That night the banquet was in full swing, the Northmen pulling out all the stops to make their honoured guests feel welcome in Winterfell. King Robert and his Baratheon men were enjoying themselves immensely, booming as loud as the Northmen with each cup of ale or wine. The Kingsguard stood at intervals, their golden armour and white cloaks making them stick out a mile amidst the more plain greys and blacks of the Northern clothes, but most of them did not seem to be enjoying themselves. Ser Meryn Trant stared contemptuously around the hall, his cold cruel eyes lingering on several of the young maidens either serving the guests or sitting around the tables gossipping. Lannister men-at-arms were not present, instead taking to their makeshift barracks and more 'civilised' talk and company; the redcloaks, as they were known, had not endeared themselves to the people of Winterfell by stalking about in pairs with their noses in the air, acting like they were so much better. It was not an attitude welcomed by the Northerners, and already two had nearly gotten into a scuffle with some Stark guards when they made ribald remarks about a passing girl who happened to be the sister of one of the Stark men; only the fact that the Westerlands men were their guests stopped the man from running them through. Lord Eddard was not at the high table, but Lady Catelyn was, trying vainly to make polite conversation with Queen Cersei whose cold rebuffals were starting to grate on Catelyn's nerves. Lounging against the wall with a look of cool detachment was Jaime Lannister, the Queen's twin brother and also a Kingsguard. Cersei's attention seemed focused largely on him, but he was looking over to where Ned was talking with a younger man in black; Benjen Stark, his younger brother and member of the Night's Watch. They were discussing the ranger Ned had executed, and the gravity of his warnings.
"He rode out with two others, Gared and Ser Waymar Royce. They're still missing.", Benjen said.
"He spoke of seeing White Walkers. I wanted to dismiss it as madness, excuses and such, but I just can't shake the feeling he was right. Winter is coming, but is something else coming with it?", Ned replied.
"The wildlings have been more restless of late. More and more are coming south towards the Wall. Hunter tribes, gatherer tribes, fishing, ice and forest. Even Thenns. Thenns, Ned! They're famous for never leaving that valley of theirs yet those brothers who return swear they've seen them milling around. Look scared out of their minds, too, and what could possibly scare Thenns?", Benjen said.
"I'll raise the issue with Robert. He'll be here a while anyway, regardless of whether or not I agree to his request.", said Ned.
"Will you? If winter is coming bearing darkness with it, I think it best to have the Stark remain in Winterfell. You belong in the North, Ned.", Benjen said.
"Mmm. Well, we can talk about that later. For now, let's enjoy the feast."
But before Ned could return to the high table, he found his way blocked by the imposing, chiseled and blond figure of the Kingslayer.
"Lord Stark.", Jaime said with an obsequious little bow.
"Ser Jaime.", Ned responded politely.
Jaime's eyebrows rose slightly.
"What? Not Kingslayer?", he asked.
"Not right now. Perhaps later.", Ned responded.
"Oh. Yes, plenty of opportunities to spar in the capital. If you accept the offer, that is."
"Spar verbally or with a blade?"
"Depends on my mood and the location."
"Mmm. Well, I hope you're enjoying Winterfell."
Jaime cast his eyes around the Great Hall.
"Well, it's not Casterly Rock but it does have a certain charm about it. For starters, everyone I run into doesn't piss about with fancy words but gets right to the point.", Jaime said.
"The North is not much for small talk. More important things to draw breath for."
"Quite. One thing I can never stomach is listening to all those lords and nobles fawning over the king and taking hours to get to the bloody point of things."
"Perhaps we share something in common, then, Kingslayer."
"Perhaps we do, Lord Stark."
They parted with their enmity somewhat lessened. Not buried, but lessened. Sansa was talking to Myrcella and Jeyne Poole, the daughter of WInterfell's steward Vayon Poole, whilst Tommen sat and laughed with Bran, Jojen and Rickon. Cersei was watching them like a hawk, her gaze possibly trying to spear the Northern children speaking with her own brood.
"Young Myrcella and Tommen seem to be enjoying themselves here.", Catelyn said.
"It would seem so.", Cersei replied.
"My son told me that he had a lot of fun with Tommen."
"Yes. If by fun, you mean rolling around in the dirt like savages."
Catelyn bristled at this.
"It is simply what boys do at that age. Gods know, I try to tell them otherwise but they are willful and stubborn children.", she said, her voice with an edge like ice to it now.
"Not my boys. They were raised to be royal, to know their place in the world.", Cersei replied.
Catelyn's insides were burning with rage now, and she decided any further stabs at conversation would be to risk her self-control. But Cersei was feeling spiteful and since her hated dwarf brother Tyrion was not here she was looking for another outlet. And as her eyes found Bran and Jojen, she found it.
"Your son seems awfully close and…. affectionate with that boy. What's his name?", she asked.
"Jojen Reed, your Grace. Son of Lord Howland Reed, of the crannogmen who inhabit the Neck.", Catelyn replied, sensing where this might be going.
"I see. Well, in the south we would find it unseemly. If a boy showed certain proclivities like that, it would cast doubt upon the character of his family and house. Pity for you."
Catelyn stood up abruptly, her heavy wooden chair making a loud noise as it scraped along the stone floor. Several heads jumped up to see why.
"Excuse me.", Catelyn said stonily.
And she left the high table. Ned was talking to Jory Cassel, but the young captain left at her approach. Ned clearly saw her anguish and they stepped outside for some clear night air.
"Ned, I'm sorry but this is becoming more difficult to bear by the minute.", she said.
