The dungeon door creaked open and Ned's heart thumped louder. He readied himself to interrogate this Morbus creature – he was not prepared. He rubbed his hands together; still not ready.

"You will tell us everything?" Robb pressed.

Ned nodded, more reluctant than ever. What if Morbus was some sort of killer tasked to murder his children one by one? What if Morbus was sent here to…to slowly convince Daenerys and Jon of their true heritage? He could be the person responsible for slipping Daenerys that ruby dragon pendant…

"Go and eat," Ned told him. "If you're not hungry, go and train in the courtyard or study in the library. Tell the boys that too. The last thing I want is a few of you poking around when I question him."

"Of course Father." Ned waited until his son left the dungeons before walking in himself. For the sake of the interrogation, Morbus was put in another prison room, one with iron bars for a door rather than one of solid wood. Theon almost lost a finger in the process of dragging Morbus in. Ned sat down on the provided chair and watched Morbus hiss, creak and crawl around on all fours. After what seemed like hours, the creature decided to face him, his thin fingers grasping the iron bars as he pressed his gaunt face against it.

"Theeeee quiiiiet woooolf!" Morbus snarled.

"What are you doing here?" said Ned steadily. "Who sent you here?"

"Maaaaster told me to cooome. 'Gooo to Wiiinterfell,' he orrrdered. 'Gooo and fiiiind theeee quiiiiet woooolf,' he commaaanded."

"You found me. However, you harassed my ward Daenerys Sand. Why? Were you told to harass her?"

"Maaaaster told me to gggggive her a…a necklaccce! He said, 'dooon't cooome baaack uuuuntil you seeeeee the necklace arounnnnd her pretttttty neeeck…like a noose!" A horrible sick sound gurgled at the back of his throat as he let out an evil cackle. Ned suppressed a shudder. He wanted to run; he didn't. He remained rooted to his seat as he listened to Morbus's sneer.

"Enough!" he said sharply. "You will tell me everything I want to know or I will have you flayed." He bit his lip as Morbus howled with laughter again. He hoped he wouldn't be forced to torture him. Repulsive Morbus may be, he still doesn't deserve to be tortured. He is a threat to your family, Ned reminded himself. He'd wondered if Lord Bolton would give him a quick lesson in flaying.

"Youuuu will noooot!" snarled Morbus. "Theeee quiiiiiet woooolf doesss nooot flaaaay or tooorture! Maaaster saaaid sooo!"

"I will. Your master lies."

"MAAASTER DOES NOT LIIIIIE! YOUUUU LIIIIE!" To Ned's alarm, Morbus had begun slamming his head violently against the bars.

"MORBUS!" Ned raised his voice. The creature immediately stopped. With a pitiful whimper, he cowered back against the stone walls. "Maaaaaster," Morbus crooned, rocking himself back and forth. "Maaaster…"

"Who is your master Morbus?"

"Maaaster…"

"Who is he?" Ned repeated. "Morbus, tell me. Who is your master?" He waited as Morbus coughed flem from the back of his throat. Ned wrinkled his nose with disgust. Originally he'd planned to send Morbus to the Wall – Jeor Mormont did want more men to take the black – after a thorough interrogation, but now…no one at the Wall would be able to control him.

"Maaaster was kiiind to meeee. He was sooo kiiind. He truuuusted mee…but I was a fooool. I revealed seeeecrets I was not suppoooosed to. Maaaster is kiiind, but he does not forgivvve so eeeasily. I beeegged and beeegged for mercy but my maaaster will not accept it. He wooould have kiiiilled meeee, quiiiiet woooolf. He wooould have kiiiilled meeee." His voice rose into a whine. "HE WOOOULD HAVE KIIIILLED MEEEE QUIIIET WOOOLF! HE WOOOOULD HAVE KIIIILLED MEEEE! I HAD NOOOO CHOOOICE!"

"Who would have killed you?" Ned prayed Morbus wouldn't say 'master'.

"MAAASTER!"

"Who is 'master', Morbus? Who is he? Do you want to be free?"

"Free?" Morbus cocked his head with interest. "Maaaster will set me free?"

"Tell me the truth and I will speak to uh, Master."

"Youuuu know my maaaster?"

"He knows me."

