Man, that was a mighty fine break I had and I needed it. We're back and kicking things off at the beginning of the Game of Thrones story! It's been three years since the death of Baelgor and what adventures have happened since then?
Now before we begin, I got a couple of things to say, some might not be favorable but the means are worth the ends. First things first, this chapter is more or less an ice breaker chapter meaning that I'm just saying that we're getting back to work and here's a little something to get started with. After this, it's gonna be a while until the next update. Now the reason for that is because I'm going to start writing five chapters ahead of the currently released chapter and I have been working on about 9 different chapters at the same time. I've been getting help from my beta, Elphaba808, Longclaw1_6, and the queen herself ashleyfanfic which is a big hint as to what is coming.
We're caught up with the story of a Game of Thrones and it's gonna be a wild ride from here on out. If you thought the prologue arc had emotional rollercoaster and sad scenes, heh, wait till you read what's coming.
Enjoy and leave a review! They mean a lot!
Character Ages currently
Ned-34
Cat-33
Robb-16
Sansa-14
Arya-11
Bran-9
Rickon-4
Myrcella-13
Theon-17
Domeric-17
Jaime-31
Ned
It was a rare, beautiful day today for all the North to share. The last of the snow that came in a fortnight ago was disappearing, the sun was out and shining golden warmth, it was the best one could ask for anywhere. Ned was glad to be enjoying as much of it as he could with his beloved wife as they watched Bran learning archery from the other children. Catelyn had an arm wrapped around his and he loved her.
Standing a short ways from them was the Princess Myrcella and Ser Jaime standing her vigil in his gleaming gilded armor. She had grown so much since she first came, more of a woman and closer resembling her mother. She didn't wear any of her fine gowns from the south anymore or anything resembling such style since growing out of them, only fine Northern dresses, some of which Catelyn and Sansa made themselves.
Usually, Myrcella would be with the other girls for their stitching lessons with Septa Mordane, but everyone was preoccupied with other things that it was moved to another day. Sansa had left with Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel for Wintertown.
Bran let loose his knocked arrow and it whistled through the air far away from the target, over a wall and into the godswood. Robb, Rickon, and Arya began to laugh teasingly at Bran's attempt. While all the boys were in their Northern clothes, Arya had kept to wearing her Dornish attire which made her stand out in the entire North.
"And which one of you was a marksman at nine?" Ned leaned over from the balconies grinning.
Arya raised a hand up and Robb gave a swift slap to her belly. "Oy!" Arya slapped her brother back in the shoulder with a laugh. It warmed Ned's heart to see her in better spirits then how she was before. Her time in Dorne with the Martells and her Dancing Master was exactly what she needed. She was completely different from when she left to when she returned. She was more determined and sure of things now.
Ned looked to Bran with full confidence. "Keep up practice, come on." He wrapped his arm around his wife's and she leaned her head to the wolf fur covering over his shoulders. He felt her lightly squeeze his arm, showing her shared anticipation for their son finding his success.
Robb helped Bran prepare another arrow. He crouched by Bran's side and helped his little brother aim carefully in the right stance. "Make sure you bend your bow arm to avoid the string's drag."
'Come on, son,' Ned watched determined. He felt himself holding his breath when Bran drew back his bowstring and held to aim.
Bran let loose the arrow and it went right into the wood of the stand holding the target. Had it been a person standing there, it would have been a good shot to the head into the left cheek. But Bran didn't see it that way. He sighed in disappointment and threw his bow to the ground. "I'm hopeless."
"No you're not," Robb told him, "You've only been at it for an hour." They also had the range all to themselves at this hour at Ned's order. Any other day and Ser Rodrick would be drilling a dozen greenboys into soldiers for the North.
"But when Arya first learned it took her only a few tries! It's not fair that I can't do it good." Bran argued.
"Well," Arya began, "that was on my first 'official' lesson. My first bullseye took my hours of shooting a single arrow, getting it back and trying again. Very rigorous stuff, Bran. Not to mention I was hiding it from our mother."
Ned remembered that day. He was on his way to speak with Rodrick concerning the guard shifts but came across his daughter going back and forth between the shooting position and picking her arrow out of the target. Nothing else mattered but watching his daughter practice what she loved. The smile she had when she finally made the bullseye, it was a perfect memory of her he would never forget.
Robb picked up the bow and gave it back to Bran with a new arrow. He knelt to his brother and made sure to position everything just right.
"Lord Stark," Ned turned to see Ser Rodrick approaching with Theon at his side as his squire should be.
"What is it?"
"One of our guardsmen rode in. A deserter of the Night's Watch has been caught."
The joyful mood quickly turned when the duty of the Lord of Winterfell beckoned Ned away. It wasn't ever a pleasant thing, even when the deserters were criminals to their very bones and deserved death, but it had to be done. "Get the lads to saddle their horses." Theon nodded and left to get the boys ready to join.
"Do you have to, Ned?" Catelyn asked.
"He swore an oath, Cat." Ned replied.
