Author's Note:
Skill Progression: Novice (Levels 1-9); Initiate (Levels 10-24); Apprentice (Levels 25-44); Journeyman (Levels 45-74); Expert (Levels 75- 99); Master (Levels 100-149); Grandmaster (Levels 150+)
Chapter 2
Winterfell, Sanren 11, 15,367 ABG
Eddard smiled as he walked into the great hall after morning training. The change in his routine was brought on by a simple enough event. Three days ago, one of the cooks advanced from Novice to the Initiate level in their cooking skill and he had decided to set up a private meal with his wife. Fortunately, the pleasant surprise was enough for her to start speaking to him again, and she had decided to join him for breakfast each morning since.
"Good morning, Cat," he said as he walked near his wife.
"Good morning, Eddard," she replied dispassionately as she looked over what seemed to be a list of household expenses.
Seating himself, Eddard was quickly presented with a plate full of eggs, bacon, and buttered toast.
'Sometimes, its good to be the Lord,' he chuckled inwardly.
After digging into his meal, he decided to pull up his status and check over the notifications he received over the past week.
Name: Eddard Stark
Level: 1, 0%
Age: 35
Race: Human
Alignment: Neutral
Languages: Andalos 'Common Tongue'
Reputation: Level 1 "Who are you again?"
STATS
Health: 110
Mana: 100
Stamina: 140
ATTRIBUTES
Strength: 14
Agility: 11
Dexterity: 12
Constitution: 11
Endurance: 14
Intelligence: 10
Wisdom: 10
Charisma: 15
Luck: 10
RESISTANCES
None
SKILLS
Beast Bonding: 1, 0, 77
Blood Magic: 1, 0, 81
Swordsmanship: 3, 21, 98
Administration: 6, 87, 80
ABILITIES
Legacy of the Winter Kings: +10% Endurance, +5% Constitution, +5 Charisma
Wolf's Blood: +10 skill levels to Beast Bonding when taming wolves (Grants skill Beast Bonding and spell Tame)
MARKS
None
His training each morning had paid off, gaining another three points in strength and endurance, one more point in dexterity, one in constitution, and one in agility. He had also picked up both the Swordsmanship and Administration skills. However, the fact that they were still so low-level while many of his people were getting close to the 'Initiate' threshold of level ten in other skills irked him. Oddly, it seemed that the skills most difficult to raise were related to combat. Even Rodrik was only at level five with both his Shields and Swordsmanship skills. Whether that was a condemnation of their training practices or something that they seemed to be missing, Eddard was unsure.
'Still, if we can raise these, there are potentially massive benefits,' he thought as he pulled up the details regarding his new skills.
Swordsmanship: The pen may be mightier than the sword, but in another, much more real way, it isn't. +3% damage per level; +1% attack speed per level.
Administration: Not every conqueror can rule the conquered. Not every ruler can rule well. +1% Morale, Loyalty, and Production for your village.
He was still somewhat ambivalent toward the Administration skill. When he received it, he also gained access to a settlement page that presented information regarding the Morale, Loyalty, and Health levels of 'the village of Winterfell.' The problem, however, was two-fold. First, the Morale and Loyalty pages were blank. When he tried to mentally prod the pages into showing something he received nothing but a headache. The Health page, on the other hand, only gave him a miniscule amount of information that did nothing to ease his worries. According to the settlement page, his 'village' was Unwell. This resulted in a -5% modifier to population growth, Morale, and disposition of his villagers toward him. Needless to say, he immediately brought this to the attention of Maester Lewin and, while he nodded thoughtfully, he had no idea how to change the health status of his people.
His mood souring, Eddard finished his breakfast as he heard footsteps approaching. Turning his head, he saw Jory, his captain of the guard, looking at him with a somber face.
"My Lord, our outriders have captured a deserter of the Night's Watch," he said in the clipped tones of a competent guardsman.
Schooling his face into passivity, Eddard said, "Pick twenty men as a mounted escort and let Robb, Jon, Theon, and Bran know that they are coming with us. Have everyone ready within the hour."
"Yes, my Lord," Jory responded crisply as he marched off.
As Eddard began to mentally prepare himself for the execution ahead, his wife cut through the silence.