Morbus tilted his head to the other side as if thinking deeply. "Maaaster tooold me to cooome here," he said quietly. He sounded almost human. "Heee said thaat heee will forgivvve meeee once I finished hissss tassssk. Heee wanted meeee to say, stir up theeee waterssss. Heee said there is a dragon among the wooolves. I haaaad to giiive the dragon a necklaccce. A dragon necklaccce. Very pretty. Very preciousssss." He frowned. "Preciousssss."

Ned pulled the pendant from his pocket. "You mean this?"

A hiss escaped Morbus's slit of a mouth. "That very ooooone! Whyyyyy doooes theeee quiiiiet woooolf haaave it?"

"Who does it belong to?"

"THEEEE DRAAAGON!"

"Who is the dragon, Morbus?"

Morbus gave him a suspicious look. "Youuuu know whooo theeee draaagon iss, quiiiiet woooolf. Youuuu knoowwww."

"You tell me," Ned pressed. "I want to hear it from you."

Morbus cackled again. Oh no. Morbus creaked again, this time more gleefully and to Ned's horror, started to sing. "Whaaat doesss the Nooorth have but theee soouth doesss not? Snooow! Whaat doesss Doorne have but theee noorth doesss not? Saaand! Snooow! Saaand! Saaand! Snooow! Saaand and Snooow! Snoow and Saand!" He laughed maniacally. "Saaand and Snooow can cover maaany seecrets, quiiiiiet woooolf. Maaany seecrets…"

Ned was silent as Morbus began singing that vile song again and again. Saaand and Snooow can cover maaany seecrets, echoed in his head. Sand and snow could cover many secrets indeed. Ned studied Morbus carefully. He was hideous, but if was not so emaciated or mad, he would not look so old. How did he manage to be hidden in Winterfell for months?

"Where did you hide in Winterfell?" Ned inquired.

"Heeere and theeere." Morbus sounded proud. "Fiiirst I hid in the staables and stole fooood from the kitchens. No one saaaaw meeee. Maaaster taught me welll, quiiiiet woooolf. Maaaster taught me welllll. If it wasn't for my maaaster, I would haaave diiiied on theeee streeeets of Fleeeea Bottommmm…"

Flea Bottom. Morbus was from Flea Bottom. An odd name for one who lived in the maze of twisty, unpaved alleys and cross-streets of the poorest area in King's Landing. Ned racked his mind for Flea Bottom dwellers; the only one who came to mind was Davos Seaworth, but he was now Lord of the Rainwood and a Storm lord. The name Morbus sounded…foreign. He always assumed Morbus was from Dorne or one of the Free Cities. Certainly not Flea Bottom! Ned wondered if he was truly from Flea Bottom.

"…I would have gone huuuuuungry if it wasn't for Maaaster…"

"Were you from Flea Bottom?"

"No. Maaaster threatened to throoow me onto the streeeets of Fleeeea Bottom if I didn't cooome here."

"Your master ordered you to come here to give a pendant to the dragon? You did. Why didn't you go home?"

"Maaaster didn't assssk me baaack."

"Your master left you here?"

"Yessss. He saaaaid I have not finishhhhed the taaask. Assss punishment, I was to staaaay here foreeeever." Morbus whimpered. "Maaaster cruel…heee saaaid I would be forgiven, buuuuuut he left meeee here to rotttttt!" His wail was louder than baby Rickon's cries. Ned felt a pang of guilt as he thought of Rickon. He and Ashara had agreed that Rickon would be their last child – seven children (eight if including Jon) were enough. By the time Ned was beginning his fostering at the Eyrie, there were not many Starks left. His mother had no brothers and many of his Stark uncles and cousins left no progeny. No doubt there were Starks in the mountains – the Starks were not particularly close to extinction. If Ashara gave him seven daughters, Ned would be just as delighted and would no doubt groom the eldest to be the future Lady of Winterfell. Legitimising Jon would absolutely be out of the question.

"Where did you hide after the stables?" asked Ned.

"Heeere and theeere. Sooometimes in the kiiitchens or in the rooooms of your seeervants. Nooone of them ever kneeeew." Morbus snickered. "Wheeen it waas waaarm, I hiiid in the godssswood. Theeee treeeees hid me. The treeees were my frieeeends. Theyyyy kept me saaafe."

"Safe? From whom?"

"Youuuu, quiiiiet wooolf. The yoooung wooolf, the siiiiilent wooolf, the flaayed maaan's son, the son of theeee iiironborn, the rose of theee Noooorth, the wiiiild puuup and even the Noooorthen staaar before sheeee desceeeended." You, quiet wolf. The young wolf, the flayed man's son, the son of the Ironborn, the rose of the North, the wild pup and even the Northern star before she descended. There was no way Morbus thought of those epithets on his own.

