Andrew
The white wolf raced through a black wood, beneath a pale cliff as tall as the sky. The moon ran with him, slipping through a tangle of bare branches overhead, across the starry sky.
"Andrew," the moon murmured in a strangely familier voice. The wolf made no answer. Snow crunched beneath his paws. The wind sighed through the trees.
Far off, he could hear his small grey cousins calling to him, but he ignored them. They were hunting too. The hills were warmer where they were, and full of food.
"Andrew," the moon called down again, gentle in his mother's voice now. The white wolf padded along the man trail beneath the icy cliff. The taste of blood was on his tongue, and his ears rang to the song of the hundred cousins. Once he had been with his mother, whimpering blind in the snow beside his dead mother, sucking cool milk from her hard dead nipples. But this one belonged to his other half, his human half.
"Andrew," the moon insisted.
The white wolf ran from it, racing toward the cave of night where the sun had hidden, his breath frosting in the air. On starless nights the great cliff was as black as stone, a darkness towering high above the wide world, but when the moon came out it shimmered pale and icy as a frozen stream. The wolf's pelt was thick and shaggy, but when the wind blew along the ice no fur could keep the chill out. The voice came from the other side where the wind was warmer, the wolf sensed. That was where the voice was, and the violet air smelled of roses.
An icicle tumbled from a branch. The white wolf turned and bared his teeth. His fur rose bristling, as the woods dissolved around him and Andrew Stark woke up upon his bed.
The room was dim, his bed soft. Grey light leaked through the shutters, showing that the day has broken just now. Andrew wriggled from under his blankets and moved to open the windows. Winterfell was calm and quiet even with all the men it hosted. Camps with different banners flying from the tents filled the outskirts of Winterfell. He could not see them all from the Great Keep but Andrew knew that it extended past Winter Town. He turned around to walk to the door just as Edric Dayne poked his head through the door. "Beg pardon," he said, "shall I fetch your grace some breakfast?"
So it is his day to wake me up today. "A bloody feast would do good," Andrew suggested. "And half a pint of ale." He was hungry for food. The dream of Ghost hunting and the taste of blood on his tongue awoke a new fit of hunger in him. Having a man fetch and serve for him still felt strange; back at Braavos, it would have been him serving food to the men at the inn when he was a young boy.
"Later, cousin," Andrew told him. "I will break my fast in the solar after meeting with the lords. And enough with this 'Your Grace' thing. We are family after all."
"Yes, my ki... Cousin," Edric said as he entered the room. "I'm glad to see you back again."
"See me alive you mean," Andrew chuckled.
"Alive," Edric said and they shared a laugh, "and good."
"You don't seem so bad yourself, coz." Andrew poured wine into two cups from his flagon on the table. "The last I saw you, I remember telling my mother that you were too little to play with."
"You wouldn't have found me so amusing then."
Andrew smiled and gave the cup of wine to his cousin. "As a babe, I never found any babes amusing besides myself. All they ever did was eat and sleep and I found it boring when I did them myself."
"It is hard to see yourself sleeping and getting annoyed because of it."
Andrew took a sip of his wine. "How is your father?"
Edric grew visibly upset at that. Andrew knew something was bad before even he spoke the words. "He is dead. The betrayal took all his strength away."
Another murder on Rhaegar's name. Andrew had always thought that Rhaegar Targaryen had scourged his entire family with fire and blood, but he had left some of them alive only to die in grief. Even if he didn't swing the sword, he was still responsible for his uncle Aaron's death. "What about Starfall?"
"Aunt Allyria rules in my stead," Edric said jovially. "No doubt she would love to see you again."
Aunt Allyria, sweet and gentle as a summer breeze. His mother had once told him that his aunt loved to hold him even more than her. She would have grown up now as well. "I thought to go to Starfall when I returned but I didn't want to go there without you all. Perhaps when the war is over we will go there together, cousin."
Edric nodded.
"I heard that you have been away from Starfall for a while, coz," Andrew continued. "If you want I can have a ship to take you back to Starfall." Edric was the Lord of Starfall, the only cousin he had, he will not put his life in danger for the sake of his war.
"Home is where heart is, your grace," Edric said. "And my heart lies with our family. With my father, your mother, our uncle and your father for whom I was named. I wish to ride with you, coz, and bring justice to those who wronged our family."
