Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones characters in the story or from the novel, A Song of Ice and Fire. Only the OCs included are mine and any original plots.


Chapter 2: The Stag King

News of the Royal concession coming up to Winterfell had made the castle even busier as everybody worked to get the place fit for the king, and the month that followed was the busiest that Brynden could remember since the first week of his father being away fighting in the Iron Islands. The weeks went by and soon enough it was almost time for the King to arrive, and the elder lads were told to head to the barbers by the matriarch of House Stark.

"Why is your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the King?" Jon asked his brothers with a frown on his face.

"It's for the Queen, I reckon." Theon answered with a smirk. "I hear she's a sleek bit of mink."

"They do say that Cersei Lannister is the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms." Robb told them and Brynden clicked his teeth.

"They say that about every single fucking Queen in history. Though I suppose King Robert would have never taken her as his wife if she wasn't attractive." A lecherous grin split his facial features as he looked up at the ceiling in thought. "I can't wait to see her royal arse shake when she walks."

Theon laughed in unison with Brynden while Robb chuckled and Jon shook his head with a small smirk on his face.

"I hear the Prince is a right royal prick." Robb spoke up once the laughter had died out. Brynden threw his head back with a groan, not liking how his elder brother had changed the subject.

"We're talking about the Queen's arse, not her fucking son!"

Robb sent him a sideways glance, his lips curling up into a smirk of amusement. "No, you were talking about the Queen's arse. The rest of us are trying to have a dignified conversation."

Brynden shrugged with a wide grin. "Fair enough, big brother. We'll table my discussion for another time."

"Think of all those Southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick." Theon added and Brynden elbowed his friend playfully.

"More than you at least, Greyjoy." Theon returned the gesture with a smirk of his own.

"You sure about that, Stark?" After a minute or more of bantering with his brothers and friend, Robb and Brynden pushed Jon into the barber's chair and patted his shoulders.

"Go on, Tommy shave him good." The heir of Winterfell addressed the barber. "Jon's never met a girl he's liked more than his own hair."


Robb Stark stood proudly next to their lord father, waiting for the arrival of the Royal Family and their household. However, deep within, he couldn't help but worry for the King's reasons to come this far north. He glanced at his father and saw the weary look on his face; almost as if he were dreading this visit. His attention then shifted to his right where his younger brother was supposed to be standing between him and Sansa. He sighed when he realized that Brynden was going to once again be in trouble with their lord father. He seemed to be finding himself in trouble a lot lately and he had no one to blame but himself. Though at least it wasn't as often as when he was thirteen.

The heir of Winterfell couldn't mull over the whereabouts of his brother for long as the conch horn blew, signaling the arrival of the Royal Family.

One by one, members of the King's household streamed in. Robb instantly recognized Ser Barristian Selmy, also known Barristian the Bold who was one of the greatest fighters the Seven Kingdoms despite his old age. Robb stared at the esteemed warrior with awe and admiration which slowly turned to disappointment when he saw the Crown Prince make his entrance.

Joffrey Baratheon was no warrior, nor would he ever be; Robb was sure of that. A scrawny boy carrying himself as if he were a god amongst men. His garbs were colored red and gold; the colors of House Lannister which made it clear to Robb that he was placing the Lannisters on equal footing with House Baratheon. What truly irked Robb about Joffrey was the look he sent to Sansa; a flirtatious look if Robb had ever seen one. Seeing Sansa return his gaze with a loving one of her own only served to drive him deeper into rage

"Sorry, sorry, pardon me, fuck you Greyjoy." A voice mumbled in the background and seconds later, Brynden pushed himself in between Sansa and Robb, sending his annoyed red-head sister a playful wink before turning to Robb. He seemed slightly out of breath and his dark brown hair was disheveled.

"What did I miss?" The sixteen year old whispered to his elder brother who kept his eyes in front of him, though he was relieved that his younger brother showed up. At least his scolding wouldn't be as harsh now.

