I know I said I probably would not update until next week. But I have elected to procrastinate from studying for my Astrophysics exam. I thought this was a better use of my time. At first, I thought of splitting this into two chapters, but I promised all things to be addressed at the next update, and I keep my word.

There have been questions about the fandom on which the story is labeled. This is only an issue on Fanfiction, and not in Ao3. For some reason, this site prevents me from including all the wanted characters in the tags, or the relationships which is why I have been swapping between the show and the series. I have fiddled with it as much as I can, but perhaps I shall switch it to the show permanently. Understand that it has been causing me as much annoyance as it is to some of you.

298 AC

Robb

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die. Should you have any last words, speak them now, or may you forever keep them."

"I know I broke my oath. And I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them. But I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell 'em I'm no coward. Tell 'em I'm sorry."

His father just looked at the man before nodding once in acceptance.

Robb had watched as his father execute a number of deserters of the Night's Watch. This was not the first time he had done so, but this time it was different. Robb had always held true to father's belief that no matter how wrong a person was, it was important to show respect even in the face of death. This deserter was different though. Ser Rodrik mentioned that the young man had eyes of a grizzled veteran.

The deserter's mumblings and terrified demeaner was different than most, warning of things to come that hadn't come for thousands of years. In the face of death, men can become mad. Robb elected not to think too much of it. There were more important matters to deal with.

His father's party, made up of Lord Stark, himself, Edwyle, Sansa, Arya, and Bran, along with Ser Rodrik and a company of men, began to travel back to the great castle of the North.

Robb had hung back to carry on conversations with young Arya.

"I am glad that you did not look away, you and Bran should be proud of yourselves. Father would have known if you looked away."

Arya, normally a young child with the energy of a wild stallion, was very morose. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"It made me feel ill Robb."

"Good. Only a monster does not feel when they see death." He tried comforting his sister. "Remember that feeling Arya. You and Sansa are being taught the blade, but remember, true power comes not from taking a life, but knowing when to."

Arya, the youngster, seemed to try and think on this advice as her face scrunched up in thought.

Good. Better she think on that than continue to see the execution every time she closes her eyes.

Robb himself had become more reflective as of late. Last year, he married Dacey Mormont, now Lady Dacey Stark. They had built a small friendship during the beginning of the union, small, but it was built on a solid foundation. Since then, Dacey had fallen with child, much to Robb, and his family's, excitement.

He worried constantly over her, much to her chagrin. On more than one occasion, she had to have Lord Stark escort him out of their chamber before she threw something at him from his constant hovering.

Though he truly does not care whether the child is a boy or girl, for the sake of the kingdom, he prayed for a boy. Perhaps that was wrong of him to wish. But the Stark side, the logical side that has evolved through his family for eight millennia realized that a boy would only reinforce the safety of their house. He would dote upon any daughter just as equally, but unfortunately, if history was any teacher at all, it showed repeatedly that having a possible woman as heir created hardship for all.

A disgusting thought he told himself, how could he even think of these things 'fore his child was even born…but admittedly, the Starks did not become the Kings of Winter through emotion and flagrance. They became Kings because, as he was taught by Ed, they were willing to do those things that other Houses either couldn't or wouldn't.

As the party was riding back to Winterfell, they came across a gruesome sight, the party stopped. Riding up from the back, Robb rode until he caught up with his father and the Cassels. He opened his mouth to speak, wondering why they had stopped before he shut it at the obvious event.

Before the party, in the middle of the road, lay a dead stag, its entrails pouring out. Dismounting from his horse, Robb walked slowly forward, to come up just behind his father.

"Mountain lion?" Edwyle guessed.

No one spoke for an instant. Finally their father responded, not quite paying attention to either of them, apparently more focused on the scene. "There's no mountain lions in these woods."

The party looked around for a quiet time until they heard the distinct sound of steel being drawn from its scabbard. All at once, those in the front of the party turned sharply with their hands on their own blades. Father had withdrawn his arming sword, having apparently found something, before continuing, he looked back at a couple guards.