"The law is the law, milady." Rodrick added and turned to leave, but Ned decided that this would be the best time for another son to begin his growth into manhood.
"Tell Bran he's coming too." Ned ordered and Ser Rodrick nodded.
"Ned!" Cat protested, "He's just a boy. Nine is too young to see such things."
Ned turned to his wife in all seriousness. "He won't be a boy forever. Winter is Coming." His wife's sigh in annoyance was clear, but she accepted it nonetheless.
"Lord Stark," Myrcella straightened herself with her hands folded in front of her. "I would like to join you."
Ned thought he misheard for a second but knew he did not. He couldn't believe that he just heard a girl as sweet as Myrcella ask to attend an execution. Even Ser Jaime looked stunned to hear this.
"Might I ask why?" Ned inquired. "An execution is not for the faint of heart."
"Bran won't be a boy forever and I won't be a girl forever." She had half a smirk, thinking herself wise for mimicking his own words. "Winter is Coming."
He felt that he shouldn't. He always did his best to keep his girls away from the foulness of life, waiting until they were older to ease into it. But his girls had already had more than they should share in the harshness of the world.
Ned looked quickly to Ser Jaime to see that he was just as uncomfortable as he is.
Ser Jaime said to his niece, "Myrcella, let me speak with you about this first." Jaime led her away to speak privately but looked back to Ned and cocked his head, gesturing to him to go ahead of them.
By the time he got to the stables, Robb, Theon, and Bran were just about ready to leave. Domeric wasn't anywhere in sight, probably already gone off to continue training his owl with Ser Robar Royce. He didn't think little of it though. In fact Ned was glad that Yohn sent his son to take Domeric as a squire and help him discover other outlets than just riding and playing the harp. Domeric was becoming an exceptional swordsman but Robb and Theon were just a few steps ahead of him. But when the three boys were training with lances in the jousting yard, Domeric was the best. Other than that, it was good to have a bit of the Vale in the North. Ser Robar reminded Ned much of Yohn and his time growing up in the Vale.
To Ned's surprise, Arya wasn't taking the chance to come with them when normally she would. But then again, these types of things did bring back bad memories for her. Even after how much she had changed from living in Dorne with the Martells there were sometimes cries of terror from her room at night. Luckily these things were rare and they didn't shake her as they once did.
When Oaken was brought to Ned by Jory, saddle ready and waiting to be ridden, he noticed Robb halt and look back. "No, no, no." Robb left his horse and went to Myrcella and Ser Jaime who both had the reigns of their horses in hand, waiting to leave with the rest.
"Myrcella," Robb said to her, "this isn't something I want you to see. You shouldn't see."
"It's something I shouldn't try to avoid either. I can handle this."
"But-" Robb was silenced by Ser Jaime placing a hand on his squire's shoulder followed by a subtle nod. Robb sighed. "I don't approve of this at all."
Myrcella looked gentle at him. "I know."
They rode out with haste and kept going even when Winterfell was out of sight. Leaving the glade of trees and coming out to the grassy hills, a collection of Northmen were waiting for the arrival of their lord. Two men, one sworn to House Stark and the other to House Dormund, each hard an arm restraining the deserter while the other dozen watched from afar.
Ned felt a pang upon seeing that it was just a boy, maybe a couple years older than Robb, shivering in his boots. He was covered in filth and had no essentials on him except for his black clothes. Given how far south he was, it was impressive he made it as he is.
Ned approached the deserter and one of his men brought forth a block for the deed. But first, he would listen to the final words of the deserter. Every man about to die had that right.
The deserter looked at Ned with absolute fear in his eyes, but it wasn't fear of Ned or his fate, it was something else. "I know I broke my oath and I know I'm a deserter. I know I'm going to die, but I had to run. I should've gone back to the Wall to warn them but… I saw what I saw.. I saw the White Walkers. They's come back. I saw my brothers come back after they's been killed. People need to know. Write to my family, they're in Seaguard, tell them I'm no coward."
It was a sad thing to see a man driven mad from the horrors beyond the Wall. After all Benjen had told of his experiences, Ned didn't blame the boy for his state of mind. But an oath was an oath.
"Do you wish to name your fallen brethren so I may reach out to their families?" Ned asked.
"Gared's got no one left to write to. But Waymar was a lord's son."
Ned cocked his head. "Waymar Royce?"
The deserter nodded.
Ned sighed in disgruntlement. Robar spoke well of his younger brother, about how Waymar willingly went to the Wall to serve the Realms when he could have easily become a tourney knight. It weighed heavy on him to be the one to bear the news to Robar. If Robar took things too hard, he will write to Lord Royce personally in Robar's stead.
Ned looked to Theon who was carrying Ice in it's direwolfskin scabbard. When the ancestral sword of his family was brought to him, he took it in both hands and freed the blade. Such a great sword in his hands felt heavier than it was in times like this.
The deserter was forced to the block all the while muttering the same words. "Tell them… I'm no coward…" For his condition, he did not struggle to evade his fate.