Ned bit his lip again. It had been a good many years since someone called him the quiet wolf. Robert called him that once – as a jape of course. It was his sister Lyanna who first named him 'the quiet wolf'. The wild pup? That seemed a cross between the late Brandon Stark and Benjen. No doubt it was Morbus's name for Arya. The Northern star…Ashara.

"Not the dragon?" tested Ned.

Morbus cackled. "The draaagon knooows nothing, quiiiiet wooolf. Nothing! It waaas my taaask to feeeed her theeee truuuth." He looked at him in the eye. "The truuuth," he repeated.

"How did your master infiltrate Winterfell?"

"Maaaster is like theee shaaadows. He can slip heeere and theeere at wiiill. No one seeees him as he wallllks in aaaand out. Maaaster is caaareful. Maaaster isss clever." His eyes shone with blatant admiration. "Heee can ennnnnter Caaasterly Rooock without theeee liiiions' knowledge…"

Ned closed his eyes. What Morbus described reminded him of the Spider…

"Is your master the Spider?" he said abruptly.

"Nooo. Maaaster is nooo spiiiider quiiiiet woooolf. Maaaster is maaaster. He is nooo spiiiider. When I am huuungry and the kiiitchens have no fooood to spare me, I eat spiiiders."

Ned shuddered with revulsion. Winterfell was always well-maintained; there weren't many spiders. Perhaps there were more spiders wherever Morbus hid. It was disgusting that he would eat them…or did he?

"Is your master Varys?" said Ned clearly.

Morbus made a strangling noise at the back of this throat. He creaked and his eyes swivelled around the room nervously.

"Tell me the truth!" Ned commanded.

The creature hissed. "Yessss…"


Ned returned to his solar, utterly exhausted and puzzled. Varys…Morbus must have been one of his 'little birds' before he failed a mission of some sort. A cruel punishment, Ned thought, leaving a southroner in the North with no friend and a new task that will seemingly never end. For a second, pitied Morbus. A stranger in King's Landing and more a foreigner in the North. A quick, clean death would've been more merciful. When Ned was forced to converse with Varys, he was never violent or spiteful…but something was always peculiar about him. It came as no particular surprise that a man like Varys would not forgive failure – especially in his line of special work.

Opening the door, Ned came face to face with the children, all of whom looked like they haven't slept more than an hour or two. All of them stared at him with a look of urgency and uncertainty. "Well?" said Robb eagerly.

"Nothing I say leaves this room," Ned warned them. They nodded. "He will be executed. Tonight. Privately."

"What?" exclaimed Daenerys. "So soon?"

"I have the answers I need. It'll only be worse for us if the guards find his dead body in the dungeon. I'd rather have him dead than know someone out there is willing to help him escape." No matter how unlikely. Varys had left him to his fate, but Morbus still seemed devoted to him. He may not know how to escape – or he might – but he was clever and resourceful. If he heard news of any significance, it would be likely that he would try and return to his master. As Lord Bolton loved to whisper, a naked man had few secrets, but a flayed man had none. Morbus was already skin and bone – once flayed, he would be a sack of bones.

Jon looked tentative. "What if he knows more than he's telling you?"

Ned rubbed his eyes and looked at him. "You despise Morbus do you not? You think him a foul, loathsome creature with a bulbous head filled with secrets? It may surprise you if I tell you I pity him."

Theon laughed. "Lord Stark! You must be japing!"

"I most certainly am not, Theon. I pity Morbus. Dany, I believe you said a boy gave something to you on a feast day?"

Daenerys nodded. "It was-"

"The boy. I believe him to be Morbus. I know it's hard to believe, but isolated in a strange place with no regular source of nourishment…that can turn any man into a vile, mad creature." He gazed at the children and they all nodded slowly, Theon the last and slowest. "Not all beheadings and executions are carried out as punishment," Ned told them, but mostly to the three heirs – Robb, Domeric and Theon. "Do you remember the deserter from the Wall? I had to execute him as he broke his vows and deserted."

"That was the day we found the pups," Jon remembered.

"Indeed. Domeric," Ned looked at the silent heir of the Dreadfort. "you wanted to kill the pups didn't you?"

"It would be an act of mercy," Domeric replied. Lyarra remained unfazed. She squeezed his hand comfortingly. "When it comes to old and lame animals, better to kill them than prolong their suffering."