"Stay with my daughters and Bran. Ser Rodrik, stay with 'em. Ser Jory, sons, come with me."

Eddard

He had found faint marks of bloods leading away for the body of the dead deer. He led his sons and captain through the woods, slowly.

He then heard it. Eddard though that until the day he died, he would never forget that first sound. A low, and terrible growling. Turning slowly, he looked up. What he saw made his blood freeze. There before him was a truly massive animal. It had the appearance of a wolf, but its size…its size was all wrong. And in the underbrush, shadowed from the sun, its eyes practically glowed in the darkness.

"Stop!" He quietly but urgently shouted at his sons and captain. "Do not. Make. A move."

His Captain and his sons stopped where they were. Eddard, despite knowing this was what you shouldn't do, couldn't resist looking directly into the eyes of this creature.

"A direwolf!" He heard Jory say in wonder.

But he wasn't concerned about that now. He kept contact with the wolf. He couldn't understand it. He felt strange, he felt…wrong. His eyes were still focused, but the surroundings, the trees, the earth, the soft wind, it became…twisted, as if he had been under the influence of some strong ale. But the eyes, the eyes were dead focused. Neither he nor the wolf's eyes left one another. The growling began to grow in volume, and he knew then, this might be it. A warrior strong he was, not against a creature this size, not a wolf which reached the heights of a fully grown war horse.

He thought of his family. His home. He pictured each of his children. Hopefully they'll be able to run away while the creature is…focusing on me. He tried to picture each of their faces in his mind as he kept eyes contact with the wolf. But he noticed a change.

After each successive imagined image of his children that he went through, the volume of the wolf's growling lowered. After he finished thinking of baby Rickon, he finally closed his eyes. The direwolf had stopped growling but he could hear it stalk forward, ever, ever so slowly.

She-wolf

Safe. Cubs. Hunger-sated. Smell? Human? Noise. Hide! Quiet. Stalk. Man-blood. Blades…man-fear! Seen! Focus. Warn. My cubs!...Man-own-cubs? Eyes…eyes…eyes. Wolf-man! Trusted? Long-time-since-trust. Wolf-man-trust? Cubs-of-wolf. Wolf-man-accept?

Find. Find-trust. The she-wolf slowly rose from her own cubs. Stalking forward to sniff the man. Man has cubs. Sniff cubs. Wolf-man-cubs-scared. Trust? Trust-gone-since-Children. The she-wolf realized her predicament. No-choice. Trust-need. Cubs-of-wolf-man-and-cubs-of-mine. Wolf-pack-made-new? Wolf-pack-made-new!

Eddard

What happened next surprised him even more, the she-wolf, after sniffing at both him, and his frozen sons, stopped at Jory, and began to growl at him, but only him.

"Jory." He spoke softly but with a measure of urgency. "Slowly, back away, return to the party, but do not send any more assistance.

Jory seemed to hesitate. "Go! Now."

As if he was covered in molasses, Jory started to take a step back, then another, then another. He remained facing forward until he left the small group.

The she-wolf stopped growling after he left. She turned and looked back at him again. She did the most unexpected thing; she nudged his hand and began to walk back to where she had been originally. She stopped before looking back at him expectedly. She wants me to follow her.

Taking small steps, he began to follow the she-wolf. He realized why she wanted him to. Back in the small crevasse that she had been hiding lay an entire litter of newborn direwolves.

Robb

He and Edwyle remained planted where they were. This was until their father called out to them. Looking at each other, both the brothers looked forward and began to make their way over to him. In their Lord father's hands, was a direwolf pup, there were others still on the ground. He gave the first two to him, picked up to more and handed them to Edwyle, and carried the last two himself. The she-wolf just looked on. Her head followed father's hands every time he bent down to retrieve the cubs.

"Come, let us continue." His father ordered and motioned them to turn back. The three of them trudged back to the road, with the she-wolf following up behind them. When they made it to the road, they found the party in defensive formations. Ser Jory, Ser Rodrik, and his sister Sansa standing on the road while the Arya and Bran remained on their mounts.