"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, 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."
"The White Walkers…" The man muttered once more as Ned raised Ice and swung it down swiftly. It was a clean kill and instant, cleaving the man's head off right at the base of the neck and sparing him pain. The head rolled and would have continued down the rise of land had the soldier of House Dormund not stopped it.
Ned looked behind him and saw Bran and Myrcella both keeping their gazes fixed at the deserter's body. The look in theirs showed that of those who have now seen death. Robb was standing with Myrcella and she was holding his hand tightly while Ser Jaime was behind his niece with a hand on her shoulder. He sheathed Ice back into the scabbard and let his men take care of the body for burial rights.
As Robb returned to his horse, Myrcella and Bran waited for him. "Do you understand why I did it?" He asked the both of them.
"Robb said he was a deserter," Bran replied with a voice hinted with the lingering fear of witnessing death. "He swore to serve at the Wall but forsake his oath. That means he had to die."
"But do you understand why I had to do it?" Ned pressed, hoping his son would come to understand the importance of not just being born of the First Men but also a Stark.
"Our way is the old way," Bran replied.
Ned nodded. "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die." Hopefully they would both learn that such a lesson should be taken to heart when it comes to many other things in life. Though from the looks of it, the one who was thinking on his words the most was Ser Jaime.
Bran sighed as he took in the lessons passed down. His appearance suggested that he felt better of the whole thing now and he might be wiser for the better. "Do you think he was telling the truth," Bran asked, "about the White Walkers and his companions rising from the dead? It was just like Old Nan's stories."
"Those are just stories, Bran." Myrcella told him. "Nothing more than tales to frighten children into doing their chores and obeying the rules like Old Nan always does to us. Even uncle Tyrion says that they're just as real as Grumpkins and Snarks. You'll have an easier time finding a living dragon than a creature like them."
Bran frowned at Myrcella. "They were real! The Builder defeated them all. He didn't just build the Wall to keep the Wildlings out." His son's passion for his ancestry was clear but he needed to learn that legends were just legends.
"That's enough Bran." Ned told him before looking to Myrcella. "All legends have truths in their beginnings, princess. The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years. In a few thousand more, the same could be said about dragons when their bones are nothing but dust in the dirt. They were nothing but stories told to scare children." He could see that his words impacted her, if not greatly than a little which was enough. He didn't believe such things existed. They may have once long ago, but they were gone.
Bran frowned again. "So he was lying then, about the White Walkers. Why would he lie if he knew he was going to die?"
From what Ned could feel, it did not sound like the man was lying, but it was impossible to be true. "A madman sees what he sees." He had nothing else to add to this nonsense. It wasn't good to stir up ideas that would just be distractions. He could see his son still troubled. "Is that not the answer you wanted to hear, son?"
"It's not that, father." His head was hung. "Robb says that the man died bravely but Myrcella said he looked afraid. Can a man still be brave when he's afraid?"
Ned gave his son a warm smile. "That is the only time we can be brave." The last words his Lord father Rickard Stark taught to him before he left to ward in the Vale. They kept him going through his darkest of times, especially after the raven came with the news of his family's executions. When he was afraid of going to war, of marrying Catelyn, of becoming a Lord. His son's and daughter's all looked at him like a hero of a story, the man who had slain the Sword of the Morning and defeated the Ironborn pirates. They had no idea that every one of those 'glorious' moments of his were filled with fear that had to be overcome.
The sky had turned as gray as the mood when many clouds came quickly and a fast chill followed. Robb and Theon were talking boyish things before they both broke out into a race ahead. They hadn't reached the edge of the forest yet when Ned spotted a familiar sight flying above them. He wasn't the only one who saw once the owl gave a piercing screech in the air and dove down to an adjacent hill that was close to them.
Atop the hill was a lone horseman, silhouetted perfectly against the bright gray sky. As he rode closer to their group, the owl swooped down and perched itself upon the horseman's arm. It was Domeric, his ward. The boy smiled at Lyze and fed him a small slice of meat before sending him back up into the sky. It flew in large circles overhead as he lightly kicked his steed to trot up to them.
Ned lightly tugged on Oaken's reins and the retinue halted as his ward rode his steed down to meet them. Domeric looked awfully pleasant today than he usually was. Every trot his horse made was like it had an extra spring to it.
Domeric cleared his throat. "Lord Stark, what brings you all out here?" He casually asked, but Ned noticed a lone bead of sweat trickling down his face.
Ned started to wonder if things were as they looked to be. "Execution." Anyone within looking distance of Domeric could see him swallow nervously. "And you? More training with Lyze?"
Domeric gave a sharp, piercing whistle and it only took a few seconds for his screech owl, Lyze, to swoop silently down and perch on Domeric's arm. The creatures eyes were big and open, darting from side to side to look at all around. A quiet guddling noise came from him every few seconds like the purring of a cat. "There's a good spot just a ways from here. He caught himself five rats." Domeric stroked the iron grey feathers of his beautiful creature before clicking his tongue twice, a signal that sent Lyze back into the air.