"Not flay them?" snickered Theon. Robb punched him in the arm.

Ned nodded, ignoring Theon. "Same with executions. With many of them seen as an act of justice, a rare few can be merciful. I plan to execute Morbus privately as an act of mercy. He was tasked to come here and harass Daenerys. It was given to him as a sort of punishment by his master. I don't know what he had done to earn it, but I believe it was to do with failing a previous assignment. It was cruel as the master never recalled Morbus. He abandoned him here to die."

"Why not give Morbus proper food and drink?" suggested Lyarra. "If you do, he might be willing to talk more."

"I doubt he is capable of consuming them anymore," commented Domeric. "It had been a long time since he ate good food – he might think it is poison now and be more wary of us."

"I should speak to him," said Daenerys suddenly.

"No!" said Jon and Robb in unison.

"Can we torture him?" said Arya hopefully.

"No!" Jon and Robb shouted again.

"No and no," said Ned sternly. "Daenerys, you will not go near him. There are strong chances he may also be tasked to kill you. Arya, I do not want to hear you suggest or say that in my presence again. Starks do not torture those who are not in the right mind. Ever."

"Do Boltons?" said Theon, glancing slyly at Domeric.

Before Ned could snap at him, Domeric said calmly. "We do torture those who irritate us. There are many ways to torture one for the sake of torture. If seven years from now we become enemies and I capture you in battle, I'll be more than happy to torment you for a good week or two. As you constantly boasted about your oh so large cock, I'll start by butchering it off and feeding it to the dogs." He smiled broadly that was eerily similar to Lord Roose's cold smile. "What do you think of that, Greyjoy?"

Silence fell in the solar. Daenerys was white with horror, Lyarra unable to look at Theon or her betrothed, Arya's mouth wide open in shock and Robb and Jon both looking nervously at Theon and Domeric.

"We'll have no more talk of torture," said Ned, breaking the silence, "from any of you." A lump formed in his throat. "As a sort of joke, Morbus was sent to annoy Daenerys and cause discord in Winterfell. His master must have thought it a jape to frighten whom he thought was a weak girl all alone. He is mistaken. Daenerys is strong and has family. Like a pack of wolves, we'll always stay together and we never abandon one's own."

"Who is his master?" said Arya curiously.

"As a favour to me, I implore you do not ask me that tonight," said Ned, rising to leave. "When the time is ripe, I will tell you. That is a promise. Tonight, Morbus will be executed in the dungeons. I expect you boys to be there. Girls, it'll be for the best if you stay in one chamber tonight."

"I'll watch Morbus's execution," said Lyarra promptly. "As the future Lady of the Dreadfort, I intent to stand by my husband through victory and defeat. I'll be at his side when he brings justice to his lands, whether it means watching a man be beheaded or hanged."

Ned bit his lip. "I'll watch too," added Daenerys. "Before he dies, Morbus needs to know that he hadn't frightened me at all."

Ned sighed. "Very well." He looked at Arya. "I suppose you want to watch the execution as well?"

Arya nodded seriously.

"As you wish." Ned headed to the door. "I will see you all tonight then."


Ned found no joy in executing criminals and deserters. For the rare criminals, he usually sent them to the Wall. Better use for them to be sworn brothers of the Night's Watch than rotting corpses buried in the ground. Even if Morbus was not mad, he would be obliged to behead him – as punishment rather than mercy. He would not foist a nuisance like Morbus to the Night's Watch.

The dungeons were always freezing at night. The door creaked open and Ned found the children already there waiting, covered warmly in their furs. Silently they stood in a line. It was like the arrival of the royal party all over again. Giving them a nod, Theon placed a lump of wood at Ned's feet and Robb and Domeric dragged Morbus from the corner and forced him on his thin knees. Theon leaped back as Morbus tried to bite his leg.

"Do you wish to confess anything?" asked Ned.

Morbus hissed. He looked around and stared at Daenerys. With an evil grin, he creaked. Daenerys remained impassive. With a snarl, Robb forced his head down onto the lump of wood.

Calmly, Ned unsheathed Ice and said steadily. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." He lifted the greatsword and with a single sure stroke, took off Morbus's head.

As if on unison, everyone – including Ned – sighed. It was all over.


There will be a time jump (1 year) between this and the next chapter. It was supposed to be earlier, but I stretched out the Morbus plot slightly longer than I originally intended to.