"Not much. Where were you?" Brynden chuckled silently as he straightened himself, facing the front as well.

"Had to feed a hungry little kitten, big brother." Robb rolled his eyes at his brother's suggestive remark. "Now, please tell me that scrawny blond puke isn't the Crown Prince."

Any response Robb had come up with died in his throat when the King himself rode into the courtyard.

Their lord father had painted quite the picture for Robert Baratheon. A fierce warrior and leader who led an army to overthrow the Mad King. The warrior who crushed the life out of Rhaegar Targaryen with his mighty war hammer. A warrior touted as the 'Demon of the Trident'. Robb believed that there was a time the King had been all that but now it seemed he had grown quite...soft around the middle.

Robb, Brynden and the rest of Winterfell's household followed his father's example and fell down to one knee as was the common way to greet a King. They rose once King Robert bid them to and for a moment all was silent as the Stag King stared hard at the Quiet Wolf of the North.

"You got fat." King Robert finally spoke, his voice blunt. Robb couldn't help but hold his breath as his father raised his eyebrows and gave the king a look. The tense atmosphere immediately evaporated after that as King Robert broke into laughter and embraced the Warden of the North warmly.

Robb released the breath he had been holding and watched as his lord father and King Robert spoke to each other.

"12 years!" The King's voice boomed throughout the courtyard. "Why haven't I seen you for 12 years? Where have you been and what the fuck have you been doing?"

"I've been guarding the North for you, your grace." Was Eddard's swift reply. "Winterfell is yours."

It was then that Robb noticed a carriage enter the courtyard and from it, emerged the Queen, Cersei Lannister, with her daughter, Myrcella and youngest son, Tommen. Robb had to admit that, despite his wariness of the Lannisters, the rumors of the Queen's beauty were true, and something Brynden would no doubt be pleased about.

"You must be Robb." The heir of Winterfell blinked twice before he realized the king was now standing in front of him with his hand held out. Masking his face with a stony expression; one worthy of a Lord, Robb took the king's hand and shook it firmly whilst nodding. King Robert grinned at him in return before heading down the line to greet his younger brother.

"Brynden Stark, I presume. By the Gods! You're the spitting image of your uncle Brandon! But you have your mother's eyes." The King exclaimed as he laid eyes on Brynden, who grinned, the confidence just oozing out of him.

"So, I've been told, Your Grace." King Robert chortled at his words as the two firmly shook hands before heading down the line to greet the rest of the Stark children.

"My Queen." Robb glanced at his father who greeted the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms with a kiss to her hand. Cersei Lannister smiled but Robb could tell that it was faked. The smile was displayed once more when his mother formally curtsied in greeting.

"Ned, take me to your crypts. I wish to pay my respects." King Robert's voice boomed throughout the courtyard. Eddard was about to heed his command when Queen Cersei interrupted them.

"We have been travelling for well over a month, my love." The Lannister woman purred with false sweetness. "Surely the dead can wait?"

She was promptly ignored.

Robb watched the Queen carefully as she shot a venomous glare at the retreating back of her husband before Arya's voice cut through the tension.

"Where's the Imp?" Robb could feel Brynden tense up from next to him, most likely in fear of the Queen's reaction. He himself had never been more frightened for his little sister than he was in that moment; when the Queen focused her murderous glare onto Arya before turning to her twin brother, Jaime Lannister, infamously known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as the Kingslayer.

"Go and find that little beast." Cersei hissed before following a Stark guard who would escort her to her room, her children in tow. Others followed her example and soon, the only ones left in the courtyard were Robb, Brynden and Jon.

"Seven Hells, that was tense." Brynden breathed out, finally breaking the silence which had befallen.

"Was the Queen to your liking, brother?" Robb asked as the group of three began to make their way into the castle and Brynden grinned wolfishly.

"I must say she was indeed. Perhaps she'll let me warm her bed sometime." The sixteen year old joked and his brothers laughed alongside him.