Ned looked back to the hill from where Domeric came from and then to adjacent spots around. "I don't see Ser Robar with you."
"He never came, my lord. He received a raven this morning and's been shut in his room, least since I left. I'm not sure what's troubling him."
Ned's head fell for a moment before rising up. "We caught a deserter from the Night's Watch. He was ranging with Robar's brother and saw him killed. I didn't think news would get to him." That, or the raven only told that Waymar was missing if not dead. It would be a great heartbreak if it was just the former. To receive dreadful news and add to it would be painful.
Domeric turned disdain upon the news. "I will be sure to offer my condolences and aid to my knight, my lord."
"Aye, best you do." Ned eyed Dom suspiciously but sensed no funny business. Or maybe it was there but he didn't have the keen eye to spot it. He didn't say anything back, he drove Oaken forward, resuming the march of the retinue back to Winterfell without another word to him.
"Lord Stark!" Theon called as he galloped back with Robb close behind him. Both of the boys were worried about something.
Jory grumbled and rolled his eyes. "Trouble, you think?"
"No doubt." Ned agreed with a light shake of his head. "What is it?" he called to the boys.
"Father!" Robb said when they caught back to them. "You have to come and see."
He was led to a bridge they had gone around on their way to the execution before. What was found in the middle was the corpse of a stag covered with maggots eating through the beast's mouth and eyes. Hanging like a patch of moss in the antlers was a medium strip of gray fur.
Ned and his sons dismounted their horses and left them with the guardsmen. What they saw raised enough caution for most (Ned included) to draw their swords.
Myrcella had gotten past Ser Jaime and when she saw the decaying creature she covered her mouth in horrified disgust. He didn't expect the girl to have such a strong stomach but then again Myrcella had just witnessed an execution up close.
"Father!" Robb called to him down near the stream that flowed under the ridge. "Come have a look at this." Ned went to his eldest son with a hand over the hilt of his sword. He stopped, frozen in his tracks when he beheld a sight he never thought he would ever see.
Direwolves. One dead mother and five pups still suckling at their mother's empty teats. A piece of the stag's antler was lodged in the mother's neck and the very muscle of her body was exposed where the stag skinned the small piece of the fur pelt.
Ned came and knelt next to the mother's head, inspecting the wound as two of the pups began to nip and whimper at his boots. From the look and the smell, this happened today probably just before morning.
"It's a freakish bitch, this is." Theon commented in disgust with his sword drawn. Was he expecting more than just the mother or did the story of the dead rising get to him?
"It's a direwolf." Ned told them all. He grabbed the broken antler and with a hard tug he pulled it out of the mother's neck. "Tough old beast." Based on the tracks, the mother took the antler on the bridge protecting her litter.
Robb picked up one of the pups and handed it off to Bran. "You want to hold it?" Bran took it into his arms and held it close. He seemed much calmer now as was the pup.
"There're no direwolves south of the Wall." Rodrick stated despite the sight in front of them all. Anyone else would have thought the beasts to be simple wolves, not taking notice of the mother's larger than normal size. This mother was young, probably the same maturity as Myrcella or Sansa. A full grown direwolf would be bigger than the horses.
"Now there are five." Ned announced. Or maybe there were more. Benjen has seen plenty during his time ranging. Ned never thought he would ever get to lay eyes on the creature that was the sigil of his house.
"Ugh," Robb covered his nose when he leaned in for a closer look. "Smells worse than it looks."
"Well they won't last long without their mother." Rodrick's hand drifted close to the hilt of his dagger.
"Aye," Ned nodded. "Better a quick death." He stood to leave but stopped when Bran cried as Theon, with a dagger in hand, tried to take the pup from him.
"Put away your blade!" Robb barked to Theon.
"I take orders from your father, not you, Stark." Theon retorted.
"Father, please!" Bran begged, his hands never leaving the pup. "Don't kill them, please!"
"Lord Stark," Myrcella said as she came down to them. "There's five of them, isn't there? You have five trueborn children. I believe it's an omen from the gods that they are meant to have them."
There was a heavy silence that befell around as all eyes were on Ned to decide what to do. He sighed, disgruntled and looked to his sons. "You will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves." He was getting tired of this, he just wanted to get back to Winterfell soon.
Robb immediately picked two more of the pups up and handed them to Theon before picking up two of his own. Myrcella moved to Robb and began adoring one of the pups he carried to the point that he let her hold it.
Ned began to trudge back up to the bridge.
"Father," Robb called to him.
"What now?" Ned looked back but saw a chilled look on Robb's face. His son walked past the mother's corpse to a small undergrove of a tree next to the river. Robb reached down and pulled up another pup, an albino with eyes as red as blood.
A lone tear streaked down Robb's cheek as he closed his eyes. "A white wolf among grey," Robb muttered with a sullen voice, "a bastard." Everyone went still when he said that. A sixth wolf for a child that did not live to claim it. Robb looked up to Ned with a somewhat angry expression. He marched up and forced Ned to take the white wolf in his arms. "Don't leave this one to die." Robb said as he walked past him and returned back to the retinue.