"I know, Cat. We've extended them guest right, but the Lannister entourage aren't exactly making themselves out to be polite guests. You know young Harken nearly gutted one of those redcloaks for making advances towards his sister?", Ned replied.
"I heard vaguely about that. But it is the Queen herself who is the most difficult. I just endured her making remarks about Bran's relationship with the Reed boy that would turn your stomach. To speak of a host's family in such a manner."
Ned remembered the earlier incident when they arrived, the remarks the Lannister queen had made about his late sister and how the anger had risen in him like lava. But there was something about the queen that he did not know, but he'd never felt such hatred towards any person before; not even the Mad King for killing his father and brother, or Rhaegar for stealing his sister away. The oldest boy, Joffrey, as well was someone he did not like though he did not know why. Robert had proposed betrothing Joffrey to Sansa and though Sansa herself had shown some eagerness, Ned was not so sure. The boy might have been handsome, aye, but there was something about his inner nature that Ned was sure would make him an inadequate husband to his daughter. But best to save those concerns for the next day; it would be an early rise, for Robert wished to go hunting for some game. A cold wind blew through the courtyard and Ned shivered even though he was wearing padded clothing. Cat felt it too, and drew closer to him.
"Brrr! Ned, did you feel that? Chilled me right down to my bones, that did.", she said.
"Me as well. There is an unnatural chill in the air.", Ned replied.
As one, they both turned in the direction the cold wind had blown from; north. They knew they were looking towards the Wall, even though it was many miles away, but Ned sensed that the wind itself came from far beyond it. Far, far beyond the Wall. Benjen's words came back to him and he shivered again. Catelyn shivered and drew in closer to him.
"The wind is very cold tonight, Ned, but I don't think that's what makes me shudder.", she said.
"I know, Cat. There is something else here.", Ned said.
A whispering came on the wind to him, making him prick up his ears. It seemed to be coming from the godswood.
"Cat? Do you hear that?", he asked.
"What?", she replied.
"A voice on the wind, like the wind through the trees.", he said.
"I….. Wait, yes, I do.", Catelyn replied.
She inclined her head, listening.
"It's coming from the godswood. I swear by both old and new, something's calling in there."
Hand in hand, Ned and Catelyn walked towards the godswood, which was in darkness. They called for guards to bring torches and walked in with them held high in front of them. The whisperings got louder as they approached the weirwood, the white bark stark in the torchlight. Ned peered at it closely, then gave a yell and started back violently, causing several guards to draw their swords reflexively.
"What is it, Ned?", Catelyn asked.
"The face! The face in the tree, it's changed!", he said.
True enough, when they shone their torches at it they saw that the old face, which had had a melancholy expression for as long as anyone could remember, had indeed changed. The mouth had twisted into a scowl, one of irritation but not anger, and fresh sap had spurted from the right eye. Ned bent in closer to examine it and saw something glinting in the bark. He pulled it out and, seeing what it was in the torchlight, let out a strangled yell.
"What is it?", Catelyn asked.
"A bit off a sword. Someone stabbed the tree!", Ned said, his fury palpable.
Had this happened when she was new to Winterfell, Catelyn might have wondered why her husband was so angry over a tree. But she knew how sacred the tree was to the Old Gods, and a wave of fury rose in her as well; though they seemed strange and alien to her, the Old Gods were important to her husband and her children and they had at least allowed her into their midst, if not outright welcomed her.
"Who?", she said.
"Lord Stark?", called a voice.
One of the guards was straightening, holding up a long object that looked bent and twisted. Ned and Catelyn hurried over, and as the object caught the light from their torches Cat gave an exclamation.
"That's the prince's sword! I remember seeing it on him when he arrived!", she said.
"Did he have it on his belt at the feast?", Ned asked, trying to remember himself.
"I don't think so. But what happened to it?", Cat asked.
The sword's blade looked like it had been run over by a stampede of horses; crumpled like paper, no mean feat since it was the finest steel in the Seven Kingdoms, and oddly blackened and scorched as well. A bit at the tip was broken off, matching what was in Ned's hand.
"The boy stabbed the tree? Whatever for?", Ned said.
"I don't know, Ned. But judging by the state of that sword, I don't think something liked it."
They turned and looked at the frowning face carved into the bark. In the flickering light of the torches, the shadows playing about it's eyes and mouth made it look almost alive. He felt something surging through the ground beneath him, where he knew the tree's ancient and very widespread roots reached deep as they anchored it to the earth. A feeling of dread stole through him, fearing for the tree and also something else. He turned to the guards.
"Place the godswood under guard. And have two men standing by the weirwood, as well."
"Yes, Lord Stark."
He strolled out of the godswood, the ruined sword in his hands and Catelyn walking by his side.
"Do we accuse the prince?", she asked.
"No, Cat. I don't want to offend Robert, or the Queen. Her especially, since I don't want to give her any more reason to hate us."
"Then what?"
"Just bury it, for now. I think the tree made it's displeasure known, given the condition of this sword. But I'll be keeping a sharp eye on the prince for the rest of his visit."
"As will I. And what of Robert's plan to have him marry Sansa?"
"I'll see if I can derail it. All of a sudden, I don't want our daughter anywhere near him or his mother. Maybe Domeric Bolton, she seemed to like him when he visited, and he doesn't seem to be tarred with his house's history."
"I don't want him marrying her either. And Domeric did seem like a nice boy, so I see where you're going with this.
They went inside, still talking. But the matter of the weirwood still lingered in their minds even as they went to bed that night. The tree had seemed angry, restless, and there was an aura of power around it. Something had stirred in it.