"Ned, Bran is too young. Please, just wait another year, he has no need to see that," she pleaded.
"He is the same age Robb and I were when we saw our first executions. He needs to learn what it means to be the Stark in Winterfell, Cat, especially now. Winter is coming," he finished grimly.
"Is it though?" Cat questioned in exasperation. "I've lived here for nearly two decades and the weather has never been warmer, even in Summer. Not to mention the very sky itself is different. All of the familiar stars are gone and where once there was one moon, now there are seven," she finished resolutely but with fear in her eyes.
Eddard grimaced as he acknowledged her point. Ever since their arrival on this strange, new world the weather had continued to get warmer. The summer snows that he loved all throughout his childhood had melted away, leaving only a slushy muck throughout the thoroughfares of Winter town. He didn't even want to think about the greater repercussions of such weather.
While it may prove a boon for their crops, the Wall was dependent on the cold. His brother, Benjen, once told him that on the warmest of summer days the 700-foot edifice would appear to weep as the ice would begin to melt. Should this weather prove to be a constant, then their sole defense against the Wildlings and whatever else lay north of the Wall would be undone.
That wasn't even mentioning the new additions to the night sky. Seven moons of all different colors shone brightly each night, and Maester Luwin, after studying the stars with his Myrish lens, assured him that none of the stars now hanging above them were the same as the old. If the message they all received when they arrived here was not enough to tell him that they were on a new world, then that report crushed any remaining doubts.
"You may be right, my love," he admitted softly. "But one day, old gods willing, I will grant Bran a holdfast and he will be responsible for executing justice on his lands. Our way is the old way and the sooner he understands that, the easier it will be for him."
Caitlin's eyebrows raised at the mention of Bran gaining a holdfast, and she nodded neutrally as she said, "Alright, Ned. But if he comes back to me with tears in his eyes, I'll be taking it out on you."
Eddard snorted and then said, "Fair enough, Cat. I'll see you this evening."
As the group rode out from Winterfell, Eddard took in the surroundings. The light blanket of snow that once covered the fields in perpetuity now turned those same lands into a sodden quagmire that sucked at his mount's hooves with each step. The uncharacteristic weather and the water-drenched lands reminded him of the Riverlands in his youth and he grimaced at the reminder of those days of constant warfare. Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he focused on his task ahead and calmed his mind and spirit.
They rode at a light pace for half the day before arriving two hours after midday at a small holdfast held by House Mollen, a House sworn directly to House Stark and whose heir, Hallis, currently served in Winterfell's guard as one of Jory's lieutenants.
Riding into the courtyard, Eddard noticed a man in ragged black garb chained up against the base of the stone keep. The man was old, he noticed, and was ill-fed by the look of him. His face and hands told a tale of battles lost against the cold and the vacant eyes were those of either a madman or a man who had completely lost himself to despair.
Dismounting, Eddard was greeted by the old Lord of the keep and his party was quickly given bread and salt by the servants. Eddard thanked the Lord for the customary greeting and had the men see to the horses as he asked for a block to be placed in the courtyard. One of the hold's servants quickly brought out an old wooden stump, discolored with what was likely the blood of past criminals and placed it in the middle of the yard. Meanwhile, two of the Mollen guards unchained the prisoner and brought him toward the block.
As the two guards stopped just before the block, Eddard spoke.
"What is your name, man?" Eddard asked coldly.
The man's eyes seemed to lose some of their previous vacancy as the man mumbled, "Gared, milord."
Eddard nodded before saying "Do you have any last words, Gared?"
"Aye, milord," the old man said as he nodded feverishly. "I've served the Watch for thirty years as a ranger and I've seen many strange things up north o' the Wall. What took Will and Waymar, though, was something else," he finished as his eyes took on their previous glassy hue.
"Well what was it, damnit?" Lord Mollen barked at the deserter.
Gared looked at the old Lord in surprise before blinking quickly and said, "White Walkers, milord. 'twas the Others."
At his statement, the courtyard was drenched in silence. Had the man made such a claim but a moon ago, he likely would've been ignored as a madman or someone desperate to save his life by using the name of the old enemy. Now, with all the changes that had occurred in the past week, the tale of the Others seemed somehow more believable.
"When did you encounter these Others?" Eddard asked, interrupting the silence.