His son's words cut him like a salted blade. The way Robb said it wasn't meant to imply blame for anything, it was just a comment. He looked at the pup that was looking back up at him. The creature in his arms made not a single noise. 'Not again.' He promised. This wolf would be his.
The one Bran was given had hints of auburn already while the one Robb chose, the pup Myrcella carried like babe in her arms, was the second darkest of the bunch. The only male left was so dark grey it was almost black. The two females were near opposites, one with a bright grey shade of fur and the other resembled Robb's chosen pup. As far as the dead mother, Ned ordered a handful of his men to bury the beast properly rather than leave it to rot.
Ned's nerves and his mind were growing exhausted. The past several years were favorable but there was also so much happening that was infuriating. Ned sent Bronn to King's Landing to try and find the ship belonging to whoever traded with Euron Greyjoy for the dagger. Bronn was gone for half a year before he gave word that there was absolutely no record of the ship anywhere. After that, Bronn disappeared without a word why. Ned feared that the information Bronn knew would soon be something the sellsword might try to sell.
Still though, the original trail he had found in his search, the one that led to possibility that the Lannisters were behind it all, kept him cautious enough to act. His older brother Brandon used to say that sometimes it was a good idea to keep your enemies close. He made sure to do that with Jaime. They weren't friends, but they had common ground which they both stood and did not bother the other's company. They sparred often and unofficially Ned had beaten Jaime four times out of twenty-seven matches. They each had respect for the other and it was what Jaime valued most.
Immediately when the retinue returned to Winterfell, Arya and Rickon were ecstatic to see the direwolf pups brought back. Ned half expected Cat to faint at the sight but she did not meet them which was odd.
He looked to see if Sansa had returned with her friends from Wintertown to present her pup, the only one remaining, to her. But while he saw Beth Cassel, he couldn't see Jeyne or Sansa. He handed the pup off to Theon to give to her while he tended to his own matters.
Ned took his leave with Ice under one arm and the runt pup under the other to the godswood. He sat in front of the heart tree and set the pup at his side before starting his routine after each execution. He let the face of the weirwood watch over pup while he worked.
The blood was clean from Ice finally and Ned began to finish with a quick polish. As he wiped the smoke grey steel with his cloth, he glanced down at the abilno pup that was next to him. All this time it was looking up at him. Was this white furred babe of a beast waiting for Ned to give a name for him? Either way, those red eyes, eyes of blood, they never stopped looking at him.
His hand stopped moving, it couldn't when the pup was watching him. This feeling he had come over him was nothing but pure guilt. Guilt that he owned what was meant for a son he could not protect and a promise he could not keep.
He started thinking that maybe he shouldn't keep the pup. Maybe it would be better off with Benjen at the Wall. His brother could make good use of a companion like this.
Ned set Ice aside and lifted the pup into his lap and it finally stopped looking at him. The pup curled up and started to rest itself. It had the right idea because Ned found himself tired as well. He could use a good rest.
He let his eyes fall shut and drifted off to sleep. The sounds of the wind blowing through the leaves never left and neither did the fluttering of dragonflies over the pond. But something else appeared, a new noise in the form of whispering.
He turned his head to the weirwood, determining that the face was the source. Quiet voices were escaping the unmoving lips of the white bark face. He leaned his head and pressed his ear to be kissed so he could discern what the voices were saying. But then things went silent as the crypts underneath him.
"Hello?" said Ned. "Who is there?"
"Eddard…"
He shivered hearing his sister's voice speaking to him. "Lyanna? Is that you?"
"My son, Ned. My son."
His heart filled with sorrow, turning it into a great weight. "I'm sorry. Lyanna I'm so sorry." His words were said through clenched teeth. "I promised I would protect him and I failed you. I'm sorry! Please tell him I'm sorry."
"I cannot, Ned. My son is not here with us."
"What?" He pulled away from the mouth of the tree, looking at the face as if it were Lyanna herself. "What do you mean?"
"Promise me, Ned… You have to protect him…" Lyanna pleaded. "You have to save him."
"Lyanna, wait! What do you mean?"
A second voice appeared after Lyanna's. It was a man's voice that sounded unfamiliar. "And you, Jon Snow... shall be Morghon. A rather fitting name. It's a term that can mean several things, one of them being 'the Ghost', for only ghosts have seen death and still haunt this world."
Ned eye's opened and he awoke from his dream. The pup in his lap was awake as well, maybe it had the same dream as him.
Damn his failures, always turning his dreams into guilt ridden nightmares. Always reminding him. Except this one was different. This one gave him a false hope. Perhaps it was the wishes of his heart that Jon were still alive somehow that gave conjuring to this dream. It hurt more than the others had done.