"Do you remember the tale of the last hero they tell us Daynes, Andrew?" Edric asked.
"How can I not?" Andrew said. He remembered every bit of the tale. It had been one of his favourites. His mother had told him of the story more times than he could remember. And Old Nan had a scary version of it whenever mother and father were doing other royal things. Every time he would ask her for a scary story she would click her needles and tell him the story of the Last hero, of giants, wights and others.
"Fear? Oh, my sweet summer child," Old Nan would say quietly whenever he asks her for a scary story, "what do you know of fear? Fear is for the winter, my little prince, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods."
"You mean the Others," Andrew remembered asking her, curiously.
"The Others," Old Nan had agreed. "Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried, and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks." Her voice and her needles would fall silent, and she had glanced up at Andrew with pale, filmy eyes and asked, "So, child. This is the sort of story you like?"
"Well," Andrew had said reluctantly, "yes, only . . . "
Old Nan had noddedd and continued. "In that darkness, the Others came for the first time," she had said with her needles going click click click. "They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins. They swept over holdfasts and cities and kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding their pale dead horses and leading hosts of the slain. All the swords of men could not stay their advance, and even maidens and suckling babes found no pity in them. They hunted the maids through frozen forests, and fed their dead servants on the flesh of human children."
Her voice would drop very low, almost to a whisper, and Andrew had to lean forward to listen.
"Now these were the days before the Andals came, and long before the women fled across the narrow sea from the cities of the Rhoyne, and the hundred kingdoms of those times were the kingdoms of the First Men, who had taken these lands from the children of the forest. Yet here and there in the fastness of the woods the children still lived in their wooden cities and hollow hills, and the faces in the trees kept watch. So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in the hopes that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He set out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he searched, until he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their secret cities. One by one his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him, and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds—"
He could not remember her words after that. But he knew that the last hero escaped from the ice spiders and the Others somehow and found the children of the Forest and gained their assistance. He forged a magic sword to fight the Others and the Night's Watch was then formed. His mother told him of how the last hero slayed the Others with his magic blade and together with the armies of men he defeated the Others and won the Battle for the Dawn. His victory ended the generation-long winter and sent the Others into retreat, to the Lands of Always Winter.
Fallen and Reborn, the words associated with the last hero for he fell to the evil before he won became closely attached to the Daynes for their sword Dawn forged from the heart of a fallen star. The words became more important to his mother's house as important as their House words.
"Fallen and Reborn," Andrew told his cousin.
"Fallen and Reborn," Edric repeated. "We fell and I wish to rise up again from the ashes with you."
Andrew smiled. "If that is your wish, you shall ride with me to war, coz."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Edric knelt.
Andrew lifted him up to his feet. "No need for that now, cousin."
"I'll leave to get the lords for you." Edric stood up from his chair. He bowed his head and walked out the room.
Andrew thought about his dream when Edric left him. The wolf dreams had been growing stronger, and he found himself remembering them even when awake. Ghost knows things that men couldn't even understand. At the Wolfswood, he had come out of the darkness to save Andrew's life. When he took back Winterfell, Ghost arrived right when he needed the most. And he heard Joy's voice last night and then his mother's. He wondered if Ghost could sense them somehow.
He filled his basin from the flagon of water beside his bed, washed his face and hands, wore his white shirt and donned his long shearling trench coat. The brown trench coat detailed in soft leather finished with perfect stiching and a comfortable inner lining made of white wool to keep the cold away. The cuffs of the long sleeves and the high collar were also trimmed with soft white wool. He laced up his burgundy pants, and pulled on a pair of calf length boots. He set his father's crown atop his head after he was done with the clothing. When Andrew folded back the window with its thick diamond-shaped panes of yellow glass, the chill of the morning hit him in the face. He took a breath to clear away the cobwebs of the night.
Outside his bedchamber a flight of steps descended to his larger solar furnished with a brown ironwood table and a dozen and more oak-and-leather chairs. He might want to meet the lords bannermen in the solar to make the final plans for the long march to come. Meeting them in the Great Hall will take too much of time and will have too many ears to hear.