"My lord!" Jory shouted. "Careful!"

All the guards tensed at such a massive beast.

"Calm! Calm yourselves! These are direwolves! These are my children's direwolves!"

"Mi' lord…is that wise?" Ser Rodrik questioned.

"Perhaps not. But…I don't know how to explain it. They are ours and we are theirs." His father turned back to the she-wolf and made eye contact again. Time seemed to slow for a moment before resuming once his father nodded at the wolf.

"What about the she-wolf mi' lord?" Jory asked.

His father looked back up. "She shall be mine." He declared simply.

"What are you naming yours!" Arya asked Robb excitedly. All the unpleasantness earlier in the day, seemingly forgotten at the discovery of the direwolves.

Robb had chosen a cub which had a dark, grey coat. "I think…I think Grey Wind is perfect."

Arya smiled widely. "That is good! This-" She held up her own cub. "-is Nymeria!"

"Ah! A good, warrior woman. You've chosen well sister!" Arya smiled at the recognition.

Sansa was equally ecstatic at having a direwolf pup. She was nearly inconsolable when father, who had given her the cub to hold before they set off, took it back to out in one of his saddlebags. She had elected to call her pup 'Lady.' Lady was grey like his own, but a lighter shade, almost like old-bone grey. It was an attractive coloring. And the name fit well. Though only a pup still, it seemed the most well behaved.

Bran's pup was closer in color to Grey Wind, but instead of a dark grey, it was more…reflective, almost silver-like. Bran decided to call his pup 'Blizzard.'

Edwyle's wolf was the most interesting. It seemed to have an albino coloring to it. It unlike the yellow-gold eyes of most of the pups, his cub seemed to have a deep red color to them. Edwyle decided to name his cub 'Phantom.' Robb admitted that it was a great name. Phantom never once made a noise, not so much as a whimper, totally and unequivocally quiet.

They had yet to give the last cub to Rickon, but they all, without speaking, came to to the understanding to allow him to name him when he got older. It was only fair.

What a day.

And it was still a long way to closing too. After all, none other than King Robert was to arrive today.

Sansa

Today's the day. Sansa thought to herself. Robert I Baratheon would arrive in Winterfell to name her father as the Hand of the King. Oh of course there was no mention of this, but Sansa was not the stupid child that her brothers oft thought of her as. The King and his entire retinue would not travel the breadth of the entire Realm after nine years of not seeing her father just for the hell of it.

I'll have to work on that. Swearing did not suit her. Before she was ever instructed in the tiltyard, she had been a budding Southern flower, she would be the first to recognize this. However, just because she still liked to sew and sing and learn of a lady's responsibilities, did not mean that Arya and her brother did not begin to rub off on her either.

Much to her amazement, Sansa had discovered that she was a promising swordsman. Most within the household assumed she would focus and excel at a more…womanly activity of archery. But to the surprise of many, she found that not only was she good, but took an active interest on blades. Sure, she wasn't as good as either Robb or Edwyle, almost always losing, but neither was she completely useless. Much to her pride, her brothers once remarked that with practice, she could become a truly skilled swordswoman. Perhaps using a sword is not far from using a needle for sewing.

Much to her happiness, Robb's wife began to open up to her. When Lady Dacey first arrived in Winterfell, she was, at the worst of times, cold toward her. But as soon as Sansa began to train with weapons, Dacey began to slowly open up to her. Now, she could safely say that Dacey was a very good friend. It was through Dacey that Sansa and Arya managed to begin reconciling their previous belief that they were incompatible as siblings.

And not even thinking about the past months. Today! What a day today had been! She managed to keep watching as her father executed the man today. It had been the first time she had seen death like that. After the deed, she walked behind her steed and…well she expelled a great portion of her morning meal. When she had recovered, she was glad nobody noticed until she saw Edwyle looking at her concerned. Instead of a smirk, all Ed did was offer kind eyes and a nodding of understanding. She was glad he did not call great attention to it.

