Jon Stark
The ruined face, the strings of hair, the cold, murderous eyes, the hatered that burned within, the deep gash on the throat. It could only belong to one woman.
The King of Winter sat upon his throne, the King of the Seven Kingdoms at his right and his Lady Mother at his left, the Sword of the Morning to her Right and on the King's left, Lord Connington. Together they looked upon the face of death, gazing deep into her eyes and trying to show no fear. They did a very good job.
"My Lady," Jon began, "I am sorry for your loss. But your fears about me were justified to begin with. I was never any danger to your children, but by the law of the land, I was the the Heir."
The Stoneheart put a hand to her throat and croaked out some words. Ser Raynald translated for her. "She says that you have no right to that seat nonetheless. Her son Robb is alive and you sit upon his throne."
"My brother Robb is dead," Jon insisted. "Murdered by the faithless Freys at his uncle's wedding, my sister Sansa married to our enemies and missing."
The Hangwoman growled some more, and waved her hand. "My Lady says that Arya was here, in this very castle, married to the Bastard of Bolton's."
Jon grimaced. That wound was still fresh. He had eased the pain by the actual Arya arriving, but she wanted no part of Winterfell. She wanted to kill, and only three people knew she even was in the Castle. "I regret to inform you, My Lady, that the Arya reported by Bolton was a sham. Bolton had captured Sansa's little friend as well and used her as a trap."
The corpse-woman spit forth an unintelligible tirade at Jon, who understood nothing but it's raw malice and hate. Ser Raynald looked aghast, then turned pale and face his Lady. "I will not say that," he declared solemnly, placing his hand at his sword-hilt. "I will not lie to him."
Two clear words issued from the mouth of the damned. "You will."
Ser Raynald shook his head and stepped aside. "No. I will not lie to his face. I have served you enough." He walked towards the King of the Seven Kingdoms and fell to his knees before the king and great lords there. "Give me my home, lord, and I am yours to command."
Aegon, Sixth of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, looked hard upon the face of the knight that lay prostrate at his feet. He seemed to be weighing his mind.
"Ser Raynald Westerling, you said?"
"Yes your Grace."
"Ser Raynald, how would you like to be lord of the Crag?"
The Knight's moustache twitched, his eyes seemed to grow wide with the prospect. "Yes, your Grace. I would like that very much."
"Very well then. We swore this demon peace, and that we would not harm her. But she has committed a vile sin before Gods and Men in attempting to lie during a negotiation. There is nothing the Seven hate so much as falsehood, is it not?" The question was posed to Lady Dayne Stark, who nodded gravely. "Very well then. Ser Raynald, you have not sworn her peace. Strike the head from this vile murderess and sinner as her atonement, and you shall be pardoned for your crimes and raised and returned to your ancestral seat."
Ser Raynald looked up nervously now. He looked from Stoneheart to Stark to the King.
"Your Grace, My Lord, a private word if you please?" he said, staring pensively at the King.
The king looked at Jon, who nodded. Lord Connington began to rise but the king waved him down. "Stay, my God Lord Connington. I would not tire you with our boring trial." He scanned the room and locked eyes with the knight in white enameled steel plate in the back of the hall. "Ser Rolly, if you could come please? I believe Lord Stark's men can watch our... esteemed guest."
Silent as a stalking cat even in his plate-and-mail, Ser Rolly Duckfield glided over to the king and followed them out to and empty room. Ser Rolly stepped outside and guarded the door, as Ser Raynald drew something from a pouch at his side.
"Ser Raynald, you said you had a reason not to execute the Hangwoman?"
"Yes your Grace," Ser Raynald said. "You see, I'm not Ser Raynald Westerling. Or I am now, in his body, this is terribly confusing - but I wasn't born Ser Raynald. I was born Robert of House Stark, son of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully. I am trapped in this body by an art I know not. Free me, I beseech you. There must be some way to do so, for this pain is worse than death."
The King and Lord Stark stood shocked for a short moment, and then Jon gave a start. "Prove you are who you say you are. What would you know that Robb Stark would know?."
"Easy," the knight replied. He was more confident now, looking Jon in the eye and
smiling slightly. "Right. I hereby wholeheartedly apologize for denying your rightful seat." When Jon didn't blink, he continued. "When we were younger. We were sparring in the Godswood, calling ourselves by the names of great knights and heroes. You said that you were the Lord of Winterfell, and I told you that that was impossible because you were a bastard." He hung his head in shame, eyes staring at Jon's boots. "Would you forgive your brother? I will not pass without your forgiveness, and I will not leave you here to fight against the Others without family by your side."
Jon smiled sadly. "Be at peace Robb. I have something to show you." He knocked on the door, and Ser Rolly opened it. Two servants stood nearby as well, one having clearly just come in from the cold. He addressed the one who had been inside. "Wull, if you could please bring me the Armory girl?" He then turned to Ser Rolly. "With his Grace's leave, I would ask you to let her in when she arrives." The knight looked to his king, who nodded in agreement, and then silently closed the door.
"I can't tell her who I am," Robb/Ser Raynald said. "It would crush her."
"But you can aske her for something old of Robb's as a gift I would make to you in exchange for the good news," Jon replied. "I would grant it."
The King, who had been silent all this time, spoke. His purple eyes lay upon Robb's face, and studied every feature. "Robb Stark, I commend you for fighting for your family honor. I only wish I could have done the same for mine. My siblings are dead, my father and mother are dead, my cousin is all the family I have left. I wish I could have gone to her, but it would have been suicidal. And yet, it was suicidal for you to go south, outnumbered heavily, and yet you nearly won. Rest assured, the treachery of the Freys has not been forgotten and the devious scheming of the Lions has gotten them separated."
There was a knock on the door. A dirty, lightly dressed, scrawny girl of about ten stepped inside, and knelt before the King. "What is it you desire, your Grace?"
"Ser Raynald Westerling here was one of your old Lord Robb Stark's kingsguard. I would give him something that once belonged to him as a gift, after I release him from his oath." The girl nodded and rose, rushing to obey, returning quickly with a sword and scabbard and belt, decorated with the silver heads of direwolves. "Here, your grace. His first sword," she said, as she surrendered the blade, and left the room.
Ser Raynald put the belt on, and with the sword at his side, knelt once more before the king.
"Ser Raynald of House Westerling, you watch has ended, your oath has been absolved. You are free, by the law of the lips of Aegon, of House Targaryen, sixth of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm."
A visible strain was lifted from the face of the knight who knelt at the King's feet. He seemed to be a bit shorter, more muscular, and older. When he drew the sword at his side, he exhaled deeply and studied it. When he spoke, his voice was clearly different. "This is a beautiful piece of craftsmanship." He said. "I will now fulfill my King's command. He sheathed the sword, then knocked on the door.
"We are done here," Jon told Ser Rolly. Turning to the Servants, he ordered one to ave the soldiers bring Lady Stoneheart outside, and the other to bring forth a chopping block to the yard.