For the past few days Andrew found himself changed from his old self, transformed, a lord in truth, a lord and a king. Even his father's bannermen seemed to sense it. None tried to test him after that day. All the testing were done with Roose Bolton on that day they crowned him king. The first thing he had done after he was crowned was to call Lord Liddle and his heir whose name was Morgan, who had fed him that rainy day in the woods. He kept his vow to Morgan and paid the Liddles back a hundredfold for every nut and berry he had fed him. The Liddles had been stunned to see him as they got the thousand gold pieces and thanked him gladly. That had been the easy part though that didn't mean that all the issues stopped there. Much to his dismay most of it came from being the king after that. There was no scarce for issues. Every lord or lady he meets with in his solar had something for him. Stout, grey-haired Maege Mormont, dressed in mail like a man, asked him for ships once the war was over to deal with the ironborn. Soft-spoken Lord Cerwyn asked his son to be named in his honor guard. Jovial Lord Hornwood brought gifts everytime he came, a horse one day, a haunch of venison the next, a silver-chased hunting horn the day after, and he asked nothing in return . . . nothing but a certain holdfast taken from his grandfather, and hunting rights north of a certain ridge, and leave to dam the White Knife, if it please the king.
Andrew answered each of them with cool courtesy, much as his Father might have, and somehow he bent them to his will.
Lord Greatjon Umber who stood as tall as Hodor and twice as wide, urged him to march south as fast as he can so that they could avenge his parents by cutting off some dragon heads. And pale eyed Roose Bolton urged him to take caution and not move until he finds a way to take out the remaining Targaryen dragon off the skies like he did with the one at Winterfell. The sons and heirs of the lords were all hungry for glory that half of them wanted to lead the vanguard themselves while the others wanted to be named in his honor guard.
But somehow after that day they started to listen and respect him for who they saw him as. The Greatjon became his right hand, his staunchest champion, loudly telling all and sundry that the Avenger of Starfall would lead them to glory, and they'd damn well better bend their knees if they didn't fancy having them chewed off.
Theo Wull and Howland Reed, old friends of his father both of them, took his side more often than him and gave him wise counsel. Roose Bolton had thought to unnerve him with those pale, cold eyes of his but Andrew has seen and fought a dragon before to make him look like a boy. His father had been wary of Lord Bolton and always kept him close enough where he could watch his every movement. Andrew wished his father was here. He would know what to do with Bolton and how to slay those dragons.
He sat at a head of the ironwood table, in the ornate oaken chair, a pile of maps and papers in front of him, waiting for his bannermen.
His grandfather was the first to arrive, with Lord Beric and Thoros of Myr. Lord Howland Reed followed them to pay his respects after that, kneeling before him. The Glovers followed, Galbart and Robett, and Greatjon Umber, and Roose Bolton and the rest, one by one. When all of the lords bannermen were there Andrew started. "My lords, the time has come," he said to them. "Time to match for justice."
"Have no fear on that count, Your Grace," the Greatjon told her in his bass rumble. "We'll shove our swords up Rhaegar Targaryen's bunghole soon enough to avenge for your father and mother."
"A question if it please you, Your Grace?" Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, said in a small voice.
"Do ask my lord Bolton," Andrew said.
"It is said that you were making plans to deal with the Targaryen dragons. Have you dealt with that? I believe, we would be at disadvantage should those dragons take air."
"Dragons or not," the Greatjon laughed. "We have the Dragonslayer with us. Why should we fear them?"
He knew Roose Bolton was right. The dragons of the Targaryens were bred for war and in war they died. But most of them had died fighting other dragons a couple centuries before when brother fought sister in their clash for the Iron Throne. Slaying dragons was a feat reserved only for songs and tales. Andrew had slain the beast mostly with the help of the vantage. From the ruined top of the Broken Tower even a dragon seemed climbable as easy as you would mount a stallion but he would find no tower at the battlefield. "We'll be bringing Mikken with us to make scorpion bolts strong enough to slay the beasts," Andrew told them. That was the only option he had to fell those dragons. It was the only way he had and he had to try it no matter what.
There was a sudden murmur among the lords and they nodded. When they became silent again Andrew continued. "No doubt King's Landing would have heard of me by now. Rhaegar and his ilk will come forth to meet us at once."
"Will he come though, Your Grace?" asked Lord Ryswell. "With the wedding of his son and the Dornish alliance at stake?"