But now she enjoyed time with her Lady, such a cute little pup!

Eddard

Besides the unscheduled start to their day, his household was awaiting in the courtyard for the arrival of his boyhood friend.

To his left stood his dear wife and to her left was young Rickon, old enough to walk, but still quite a young child.

To his right stood his son and heir, Robb. Gods how he's proud of him. Next to Robb stood his wife, using one arm linked with Robb while her other was cradling her grown belly. Shouldn't be too long to it now. He thought about the birthing day. Maester Luwin informed her that she was already at least eight months along by this point.

To his gooddaughter's right was his eldest son and daughter, Edwyle and Sansa. Though she wore a dress, through her training, her build managed to make her appearance look more…exotic, like that of Visenya come again. After Sansa was Arya, bobbing up and down in excitement. At the end, was Brandon, trying not to look bored. I don't blame him, probably just wants to have fun.

His focus was brought back to the courtyard as the first riders came through. The first were some Lannister guards and a Kingsguard. Followed by some flagbearers and other riders. Then, he appeared.

Gods…what in the hells has he turned into?

Gone was the Robert Baratheon of old. In his place, rode a great, wide man. His face flushed and his unkept beard no doubt covering the rolls of fat on his neck. As he rode through, he kneeled, the rest of his family and household followed suit.

The yard was quiet as Robert let out a deep breathe from dismounting his horse. Eddard was saddened to hear that. For all the disagreements he had with Robert. And by the gods, there were many. He was still his first boyhood friend. He was still the man who he made so many pleasant memories within the Eyrie. He was still the man who started a rebellion against their tyrannical overlord.

Trudging up to him, Eddard just saw his boots and lower legs, then, with flick of Robert's fingers, he rose, his household following behind him.

He made eye contact with Robert for the first time in near a decade. There was a certain tension he noted.

"Your Grace."

Robert did not immediately answer him. Then, with a frown: "You've got fat." He declared.

The yard became ever so silent. He could feel his Lady wife's eyes bulge and he sensed the tension in Robb and his other, older children.

Eddard looked down at Robert's own belly.

Then his King's frown became as shining smile. Robert began laughing like there was no tomorrow. There's the Robert I know. At Robert's initiative, they embraced each other in a bearhug. He could hear the chuckles of the older members of his household, Ser Rodrik, Ser Jory, and some other grizzled veterans from the Rebellion. It appeared the younger members, who had never known the King, seemed to play it safe and remain quiet, though both Robb and Edwyle smirked.

Leaving his arms, Robert turned to his right and greeted Cat. "Cat!" before he too embraced her, just as rough as he did to him, much to the surprise and mild pain of his wife. At young Rickon, he simply ruffled the boy's hair before moving back down the line in front of him.

"Nine years! Why haven't I seen you, where the hell have you been?"

"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace, Winterfell is yours." He smiled. At this point, he noted that the Queen had left the wheelhouse. Continuing down the line, Robert stood before Robb.

"What have we here? You must be Robb!" His eldest extended his hand at the King's offered one. "Strong grip! You've out done yourself with this one Ned!" Robert shouted back at him. He looked at his gooddaughter next.

"And you must be young Robb's wife. No doubt carrying a strong Northerner!" Dacey thanked him politely. Before moving down, Robert leaned closer to Robb. "Well done with that one lad!" he meant it as a whisper…but there was a reason that no battle led by Robert was a surprise one. He only had one level; loud. To his private displeasure, his comment made Dacey blush slightly. Really Robert? In front of your own queen?

Robert finished making his introduction with the remaining children before finally speaking to him again.

"Take me to your crypts. I want to pay my respects." Robert demanded gruffly. Gone was the tone of joy and aloofness.

During the time of meeting his children, Eddard had greeted the cold queen as per custom. After Robert's demand, he looked at the queen. She was as terse as stone.

"We've been riding for a month my love. Surely the dead can wait." Though there was no warmth in her tone.