He looked down to the pup who was looking back at him again, silent as ever. Then he found himself smiling at the creature. "Quiet as the grave, aren't you... Ghost?" His pup tilted it's head at the sound of its name. Ned stroked Ghost's fur behind his ears softly. Yes, Ghost was perfect.
Ned saw in the corner of his eye someone approaching. When he looked, it was Catelyn lifting the hems of her dress with each stride. She used to fear being in the presence of the Old Gods. These days it wasn't so much but it was still there.
His wife had a gentle smile about her as she knelt down next to him on the warm grass. "He's quite the oddball of the litter. I've never seen eyes like that."
"They're just like rubies. And his name is Ghost." That man's voice, it still lingered in mind as did Lyanna's.
Cat reached a hand out and softly stroked Ghost's fur. The pup was calm and accepted her touch well. As it nuzzled against her, her smile slowly turned sad. "Such soft fur and so warm. In a way, I'm glad you found them instead of hunters and poachers. But are you sure our children can handle such creatures?"
He sensed that his children had a certain lack of confidence to a task as did he. "Our children will do well with them, as will I." He scratched Ghost behind the ears who closed his eyes in enjoyment. "Bran stood excellently, Cat. so did Myrcella."
She sat back on the grass and fallen leaves, still cuddling with Ghost. "He showed me his pup when you returned. Had he found it this morning he would have been as excited as Rickon is. But he was sad, Ned. My little boy is transforming. I'm afraid he'll have nightmares, Ned. I can't bear another one of our children screaming in their sleep… not again."
Ned tensed. "I understand. Myrcella's going was not mine to decide. But Bran will soon come of age to answer calls to war. He'll be greater prepared now than had he looked away. The heart of a battle is a living nightmare most men won't wake when they win."
Cat grew silent and turned somber. "I know that. I know you're right, but still…" she grew quiet, her words escaping her. Shaking her head, she tugged the pup fully into her lap. Ghost wagged, leaning up to lick her cheek. Despite her slight chuckle, Cat's eyes watered as she let the wolf do as it willed.
He frowned. "Is something wrong?"
"Well for one, it's ironic that your pup here likes me so much. I mean…"
"It's not my wolf. It wasn't meant to be." Ned nodded. She was right, of course. Despite trying to do right by Jon after his death, he knew it still hurt his wife when she recalled how badly she'd treated him. Her guilt only proved that she was a Northerner through and through now, because she remembered her past mistakes and had learned from them. He reached out and held her hand. "I know. I miss him, too. All of us will."
She nodded. "Yes, of course. But… But there's also this."
It was then he noticed a small piece of parchment tucked in her hand.
"What is it?" Ned asked.
"A raven came from King's Landing. Jon Arryn is dead."
Ned nearly gasped when he heard this. His head fell as his thoughts clashed. His foster father is dead? His fingers felt numb and his heart heavy. Dark wings brought dark words. "How?"
"A fever. He died in the night."
Hearing that at least brought some somber content to him. A passing in sleep is a great mercy for most in pain. "Your sister and nephew? Are they…"
"Well and healthy. Ned, you know what this means."
"Aye. Tywin Lannister is now Hand to the King and the true ruler of Westeros." With that much power, Tywin could see to it that his reach was in every corner of every kingdom now. It wouldn't be surprising if he sent some cousin or nephew to the North to take a northern bride and hold lands in his name.
Ned set Ice down and sat back against the heart tree. He ran a hand through his hair as he did his best get a grip on things. With Tywin as Hand, what was to come to his country more than miners and business?
"Are you feeling well?" Cat asked.
He sighed. "I'm not sure. I feel like I need a whole sennight to comprehend it all."
He felt Cat take his hand and lightly pulled him to his feet. Her strength gave him strength.
"I figured as much, which is why I took the liberty of making sure the hot springs are to be unused by anyone except us until we return." She had a sweet smile on her lips that was rather seducing for him every time he saw it. Looks like he might end the day well after all.
Robb
The warmth of outside could seep into every cavern and crevasses of the North except for one place. Down here in the crypts among the dead, the air was always cold. The spirits of House Stark lived down here with their tombs, keeping them cold so the worms would freeze before they made it to the frozen flesh of the bodies.
As a child, Robb had always enjoyed exploring the crypts. One of the best days of his childhood was when he had pranked his sisters into thinking that the ghosts of House Stark haunted the tombs. But that memory was so bittersweet because of who had pretended to be the ghost. The very brother he'd come down here to visit.
He stood in front of his brother's statue, jaw clenched and shoulders trembling. He loved and missed Jon more than anything, but he despised coming to visit his statue. It just… wasn't right. His jaw was carved too sharp, his eyes lifeless. And the stone curls of his hair! Wrong! So wrong! This… thing was not his brother. But the essence of Jon was there in the statue's smile. It was subtle, but it was Jon's. It hinted that behind it he was sulking. Whether the detail was intended or not by the mason, it didn't matter. And at his feet was his own stone direwolf. Jon got his wolf long before the rest of them got theirs.