"...The King wasn't exactly what I expected." Jon confessed once the laughter died out.

"Aye," Robb agreed with his half-brother's words, "After all of Father's stories about him, I never thought he'd be so..."

"Fat?" Brynden offered and while his brothers didn't verbally say anything, their eyes revealed that they agreed with him.


The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. The running Direwolf of House Stark, House Baratheon's crowned Stag and the roaring Lion of House Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

Brynden was loving every single minute of the feast held in honor of King Robert. The sixteen year old sat at a table with Robb and Theon, both laughing at the seventeen year old's eccentricities. Brynden as well had a huge smile on his face as one hand was clasped around a tankard of Northern ale while the other was fondling the behind of one of the serving girls. He truly was the Wild Wolf reborn; Eddard Stark mused as his stern grey eyes warmed at the reminiscence of his late elder brother. The Wolfblood ran as strongly in Brynden as it had in Brandon.

"It seems Brynden is enjoying himself." Benjen Stark noted with a grin as he sat next to the Lord of Winterfell, eating a piece of bread. "Though, I'm surprised you've let such wild behavior continue for so long."

"This is actually tame." The Warden of the North revealed as he turned to his younger brother. "You should have seen the boy four years ago. He was worse than Brandon had ever been at that age. Arrogant with a promiscuity that could rival even Robert's. On his twelfth nameday, he lay with a serving girl and even deflowered the kennel master's daughter. Farlen was most definitely not pleased with that."

Benjen raised both eyebrows. "I knew he was a problem child but I never could have imagined that it had been that bad."

Eddard shook his head and chuckled quietly. "I knew I had to act quickly after that so I sent him to be fostered at Riverrun at Catelyn's behest. To my pleasure, Lord Hoster Tully and the Blackfish straightened the boy out as best he could and sent him back a better man, or at the very least, a somewhat tamer one. And he's not the only wild child of mine and Cat's. Arya is just as spirited as our sister was."

Benjen nodded and drained the last. "It seems you've got your hands full."

The Lord of Winterfell nodded with a small smile. "Aye, I do. Now I can finally understand the frustration Father felt when he had to deal with Brandon and Lyanna."

The two brothers sat in silence for a couple of seconds, eating bread and drinking Northern ale before the Ranger of the Night's Watch suddenly spoke up, his features turning serious. "I heard you executed another Night's Watch deserter around a month ago." Eddard nodded, slightly confused, as Benjen continued, "Did he say anything as to why he forswore his oath?"

The Warden of the North gave his brother a nod in confirmation, "Aye, he kept going on and on about the White Walkers. Why do you ask? Did you know him?"

"Aye, his name was Will. He was a good lad." Benjen's features darkened as he answered. "Winter is coming, Ned," he said vaguely and Eddard's eyes narrowed as he continued, "and I fear that this one will be the harshest yet."


The next day, the King rounded up the Lord of Winterfell and many of the other men for a hunt, Robb included. Brynden had also been invited to go but the sixteen year-old chose to decline as he was still reeling from the hangover he had been struck down with because of his heavy drinking the night prior.

Earlier this morning, Eddard informed their family that he had accepted the King's proposal for being the Hand of the King and that Sansa would be betrothed to Prince Joffrey. And after said announcement, came another; the question as to who would accompany him.

Sansa was already a given due to the fact that she was to marry the Crown Prince, which just left Brynden and his other siblings. Robb would have to stay, seeing as how he was the heir to Winterfell and was set to become its next Lord. Jon wouldn't be able to go, considering he was a bastard and wanted to join the Night's Watch. Rickon was far too young, being a little more than six. And Brynden, while he had been invited to tag along with his lord father, declined. He did not care for the South beyond the Riverlands, as his duty was to the North. In a year's time, he was due to ride for Moat Cailin. The ancient stronghold which had stood for so long as a ruin had been rebuilt to its former glory or at least a shadow of its former glory by the Warden of the North so it could serve as Brynden's seat of power. From there he would rule as Lord of the Causeway and serve as Robb's bannerman.