"He would not want another Ned Stark alive on his lands," Andrew replied. "He will ride forth to meet us or will send his dragons to deal with us once and for all." He took the wooden block carved in the likeness of a Tyrell rose and put it beside the dragon placed on the King's Landing indicated in the map on the table. Then the Dornish sun went to the dragon as well.
"Dorne and Reach will fight for the dragon. The Tyrells are at King's Landing but Doran Martell sits at Sunspear. We will not reach King's Landing without fight."
"What of your father's southern friends?" Lord Rickard Karstark asked.
Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn. Both men had loved his father as a brother and son respectively. Andrew remembered seeing them with his father and mother. Jon Arryn would bring gifts everytime and Lord Robert was always funny. He wondered if they might come to his aid if he called them. They would've come to his father's aid if he needed them but he is not Ned Stark.
"What of them?" asked Lord Robett Glover. "They would never join the dragon in the fight against us?"
"Should they join us, my king," said Lord Dustin, "we'll be three of the Seven Kingdoms together. Baratheon and Arryn in the field would mean the West and the Riverlands take up arms as well as they are all bound by marriage. That means five kingdoms against two."
"We don't need Tywin Lannister," the Greatjon said. "Ned hated him for sure."
His father had been wary of the Lannisters for sure that much was true. But Andrew wasn't sure if he should call for Lord Lannister's help or not.
"We need to make common cause with the south, my lords," Lord Manderly said, "if we are to meet against the might of Highgarden with the dragons."
"Mace Tyrell is a craven," declared the Greatjon. "Ned defeated his host three times without any difficulty. Why shouldn't his son do that now?
"Mace Tyrell may be a craven," Theo Wull said, "but Randyll Tarly, Edgerran Oakheart and Tanton Fossoway are all brave men, able men. Even Ned would tell you so."
The murmuring started again and shouts went back and forth.
"My lords," Andrew calmed them a bit. "My father taught me that no battle is won by the numbers. Battles are won by the cause and determination of the men who fight. We fight for a just cause, my lords unlike the Targaryens or Tyrells or Martells and with the strength in our arms and the will in our hearts we will defeat them again as my father once did."
The Greatjon roared out, "King in the North!" and thrust a mailed fist into the air. The other lords echoed with their shouts of "King in the North!" The hall grew thunderous with pounding fists and stamping feet.
When Andrew raised his fist the hall quieted again. "My father and mother always told me that the north is not a place but the people," he told his bannermen. "I'll not leave my people defenceless in their own land. My lords of the Mountains, you are as much fierce and loyal as any other men here. I task you to defend our people and our land."
Lord Wull took a knee. "We live to serve you, my king."
Torren Liddle and Morgan Liddle went down to one knee as welll, their clenched fists placed upon their chests. "It is an honor, sire."
The other lords of the mountain clans all voiced their approval.
"Your Grace," Theo Wull stood up. "Your father was liege and king to every man here and everyone loves him, there's no doubt in it. But he was my friend before everything else. Let me come and fight with you for my friend, your grace. If I should fall, let me fall fighting for my friend with his son."
"If that is your wish, you shall have it then," Andrew replied with a smile. He turned to his grandfather. "You and I both know that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell."
"Aye," Rodrik Stark said.
"You were the Stark in Winterfell whenever my father left."
"Only when you left with him as well, my king."
"Well, I have to leave now," Andrew told him, "And I want you to take my place once more."
His grandfather went down to one knee and bowed his head. "I'll not fail you as I had failed your father, your grace."
Andrew helped him back to his feet. "I know you won't, grandfather." He returned the smile the old man gave him.
He was at the point of telling their route when the door opened suddenly. "We'll march to Moat Cailin and..."
Maester Walys entered the room and Ghost followed him into the room. Andrew smiled to see the white wolf again. The direwolf padded across the room to where he sat and rubbed his head against his leg. Andrew scratched the white wolf behind the ear. Ghost laid near the hearth beside his chair, red eyes looking at the lords carefully.
"Your Grace," Maester Walys came in after Ghost. "Your uncle is here to see you."
Which one? He might've asked but then remembered that he had only one left. "Uncle Benjen?"
"Yes, sire," Maester Walys replied.
