pulled the missing buck's antler from the wolf's chest.

"There are no direwolves south of the wall," Robb informed, sure of himself.

Edric would never understand the superstition of northerners. They all stood, grim-faced and wary, while he was gawking at the size of the creature.

"Now there are five," Jon said as he picked up one of the five direwolf pups. "Do you want to hold it?" he asked as he handed one to Bran, who looked like he fell in love the moment he touched the beast.

"Where will they go?" the young Stark boy asked. "Their mother's dead."

Ser Rodrik spoke up from his place behind Jory. "They don't belong down here."

"Better a quick death," Lord Stark said, standing up. "They won't last without their mother."

Theon drew his dagger, a little too eagerly for Edric's taste, grabbing one of the pups. "Right, give it here."

"NO!" Bran protested loudly.

"Put away your blade," Robb said, his voice dripping with venom.

Theon scoffed. "I take orders from your father, not you."

"Please father," he pleaded with Lord Stark, who shook his head solemnly.

"I'm sorry, Bran."

"Lord Stark," Jon spoke up. "There are five pups, one for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. You were meant to have them."

Lord Stark looked as if he was caught between the frying pan and the fire as all eyes looked to him expectantly. "You will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves, and if they die, you will bury them yourselves."

Edric looked at Jon with a wry grin as they gathered up the five wolf pups. "What about you?" Bran asked Jon.

"I'm not a Stark," he replied begrudgingly.

As they turned to leave, Jon stopped and reached a hand into the brush. "What is it?" asked Robb curiously.

Jon withdrew his hand, holding a pure white direwolf pup with red eyes. "Ah, the runt of the litter. That one's yours, Snow," Theon declared, amusedly.


One Month Later

"Why's your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the King?" Jon demanded. Edric couldn't help but agree. He'd been working on a beard for the past year, and it was just starting to grow in nicely. He'd tried to pull the 'I am a lord' card on Lady Stark, but she could be intimidating when she wanted to be. Thus, Edric now found himself shirtless in the barber's.

"It's for the queen, I bet. I hear she's a sleek bit of mink," Theon tried.

Edric shrugged. He didn't care who it was for, he just wanted to keep his beard. His face would get cold without it.

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

"Think of all those southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick," Theon said.

Edric rolled his eyes. That was all Theon ever talked about. Whenever he found himself in situations like this, Theon was always talking about some redhead down at the brothel named Ros. At least he had the decency not to talk about it in front of women.

Robb rose from the chair, having been clean-shaven. "Go on, Tommy, shear him good. He's never met a girl he likes better than his own hair," he said as he slapped Jon on the shoulder.

The bastard of Winterfell did not look happy as he plopped down in the chair. It took a while for Tommy to shear Jon, due to his long curls, but Edric found that it was his turn. He held up a hand to Tommy. "Don't touch the hair. Just the beard."

Tommy smirked before pulling out his blade and coating Edric's face with cream. When he'd finished, the cool air sent tingles down Edric's spine as it touched his bare skin for the first time in a while.

"I'll wager Austin'll need a good shearing when he comes back from the Wolfswood," Robb bet.

Edric nodded. He could only imagine what Austin looked like now, having spent nine years in the wilderness. That was assuming he was still alive. He could tell the others thought the same, but none of them dared voice the thought, as if speaking it would bring it into existence.


Edric stood next to Jon and Rodrik, directly behind the Stark family. Unfortunately, Edric hadn't grown as much as Austin, so he was only six feet, two inches. By no means short, but not a giant like some lords he'd met. Bronze Yohn Royce stood a giant amongst all northmen but the Greatjon on his visit to Winterfell when he was escorting his son to the Wall.

Edric looked on in anticipation as the King's column slowly approached. Edric had never met the king, and he was somewhat nervous. Austin had handled the king fine, though, so Edric saw little reason to fear. Especially when he saw the great fat oaf of a man that rode in after the Queen's carriage, surrounded by the Kingsguard.

All in assembly knelt as two servants brought a stepping ladder for the king to dismount on. Fat as he was, Edric still noted the greatsword strapped to his hip as if it were the size of a normal sword. The strength of the Baratheons was something to behold.

The King, Robert Baratheon, approached the Stark family as if he were angry at the patriarch. He stopped in front of Eddard and flexed his hand, bidding them stand up. Lord Stark rose first, followed by the rest of the people. Robert Baratheon was a good six and a half feet, taller than Lord Stark, so he had to look down at the man.

"Your Grace," Lord Stark bowed.

Robert Baratheon tilted his head, as if he were being sarcastic about Lord Stark's choice of words.

"You've got fat," he declared, referring to Lord Stark.

Not missing a beat, Lord Stark raised his eyebrows and motioned with his head to Robert's great belly. The two stared eachother down for what felt like hours before breaking out into chuckles of laughter and embracing like the two old friends they were.

"Nine years. Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?" Robert demanded.

Lord Stark smiled, a rare thing nowadays. "Guarding the North for you, Your Grace, Winterfell is yours."

Robert turned to Robb. "Who have we here? You must be Robb," he said, shaking the Stark lad's hand before passing Sansa. "Aye, you're a pretty one. And your name is?" he said, bending down to ask Arya, who answered.

"Oh," he said, stopping in front of Bran. "Show us your muscles. You'll be a soldier," he said with a great wheezing laugh.

He turned back to Lord Stark. "Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects."

"We've been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait," the queen, Cersei Lannister, protested, but Robert wasn't having it.

"Ned," he ordered before walking off. Lord Stark slowly followed, the two disappearing into the depths beneath the castle.