Gared's face scrunched up in confusion before looking up at the sky. "Must've been two moons or so ago, milord."
Eddard nodded his head in relief. Their coming to the Land only occurred a week ago and so it was likely that the man had just lost his wits. He wouldn't let himself believe that two impossible events could occur within moons of each other, though he would inform Castle Black of the man's words.
'Just because what the man says is unlikely, that doesn't mean I've forgotten my duty,' Eddard grumped to himself.
"Even if what you say is true, you still deserted the Night's Watch. Do you know what the punishment for such a crime is, Gared?" He asked sternly.
"Aye, milord," the man nodded serenely. "I know what I did was wrong, but I couldn't stay north o' the Wall any longer. Just couldn't, milord," he finished calmly.
"Very well," Eddard said reluctantly as he nodded to the two guards on either side of Gared.
The two guards pushed Gared to his knees and then ordered Gared to lay his head against the block. Gared complied willingly as Eddard drew Ice from its scabbard.
"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, 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."
Eddard swung his sword down swiftly and cleanly separated the man's head from his body. As he did so, a blinking notification blocked out his vision.
Human, Gared, (Level 1) has died. You receive 50 experience points.
The blinking notification went away as soon as he read it and Eddard felt cold inside. He had heard from the hunters that it was possible to gain experience from the killing of animals but the fact that it was also possible to gain experience from killing other humans was sickening. Not since the first time he had executed a man did he feel nauseous but right now Eddard felt like he needed a bucket.
'Breathe,' he commanded himself. 'I can think on this in private later,' he continued as he tried to convince his body and mind that everything was normal.
"My Lord?" Jory's voice broke through his reflection as Eddard turned to his Captain of the guard.
Seeing that he had his Lord's attention Jory spoke once more. "My Lord, will we bed down here tonight or ride for Winterfell?"
Eddard thought quickly and almost instinctively he said, "Have the horses saddled up again if they were taken off. We'll make it back to Winterfell before the evening meal."
Jory nodded but looked at his Lord searchingly before turning and ordering the men back in their saddles.
Wiping the blood from his blade, Eddard took comfort in the familiar task.
"Lord Stark," Lord Mollen wheezed next to him, "you and your men are more than welcome to stay the night here. I can have the Lord's chambers made up for you if you wish."
"Thank you, Lord Mollen, but I told my wife I'd be home tonight, and I don't want to give her any reason to be angry with me," Eddard lightly said.
Lord Mollen chuckled in response saying, "Fair enough, Lord Stark. I won't be the fool who stands between a man and his lady wife. Tell me, though, how is my Hallis doing in Winterfell?"
"He does well," Eddard said, glad that his nerves had settled down. "He is Jory's foremost Lieutenant and I believe he is acting Captain whilst Jory is here."
Lord Mollen smiled in pride before saying, "I'm glad. I should be able to hang on for a couple more years before he has to come back and take up the Lordship. When you see him next, though, if I could trouble you to tell him to write back to his mother, I would appreciate it."
Eddard smiled and joked, "If it eases her mind, tell Lady Mollen that I'll order him to do so when I get back."
"Hah," the old Lord barked out. "If he wrote back to every letter she sent, all he would do is write. Still, I thank you Lord Stark."
"Of course. I thank you for your hospitality, Lord Mollen."
The old Lord just nodded before walking away.
Bemused, Eddard watched Jon help Bran back into his saddle before Jory rode toward him with his own horse in tow.
"The men are ready to go, my Lord."
"Let us head out then," he said before vaulting into the saddle.
Eddard had the men ride the horses harder on their way back from Mollen's Keep. At their pace, it should only take two and a half hours to reach Winterfell. Halfway there, Eddard saw his two eldest sons, Jon and Robb, begin to race off toward a bridge in the distance.
Pushing his horse a little bit faster, he rode up next to Bran.
"Are you well, Bran?" He asked while searching out his young son's features.
"Yes, father," the young boy said, while looking him in the eye. Bran's face scrunched up thoughtfully before saying, "Robb says the man died bravely, but Jon says he was afraid."
"What do you think?" Eddard asked.
"Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" Bran responded.
"That is the only time a man can be brave," Eddard replied. A silence stretched between the two before he continued. "Do you understand why I did it?"