"Send him in," Andrew told him. It has been years since he had seen anyone and now that he has the chance to see them again he is not ready to miss it.
Maester Walys left at once, bowing.
The hall was quiet once again as he waited for his uncle to come. Andrew dismissed the lords and waited for some time for his uncle to arrive. When the doors opened again, it was his uncle who entered the room. As soon as he entered the room Benjen Stark gave Andrew a warm smile. The smile he remembered from his childhood.
Ben Stark crossed the room and pulled Andrew into his arms. "It's good to see you home, Andrew," he said and held him at arms' length. "Gods help me, you look so much like your father."
"How did you know I was here?" Did that mean Jaehaerys is at the wall now or has he heard the tale from some other way?
"The boy you sent to the Wall," his uncle said. "And I heard the tales of the Dragonslayer all along my way here." He smiled. "I knew it was you the moment I saw your quiet wolf in the woods." He looked to Ghost laying by the hearth. "I knew for sure then it has to be you."
He looked so tired and worn out from riding. He must've been riding hard and fast to come and see him. "Shall I sent for some refreshments uncle?" Andrew asked. "You look so tired."
"That might be good," Ben Stark said and sat down in one of the chairs.
"Wine and food to my solar," Andrew said to the guard outside and walked back to his seat. His uncle looked him from his crown to his boot.
"I see that they've crowned you with your father's crown, " he asked pouring wine from the flagon into his cup.
"Aye," Andrew replied. "It was with maester Walys."
"Good," Ben Stark said taking a bite of the bread placed on the table. "It suits you like it did for Ned."
He poured some more wine from the flag nand took a sip of it. "Summerwine," his uncle said after a taste. "Nothing so sweet. How many cups have you had, Andrew?"
Andrew smiled. "Not much."
Ben Stark laughed. "And your mother's words came true. So much like your father. Ah, well. I believe I knew the first time he got truly and sincerely drunk." He snagged a roasted onion, dripping brown with gravy, from the nearby trencher and bit into it. It crunched. "He wouldn't admit it but he once told me that it was the best day of his life." His uncle sighed. "It was the day he met your mother."
Andrew could feel the sadness in his tone. His uncle was sharp-featured and gaunt as a mountain crag, but there was always a hint of laughter in his blue-grey eyes. He dressed in black, as befitted a man of the Night's Watch. Tonight it was a set of black woolens, with high leather boots, well worn and ragged.
"I see that you are getting ready to march south." It was more statement than a question.
Andrew nodded. "I should march now or I should never march at all. The time has come uncle."
Ben Stark sighed in acknowledgement. "Just remember that the Starks don't do well in the south, Andrew."
That was true, Andrew knew. His grandfather, old Lord Rickard, had gone as south, with his son Brandon, and two hundred of his best men. None had ever returned. And Father had gone south, with mother and Andrew and Martyn and Ethan and the rest, only he had ever returned back alive from the south.
"That might be true," Andrew agreed. "But I have the fire of the south in me as well, uncle. My mother was from the Lands of Always Summer, you know."
His uncle laughed. "Right," he said, laughing. "And keep your direwolf close. There are still direwolves beyond the Wall. We hear them on our rangings."
"Speaking of which, how fares the Watch?" His father had always held the Watch in a high manner. He did every help he could do to the betterment of the Night's Watch. Andrew wanted to know how it stood now.
Benjen Stark gave Andrew a long look. "Not good it is if I have to be honest with you," his uncle said. "We've been losing more men in rangings for the last couple of years. There are dire news from both Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-sea. Beyond the Wall, the shadows lengthen. Cotter Pyke writes of vast herds of elk, streaming south and east toward the sea, and mammoths as well. He says one of his men discovered huge, misshapen footprints not three leagues from Eastwatch. Rangers from the Shadow Tower have found whole villages abandoned, and at night Ser Denys says they see fires in the mountains, huge blazes that burn from dusk till dawn. Quorin Halfhand took a captive in the depths of the Gorge, and the man swears that Mance Rayder is massing all his people in some new, secret stronghold he's found, to what end the gods only know."
"Mance Rayder?" Andrew asked confused. He's not heard of this Mance Rayder before.
"A self styled King-beyond-the-Wall," his uncle answered. "Crowned himself as King few years after the death of your father. If Ned was here, I would not worry about any of this like I do now. Still the wildlings are the least of our worries. The cold winds are rising, Andrew. Winter is coming."