The crowd cleared out and Edric joined up with Robb, Jon, and Theon. "Well, that wasn't so bad," he said.

Robb scoffed. "You didn't see Sansa and the Prince making eyes at eachother. Gods, I want to kill the kid already and he hasn't said a word yet."

The other three chuckled. "Well, I say we get some sparring in before the feast, work off some of these frustrations. Sound good?" Jon asked, getting nods from the others.

They made their way to the training yard, removing their cloaks and grabbing practice swords. Edric decided to team with Theon, allowing the two brothers to fight together. It was a way of balancing the teams out, as Jon and Robb were better swordsmen than Theon. Edric was not the best, nowhere near as good as Austin, but he had his moments.

The match begun when Theon crossed in front of Edric, headed after Jon. Edric circled around behind and engaged Robb. Robb was a better swordsman, which embarrassed Edric, because he was four years Robb's senior.

Edric made the first move, aiming to take Robb off guard, but the young Stark was ready for it. He dropped his sword low and ducked under Edric's strike, forcing the Dayne to retreat. Edric bumped into Theon, who was having a tough time with Jon. Edric spun ad switched places with the Greyjoy, now advancing towards Jon, raining blow after blow on the bastard's defenses.

Jon was unyielding, parrying and blocking each of Edric's attacks until their blades locked and he went on the offensive. Edric batted a thrust aside and blocked a horizontal slash, but he fell for a feint and the next thing he knew, he was on his back, sword tip pointed at his chest. Twisting, Edric looked p to see Theon in the same position.

"Seven hells, you two are too good of a team," Edric complained.

Robb chuckled. "When are you going to learn, Dayne?"

Their shared laughs were interrupted by the slow clapping from an approaching golden-haired figure. "Well fought," Prince Joffrey praised sarcastically, approaching Robb.

None of the four men were scared of Joffrey, but the man flanking him on the other hand. Sandor Clegane, or the Hound, was notorious for his unquestionable obedience and talent for violence. Half of his face was burned, though few knew the actual story. There were rumors, but no one dared utter them in the Hound's presence, for fear of losing a limb.

"Robb looked down at the shorter Prince with disgust. "Care for a match, my Prince?" he asked, the last two words coming out of his mouth like bile.

Joffrey scoffed. "I'd be afraid to wound you. I'm much better than any of you. Why would I waste my time?"

Jon let out a guttural growl that was thankfully discernible by the Prince. "As you wish, my Prince," Edric said in an effort to ease the palpable tension. He found himself hating the Prince already, and he'd only said two sentences. Joffrey smirked and raised his chin before turning on his heel and exiting the training yard.

"Theon, let;s slit his throat in his sleep," Robb joked.

Edric chuckled and shook his head. "How does one even get that high on themself?"

"He's had lies and coddling words shoved up his ass since he was old enough to crawl, I'd wager," Jon said.

Edric laughed harder at that before heading to his chambers to wash for the inevitable feast that night.


The feast was a great ordeal. Many pounds of food were eaten, and the guests had emptied eight barrels of ale, requiring more to be brought up from the cellar. Edric had eaten his fill and excused himself with Robb when he took Arya to bed. Lord Stark had stayed until Robert was near passed out before heading off to bed with Lady Stark, where the two now lay.

"I'm a Northman. I belong here with you, not down south in that rats' nest they call a capital," Ned told his wife.

She adamantly agreed. "I won't let him take you."

"A King takes what he wants. That's why he's king," Ned explained.

Catelyn sat up and looked her husband in the eye. "I'll say 'Listen, fat man, you are not taking my husband anywhere. He belongs to me now.'"

"How did he get so fat?" Ned asked incredulously.

"He only stops eating when it's time for a drink," Catelyn laughed before she was silenced by a knock on the door.

"It's maester Luwin, my lord," the guard called.

"Send him in," Lord Stark replied.

The wooden door opened to Luwin, who quickly closed it behind him. "Pardon, my lord, my lady. A rider in the night, from your sister."

Catelyn shot up at those words, quickly rising and taking the sealed letter from Luwin. "This was sent from the Eyrie. What's she doing at the Eyrie? She hasn't been back there since her wedding."

Suddenly, Catelyn looked up and rushed over to the fire, throwing the letter into it. "What news?" demanded Ned.

"She's fled the capital. She says Jon Arryn was murdered. By the Lannisters. She says the king is in danger," Catelyn detailed.

Ned wouldn't believe it so easily, though. "She's fresh widowed, Cat. She doesn't know what she's saying."

Catelyn shook her head. "Lysa's head would be on a spike right now if the wrong people had found that letter. Do you think she would risk her life, her son's life, if she wasn't certain her husband was murdered?"

Ned turned away to face the wall, deep in thought.

"If this news it true, and the Lannisters conspire against the throne, who but you can protect the king?" Luwin reasoned.

Cat wouldn't have it, though. "They murdered the last Hand. Now you want Ned to take the job."

"The king rode for a month to ask for Lord Stark's help. He's the only one he trusts. You swore the king an oath, my lord," Luwin tried.

"He's spent half his life fighting Robert's wars. He owes him nothing. Your father and brother rode south once, on a king's demand," Catelyn said, using all her power and knowledge to try and convince Ned to stay with her.

"A different time. A different king," Luwin pressed.

Catelyn looked at Luwin. "You can't seriously believe that my husband will be safe in the capital. It's nothing but traitorous backstabbers and schemers. They would murder Ned without a second thought and Robert with him."

Ned made up his mind. "If they mean to murder me, then I'll need my best sword back."

Ser Austin Dayne, he thought.