There was a chill in the air, an odd stillness that unsettled him greatly. Yet he moved, his feet carried him forward. He didn't know where this was, even if it felt extremely familiar to him. He was taken to a throne room, with a throne made of ice. He stared at it, seeing figures reflected on it. The closer he got the clearer the figure got. Soon he was standing inches from it. On the backrest of the throne, a pair of cold blue eyes stared at him. Fear gripped at him. He felt himself able to move and turned to leave. The pair of blues was now behind him, with its body and all. Pale blue skin like ice, armour in all black and a crown of iron on his dark curly-haired head. "Give it back!" a high-pitched shriek pierced the silence. He felt his ears ring at the noise. The thing grabbed him by the arm and he felt the burn of the cold on his skin.
He woke with a start, falling off his bed and hitting the hard stone floor with a thud. A soft groan escaped his lips as he gripped his arm in pain. He lay on the cold stone floor for a moment, just gripping his arm and looking at the ceiling of his little house. It was night still, the silence of the town told him as much. He had a nightmare, but he wasn't sure what he had seen in it. He never remembered his nightmares. He heard a gentle knock at his door.
"Bryndon, are you alright?" a gentle voice came from the other side.
"Aye mother" the boy called out, pulling himself to sit up on the floor. "Just another nightmare!"
He heard shuffling on the other side of the door and heard the footsteps as his mother walked away. He remained on the floor for a moment longer before hoisting himself back on his bed and lying down again. He only prayed he did not have another nightmare.
[Winterfell]
Sleep came to him close to dawn, which was when he had to wake. He was late and had to rush. The rest of the men were already going through their stances by the time he had been there, and his teacher was giving him a dirty look.
"You're late again boy" the experienced Knight stated, no malice or teasing in his tone. He was serious and it made Bryndon feel guilty.
"I'm sorry Ser Rodrik" he lowered his head. The Knight said nothing else, motioning him to pick a sword and join the rest of the men. The stance practice did not go on for long and soon they were involved in one on one mock battle. Bryndon was the best of the lot, nothing new at this point. He heard many whispers while he trained and he had to roll his eyes at every last one of them. He had been hearing them ever since he'd joined as a man in arm for House Stark. Some whispered that he was the late Lord Rickard's illegitimate child, conceived from a whore right before he died. Some said he was Brandon Stark's child, the firstborn of Lord Rickard. Some said he was Ned Stark's second bastard. He wanted to scream at them to shut up and just mind their business. Sure he had the Stark look, the long face, dark hair and grey eyes, and he was born the year the war began and that he had no idea who his father was. Even his name was close to that of Brandon, a name The Starks were fond of using. But he knew he was no Stark. For one he had black curly hair, his grey eyes were more silver and his face wasn't as long as any of The Starks of Winterfell. Yet the people whispered and spread rumours. He had given up on caring about it, and The Starks themselves did not seem to care.
"Bryndon!" the man of seven and ten stopped mid-swing when he heard his name being called. He looked to the side and saw Vayon Poole, Lord Stark's steward call for him. "Lord Stark wants to see you. He says it's urgent!"
"Coming!" the man called back. He took leave of Ser Rodrik and put the sword back. All eyes were on him as he walked away. The way he walked, how he held himself, the way he fought, everyone that had known Brandon said that he reminded them of him. Even Lord Stark had told him that. He didn't care much about that, he didn't care about who his father was. The man was dead and there was no use thinking about him. And even if he wasn't dead, he left the woman that bore him a child to raise on her lonesome. He did not deserve Bryndon's thoughts or time.
Vayon lead him even when he didn't need to. Bryndon had been to The Lord's Solar many times before. He knew the way. Valon left when Bryndon had been dropped off. He knocked on the ironwood doors and waited for permission. The door opened and out came Lady Stark. The sapphire-eyed lady stared at him for a moment before walking away. There was no connection between him and Lady Stark, she'd rather not deal with him at all. Maybe she believed the rumours and did not want anything to do with him, like how she is with Jon Snow.
He ignored her and looked inside the room. Lord Stark was sat on his chair and when the man saw him he urged him to come in. "Your mother told me you had a nightmare last night" he began and Bryndon had to hold back a groan of annoyance. His mother had been ordered to tell Lord Stark about any such thing. But he still felt annoyed about it.
"It was one of those that I couldn't remember. The ones that make me cold" he explained simply. It wasn't the first time he had to explain such nightmares. Lord Stark nodded to that information. The man leaned back and from somewhere on the other side of his desk he pulled out a piece of parchment and pushed it towards him.
"Your last vision came true. The Hand is dead and The King is making his way down North" he explained. Bryndon felt a pang of hurt towards his Lord. The Hand was like a father to him, practically family. He knew how hurt he would be if anything happened to his mother.
"I'm sorry for your loss my Lord" Bryndon said softly. Lord Stark simply smiled and stood. He moved to the window behind him and looked out from it.
"Such is life, you never know whose time comes when" the man intoned. "But that is not why I brought you here. You have served me well Bryndon. Ser Rodrik has good things to say about how you fight and you have served me well when I needed your counsel. Tell me, who should The Dreadford go to? Knowing Robert he'd want it to have a Lord or something."
The Dreadford, a shudder ran down his spine at the thought about that place. That was how Bryndon and Lord Stark had come in contact. He was a little over ten when he had one of those nightmares that he actually remembered. He saw a boy a little older than him flaying a man. He wasn't sure who either of them was, nor did he know the other men present there. But he did know that the place they were doing it was close and that if he acted swiftly he could save the man. At that point, he had many smaller ones so he knew this was nothing to ignore. It was a chore to get the guards to let him enter, in the end, he wasn't allowed in. But the noise he made had gotten the attention of many people, including Lord Stark who had been on his way back from the crypts. He had gotten his chance to speak and when he did, Lord Stark had listened. He admitted later on that it was the conviction in his eyes that had convinced him over the claims of dreams. It reminded him of his older brother Brandon.
That night The Stark men had captured one Ramsay Snow who had dared to flay close to Stark borders. And through him, they were able to get to Roose Bolton who had been exposed by his lowborn son. Both had been executed and The Dreadford had fallen under Stark jurisdiction, and it had remained as such since.
"The simple answer would be one of your three sons. Robb would be inheriting Winterfell, so the choice is between Bran and Rickon" he stated calmly. "But if not them, someone who has been loyal to you, a house sworn to your House. A lesser House which has remained loyal to your House for a long time."
Ned smiled slightly as he turned back to him. "I will think about what you have said" he stated. "Prepare yourself should I fail to convince The King in my election. I will require someone with your skills in a fight and someone with your abilities near me."