"Winter is coming," Andrew agreed. He could feel a sudden chill to the bones as he said his house words.
"Will you stay here for a while, uncle?" he asked.
"Can't do, Andrew," his uncle answered. "I am to lead a ranging soon. They will be expecting me. I wanted to see you and I've seen you. I've got no reason to be here now."
"Atleast spend the night here," Andrew suggested. "You look like you could do good with a nice featherbed to sleep upon."
Benjen Stark thought about it for a moment. "Alright then," he said at last. "I'll stay for the night."
They had a good talk for the rest of the day. Andrew told him about how his mother had saved him at Starfall, he told him about Braavos and the other things. He met with Rodrik and somehow all three Starks had a good time together before they seperate once again.
When night came at last, to mark the last day he would spent at Winterfell, Andrew took his time with the paintings of his parents he'd hung on the wall behind his bed. He never knew how much time he'd stood there watching the but when Maester Walys came to him Winterfell had gone silent.
The maester counseled him to remain at Winterfell. But Andrew denied him that. "I did not come all the way here to sit in some castle while my father's killer dance around," he told the maester. "I'll go forward no matter what it takes to cut off Rhaegar's head. I'll do whatever it takes to bring him to justice."
"I'm not asking you to stay here forever, my lord," he insisted. "But wait until some time so you could go to war in better terms."
"I have to go now," Andrew told him. "Rhaegar would've gotten my raven by now."
"I understand that, my lord," Walys said. "But there must be always a Stark in Winterfell. Without you-"
"Rodrik Stark is here," Andrew cut him off. "He is as much a Stark as me."
"Your father's grandfather," the maester argued. "An able man, no doubt but still an old man, your grace."
"My father always led his men to war. That didn't trouble him so."
"Your father had you," Maester Walys said. "No matter how hard the odds were stacked against him he never left you and your royal mother without proper protection. I'm telling you, my lord, your mother gave her life to protect yours. Do not throw that life away for nothing and make her sacrifice go in vain."
Andrew looked at his mother on the painting with his father. She looked so happy in the picture that it hurt him so much so he found it hard to retain his composure. "What is that you want me to do?"
"Marry, Your Grace," Walys said. "Mar-"
That was all he could hear before him stopped the maester again. No, this would never happen. Not after her, not after Joy. The wound was still too fresh that he found it hard to even think about it. "No," he said at once.
"Wed the Baratheon girl as your father promised your hand to. Get her with child and then go to your war."
"And what's after that?" Andrew asked him. "What if I should fall in the war? What of the girl then?"
"The Stark line will still continue, my king," answered Maester Walys. "Your cause will not die in one day. Think about it, my lord. Don't let all that's happened to go in vain."
Andrew thought about it for a moment. Forgive me, he thought at last. "Fine," he caved then. "Send your ravens. I'll meet them at Riverrun."
"Thank you, Your Grace." He bowed so low as he left. "Thank you."
When he left Andrew buried his face in the thick white fur of Ghost and went to sleep dreaming of a maid fair as summer with sunlight in her hair.
The next day, as the red dawn broke across the windswept sky, Andrew found himself in the yard beneath the gatehouse, leaving Winterfell once again, this time leading an army. He said his farewells to his uncle with a last tight hug.
"Be careful, Andrew," Ben Stark said as he mounted his own garron.
"I will be," Andrew replied. But somehow he found himself concerned about his uncle more than he did for himself. "You too, uncle."
When his uncle smiled and ledt for the north, Andrew mounted his white stallion, Frost strapped across his back and his crown on his head and made for south.
He wheeled his courser around and trotted through the gates of Winterfell. Ghost followed, loping beside his warhorse, lean and swift. Hallis Mollen went before him through the gate, carrying the rippling white banner of House Stark atop a high standard of grey ash. Beric Dondarrion and the Greatjon fell in on either side of him, and their men formed up in a double column behind them, steel-tipped lances glinting in the sun.
As Andrew passed beyond the castle walls, a roar of sound went up. The foot soldiers and townsfolk cheered for him as he rode past; cheered for the King in the North, for the Lord of Winterfell on his great stallion, with his coat streaming and Ghost racing beside him.