The pup sniffed at the feet of the statue, making little sounds that were more like the squeeks of mice. Robb had yet to give a name for his pup. His mind was so adrift in mourning and remembrance that he couldn't think of one. Maybe something fierce like Icefang or Growler, a name that would suit the pup once it grew large and fearsome.
"There was one for you, Jon. There was one for you." His voice a whisper, the volume weighed down with the pain he felt the moment he laid eyes on that white pup. They could have raised theirs together, taught them to hunt and be mightier than war dogs in battle. Maybe the pups would grow big enough to replace their warhorses, the mother was certainly a size to behold. Two sons of House Stark astride direwolves in times of battle. They would have become legends together.
The dead never spoke back, no matter how hard he used to listen to a weirwood for a whisper or no matter how quiet this place was, their words were for them alone and never the living.
Too many things were unsettling him. It was a burden to have to stand with Bran's first witness to execution, but to Myrcella also. He lifted his hand and felt the phantom sensation of Myrcella squeezing it when Ice came down. She wanted to see death but she wasn't ready. He should have told her to look away. It would have been alright if she did.
He looked back to the statue of his brother. Things had changed so much since that dreadful night. Both Sansa and Arya changed that night when they watched him die, so did his mother. Sansa sometimes acted like Jon, quiet and unspeaking to others. She used to have her head in the clouds with stories of knights and nobility but then she became a woman.
Robb picked the pup from the ground and looked down to it's golden eyes. "What kind of name would you give yours?" He asked his brother's tomb. A small gust blew into the cavern of tombs, strengthening the cold with it. Grey statues and cold winds, a perfect fit in the North. "Hm… Grey Wind." Yes, that will be his wolf's name. Something revered by all in the years to come when he is the Lord of the North. The two of them would be marked in history together and forge great stories remembered by every noble and commoner.
Robb looked back to Jon's statue. It wasn't fair. His fist tightened and shook with rage. "Why?" he hissed through his teeth.
"Are you alright?" Myrcella asked as she approached him quietly. Robb wasn't surprised at her appearing, but he didn't feel any sort of indication she was coming. Regardless, he calmed down when she appeared. She wrapped her arms around his and buried her head on the soft fur of his cloak.
He sighed, the breath further calming him down. "I didn't want you to go."
"I know. I knew you didn't before you knew. But I can't stay a girl forever, Robb. Winter is Coming and I need to be strong when it does if I am to be your wife."
"You can be without having to get involved in the horrors of death. You'll never be the same."
"None of us are ever the same. Everyday we change, beit by the littlest of ways or the biggest. I know that and it frightens me some. But having you keeps me brave for it."
Gods, he didn't deserve her. He shared a smile as he looked down to her. They used to be the same height but now he was taller by a few inches. He was glad the difference was not too great. It made kissing her all the easier.
Myrcella slid a hand to the back of his neck and they shared a warm kiss in the cold of the crypts. Myrcella's taste was the best he could have wished for and knew nothing would ever be as sweet as her. He knew that in this moment he wanted nothing more than to share this feeling with her until the end of his days.
Despite the urge not to, Robb pulled away from his love and held her tighter in his arm. "Do you think this year will be the year?" He asked. " I don't think I can wait another."
"I hope so. If not then it won't be any trouble. We're still together."
"Sometimes I can't help but worry that a raven will come saying your mother's broken the betrothal."
"She wouldn't ever. I told her how much I've fallen for you and the North. She loves me and I know she wants me to be happy. And I'm happiest when I'm with you. I do miss the south sometimes, but I don't want to be there unless we're together."
"Me neither. Once we're wed, the North might get warmer with you as it's Lady." He looked one last time to Jon's statue and then took his leave from his brother's tomb. Grey Wind tried to fuss but the walking made the pup go still. "This is Grey Wind," Robb introduced.
"Grey Wind? That's a wonderful name. Arya's already found a name for hers too. She's called her wolf Nymeria."
Robb laughed. "That's perfect for her. What would you have called a pup if you had one?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. I wouldn't know whether to give a pet a regular name as Torrhen or Lorren or if it would be something like Grey Wind or Frost Rock."
"Hm, maybe we should find you a baby stag or a lion cub to adopt." He jested. Although that wasn't a half bad idea now that he said it. The Lord of the North and his Lady each with their own guardian beasts. It would certainly be poetic.
"How about both? And we can also get you a pet trout to please your mother." He laughed softly at her jest. His mother would think it ridiculous but Uncle Edmure would try to take pride in such an action no doubt.
They came out of the crypts and Ser Jaime was waiting patiently for them.
"Hello Uncle." Myrcella greeted.
"Princess," Ser Jaime nodded. He looked to Robb. "I've just learned that Lord Ashford is hosting a tourney soon. I've spoken with your Lord Father and arranged for us to go. Get our things ready, we leave in two days for the Reach."
"The Reach?" Robb felt excitement grasp his will. He'd only been to Riverrun as far as traveling south. To go to the Reach was unthinkable for him. "Is it a big tourney or a small one?"