Eddard had never seen Robert look so enraged at anyone before. But instead of saying anything. Robert just turned back to him. "Ned." He stalked off, leaving no argument for the decision.

He came down here once a month. At least he tried to, time permitting. He always brought fresh winter roses with him. Robert was amongst the few that have ever been given access to the Stark Crypts that wasn't a Stark themselves.

They found themselves before his late sister's tomb. It was unusual for anyone but the Lords of Winterfell themselves to be buried here, but at his orders, tombs for his brother and sister were crafted, alongside their father.

"She shouldn't be here; she should be on a hill. Where the winds blow and the sun shines."

He sighed at Robert's comment. "She was a Stark, Your Grace. She belongs amongst her ancestors."

Robert looked to disagree, but realizing their present location, apparently decided against arguing it. People always thought him to be a drunken fool. Perhaps he was, but he certainly wasn't dumb. Contrary to his behavior, Robert was raised right alongside of him in the Eyrie, he was wild, no doubt, but he was still given the same education.

"I see her every time I sleep Ned."

He did too. He closed his eyes in an effort to remember a better memories. He was unable to.

Ned remembered riding up to the Tower of Joy, gods what a terrible name. With Willam, Martyn, Howland, Ethan, Theo, and Mark; Eddard approached the tower. Before him stood three members of the Kingsguard. Sers Gerold Hightower, Oswell Whent, and Arthur Dayne.

"Lord Stark." Ser Gerold opened.

"I looked for you on the Trident."

"We weren't there." Ser Arthur responded. The Kingsguard possessed a unity to them, as if they all spoke for each other.

"Your friend, the Usurper, would lie beneath the ground dead, had we been." Ser Oswell continued.

"The Mad King is dead! Rhaegar lies beneath the ground. Why weren't you there to protect your Prince?"

"Our Prince wanted us here!" Ser Gerold roared back, but not in a confrontational manner, but in a definitive one.

Then the screams. He heard the screams then. Oh if they only let him pass than, he bitterly thought. I only ever wanted Lyanna back.

"Where's my sister."

Instead of answering, the knights put their helms on. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."

"And now it begins." Ser Arthur commented.

"No…now, it ends."

The following combat had been numbing for all. he lost many a good companion during that fight. Ser Gerold had perished first. A good knight, aye, but against a gang of five…it was inevitable. Ser Oswell fell next, he was the least skilled, but he possessed great heart and loyalty. Ser Arthur was the last to fall, so close to death had it not been for Howland.

After, he ran up the tower, taking great strides of many steps to reach the top as fast as possible. He remembered when he opened the door. The stench of death and blood. He was sued to the smell by now, but due to being in a woman's chamber, it was ever so perverse and addled.

"Ned?" He had heard. So faint, he barely heard it. Rushing around a hanging blanket, he saw his sister, laying in a bed with dried and fresh blood.

"Ned? Is that you Ned? Tell me this is no dream?" She begged ever so sadly. "Nay, Lya, I'm here. This is no dream."

"Protect her Ned! Protect her!" She implored with her remaining strength; she didn't have long left. "My little Jaehaerya."

He did not understand, until a wetnurse held a newborn babe in front of him. It wasn't breathing. Looking at the nurse, she looked down in sadness.

"Protect her! Don't let Robert kill her!" Every time she spoke, she became softer and softer. He didn't have it in him to tell her that her only child was already dead. Damned Rhaegar got what he wanted, a damned daughter for his bullshit prophecy…it only cost the realm a war and over half his family.

"Promise me Ned, promise me." Barely a whimper at that point.

"I…I…I promise Lya." She nodded once and then breathed her last. He reached up and closed her eyes. "Go." He said, tears unrelenting. "Join father and Brandon." He smiled sadly, imagining their reunion, wherever they may be.

He refocused himself and saw himself in the very crypts again. Robert was just staring at the statue, paying him no mind.

He refused to dwell on the past events for now. It was time to get down to business.

"Robert. Why are you here?"