In the end, it was decided that Sansa, Bran and Arya would be travelling with their lord father to King's Landing.

At the moment, the second-trueborn son of Eddard Stark was sat in the Godswood with his pitch black Direwolf, Balerion, lounging at his feet. The name he had picked for his beastly companion had come from the great dragon mount of Aegon the Conqueror, Balerion the Black Dread. While Brynden had grown to detest House Targaryen for their crimes against his family, he admired their dragons who had been a symbol of their power.

Balerion was a passive animal all things considered, the sixteen year old had noticed, a stern contrast to himself; a young man wild of nature. The pitch black Direwolf was easy to train as well, having already learned to sit and not pounce on any horse or dog he deemed fit as a fine meal. He was also the second largest of his litter, the largest being Ghost, the red-eyed albino found by Jon.

Brynden's back rubbed against the smooth bark of the Weirwood tree as he cleaned his sword with the water of the lake in a manner similar to how his lord father would clean Ice. The weapon was a longsword made of a strong variety of castle forged steel. The grey metal of the sword gleamed in the sunlight as Brynden put aside the rag in his hands and rubbed his fingers over the pommel.

It was a fine piece of art, he had to admit. The black and silver steel snaked in and out of each other down the handle and the cross guard looked like two black wolves snarling at either side. At the very bottom of the sword lay the head of a wolf, with red eyes made from shards of ruby.

The sword had been a gift from his father the day he had arrived at Winterfell from the castle of Riverrun. It had originally been gifted to his uncle Brandon on his fifteenth nameday by Brynden's maternal grandfather, Hoster Tully and had been retrieved from the Red Keep along with Ice at the end of Robert's Rebellion. The sword had never been named so Brynden decided to dub it Riversteel, to honor the Tully blood that ran through his veins along with that of the Starks. The fact that he now wielded his dead uncle's sword made Brynden laugh a little. According to everyone he had met, he was the splitting image of his late uncle. He had received the man's looks and his personality and now he would be wielding a sword which had once been handled by him. It was as if the Old Gods themselves wanted him to be a direct replica of the late Brandon Stark.

His train of thought was suddenly broken when Balerion suddenly perked his head before jumping to his feet and bounding off while barking wildly which was very unlike him. Cursing, Brynden rose to his feet, slid Riversteel into its black sheath and then broke into a sprint after his black Direwolf out of the Godswood.

Balerion ran behind the outer walls of Winterfell's holdfast and in the direction of what everyone dubbed the Broken Tower with the second-trueborn son of Eddard Stark at his heels. It was a separate piece of the castle that rose high into the air, having been abandoned long ago. No one really ventured toward it, except for Brynden and his siblings when they were younger. Bran still took to the place though, enjoying a good climb to the top, even though their mother hated the activity.

Brynden watched Balerion race for the tower, stopping short of the grey brick structure where Bran's still unnamed Direwolf pup was howling, his green eyes fixed on the tower. Brynden's brows furrowed in confusion until he spotted the crumpled body of his little brother lying in the wet grass.

"BRAN!" The sixteen year old screamed out as he dropped his longsword and rushed over to the boy. Bran lay on the ground, still and unmoving. His eyes were closed and his face paler than the summer snow. Brynden dropped to his side, his heart beating harshly in his chest as he reached out and placed a hand flat on Bran's own. He felt a slow thumping but nothing more.

Brynden's breath sped up and escaped his mouth in ragged pants. Realising that he was beginning to hyperventilate, the second son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark raised his hand to his mouth and bit down hard. It was a meditative technique he had been taught by his great-uncle and always worked wonders. Once his heart beat slowed down and his breathing went back to normal, he carefully scooped Bran into his arms and then rose to his feet before sprinting off to the main keep, Balerion and Bran's Direwolf at his heels.