"The man was a wildling. They steal women and children and sell them to the Others," Bran said eagerly.
Eddard chuckled at his son's innocent certainty before schooling his face once more. "No, Bran. He was no wildling. He was a deserter from the Night's Watch. But you misunderstand me. The question was not why the man had to die, but why I must do it."
His son looked uncertain before saying, "Old Nan told us that the southern Lords use a headsman."
"Aye," Eddard admitted. "That is the way of the south. Yet our way is the older way. Our blood is that of the First Men, and we hold to the belief that 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 last words. A ruler who hides behind a paid executioner soon forgets what death is."
As he finished his impromptu lesson, he saw Jon ride back toward the column before yelling, "Father, come quickly!" Then he rode back toward the bridge.
Jory deftly moved his horse next to his. "Orders, my Lord?" He asked.
Eddard frowned.
'Hopefully Robb didn't break his horse's leg in this muck,' he thought.
"Jory, stay with Bran. The rest of you, at the canter," he ordered as he pushed his horse from a trot to an easy lope.
Several minutes later, they found Robb on the riverbank just north of the bridge. The river was swollen as Robb was covered in mud and holding something in his arms. Hidden in the foliage behind him was the largest wolf he had ever seen, staring at his son with a predator's eyes.
Unsheathing his sword, he spoke calmly to his son. "Robb, I need you to slowly walk back to your horse."
Looking at him in confusion, his son did as he was told. As Eddard dismounted, the wolf half-growled and whined in pain. Feeling better about his chances, he ignored his guards asking him to stay back and walked toward the beast slowly while maintaining eye contact. As he got within ten feet, he decided he was going to do something reckless.
'Cat is going to kill me when she hears about this,' he thought.
He went down on one knee and placed Ice on the ground off to the side. As he shuffled closer, he could tell that the direwolf, for that was surely what it was, had a piece of an antler embedded in its shoulder.
Just then, he heard Jory ride across the bridge and shout at him. "My Lord, please let the men deal with the beast," he pleaded.
Still maintaining eye contact with the direwolf, he spoke. "Jory, there was a farm a mile back that had a large cart in the field. Have the men go there, buy the cart, and bring it back so we can transport the wolf back to Winterfell. She's injured," he said.
Hearing muffled curses behind him, he focused on the wolf once more. As he tried to think on how to use his only spell, Tame, the knowledge came to him as if it was always there. Moving both of his hands in a complex pattern while mumbling what seemed to be nonsense words, he finished the incantation and placed his hand atop the head of the direwolf. As he did so, he felt a pull coming from beneath his skin, and then watched astonished as his blood flew out of his pores and into the wolf.
As his vision began to darken, the last thought he had was, 'Why did I think using blood magic was a good idea?'
Eddard woke groggily as he felt the back of his head smack against wood. He groaned as his head felt like it had been repeatedly struck with a hammer.
"Father, you're awake!" Robb cried out.
Opening his eyes, Eddard realized two things. First, he was in a wagon and second, he was not alone. Pressed up against him was a panting direwolf that was looking at him in what appeared to be confusion.
A small part of his mind shut down at his proximity to the apex predator and his helplessness in the situation. He groaned again before recovering enough to speak to his son.
"How close are we to Winterfell, Robb," he asked.
Robb smiled while holding a wolf pup in his arms and said, "Not far, father. We'll see the gates once we cross over this hill."
'Seven hells,' Eddard thought as he pulled himself upright.
"Robb, can you get my horse?" he asked.
His son looked like he wanted to question him but thought better of it before nodding and riding off. Less than a minute later, his horse was next to the wagon and he gingerly pulled himself up into the saddle. The next fifteen minutes were some of the worst of his life. Each step his horse took sent a throbbing pain through his brain. Eventually, they crossed through the gates and for the first time, he realized that it was just before dusk.
Riding up to the great keep, he dismounted and briefly gave orders to his steward, Vayon Poole, to have the Maester do what he could to help the wolf in the wagon, and to have a room in the keep cleared out for the direwolf and her pups. He missed his stewards astonished face as he dragged himself up through the keep to his chamber. Quickly disrobing, he cuddled up next to his bemused wife on their bed before falling asleep.