"Nothing grand but there will be many there. The Tyrells, Tarlys, and the Hightowers will be there for certain. No doubt other nobles of other kingdoms will be going to flaunt their prowess as well. Ser Rodrick and Theon are joining us. Domeric is going to Runestone with Ser Robar, however." To pay their respects and condolences to Lord Bronze Yohn Royce, the man who trained father during his warding with Jon Arryn.
"Would it intrude on the strong men if some women joined them?" Myrcella asked. "I've always wanted to see the Reach and I know the other girls will want to go too." Sansa would love the south certainly and Arya would love the tourney as would Bran. Rickon might be too young to go.
Ser Jaime shrugged with the hintings of a smile. "If my princess commands it. I will speak to Lord and Lady Stark about making the arrangements. I haven't seen them in a while though. They up and vanished."
Myrcella cleared her throat. "They left for the hotsprings some time ago. It's off limits until they return. So the water's probably boiling with all the heat they brought."
Ser Jaime's lips pressed and his brow arched. "Ah, well, a simple 'they are gone' would have sufficed."
"I know, but I wanted to see the look on your face, uncle." She giggled. Ser Jaime shook his head in embarrassment and trudged off.
"I should probably go and get started." Robb told his love. "I'm getting excited just thinking about this."
"I'm excited too. It's been a long time since I've been to a tourney. I just hope this one doesn't attract a few usuals from King's Landing. But I'm sure it will be wonderful. I'm going to find Sansa and Arya."
"Alright, I'll see you at dinner." He gave her a quick peck on her cheek and ran off to catch up with Ser Jaime. Walking at his knight's side now, he began to unload his questions. "Will you be competing? Will I?"
"Of course to both. Normally squires cannot compete in jousts however you are nobility and that grants you a position. It's time to see how your practise in the North fairs in the south. We'll be participating in the joust and the sword melee. But we're not just going to compete."
Robb became curious. What else was a tourney for besides competing? "What's that?"
"You are the future Lord of the North. Since the North isn't as sociable as the other Kingdoms, this will be your chance to make friends and familiarize yourself with other Houses. Some of the best of allies can be started with a simple meeting at a tourney."
"Like your friend Ser Marbrand?"
"No, he and I were friends before our days following knights and lords to tourneys. To be fair, I hardly met anyone at a tourney worth my time. So many older men were looking to wed their daughters to the heir of Casterly Rock."
"Um… I'm an heir. Should I keep my guard up around others?"
"Absolutely. Even though you're betrothed, you are not wed. Many men will try to sway you for your position. Be very careful in whose company you fall into. Everyone has an agenda and honesty isn't as common in the south as it is in the North." Ser Jaime stop and placed a firm hand on Robb's shoulder. "So if you even fucking get tempted to betray my niece, I'll break your legs before I take her back to King's Landing."
Robb gulped and felt his hands shake. Ser Jaime never made threats like this to him, but it was also a good warning. "I love Myrcella." He said adamantly and true. "I would never betray her for someone else because there is no one else but her."
Usually, Jaime would look smug after an exchange like this, but he was in all serious keeping a hard gaze. "Good. It helps if you keep your friends close, so find anyone else but Theon. Addam was one of the few I could count on and still is to this day. If he were in the Kingsguard, I'd gladly call him Lord Commander if the position became open."
"Do you think he'll be there?" They resumed walking.
"That close to home, he might. I hope he does. It'll be good to see him again. He's one of four men in Westeros who can stand a chance against me."
This piqued Robb's interest. "Who are the other three? I'd guess Ser Barristan the Bold is one."
"I don't count him. I can hold a candle to him but his skill is better than mine. The other three are my secret."
After that being said, Robb threw away any curiosity for pressing further. Ser Jaime had never once cracked to reveal something he kept to himself and it would stay that way. "Do you know if the King will be going?"
"I'm not sure. He usually attends as many as he can but from what's been going on in the capital, he might not. Lord Jon Arryn passed away."
"He did?" Robb shook his head. "Does my father know?"
"He should. Your mother told me on the way to tell him last I saw."
"So much death in just a few days."
"Wait until you're older and fighting in war. Then those few days will quicken to a few minutes. There will probably be death at the tourney. Hardly ever one happens and goes without." Jaime said it so nonchalantly like he was hoping for it. "This will be your debut, Robb. Everyone from Dorne to the North will hear how Robb Stark performed in his first tourney."
His first tourney.
Robb felt his hands starting to shake uncontrollably and Ser Jaime noticed. His excitement was gone and the pressure of a thousand eyes watching him weighed heavy.
"Are you frightened now?"
"Incredibly nervous."
"It will pass. So long as you don't make a fool of yourself."
He wasn't sure if that was meant to caution him or comfort him. What it did was made him more nervous. What if he did make a fool of himself. Robb Stark, the Tourney Fool?
No, that wouldn't happen. He would make sure that his performance would be one he will hold his head high at. And even if he did blunder, then so be it. It would become a story to amuse his children years from now.