Too long. It had been far too long since the last time he had seen Willam. The last time had been shortly after the Greyjoy's had rebelled. Catelyn had given birth to Bran and Arya was still rather small. He had brought Robb and Theon with him in his visit and they comported themselves well. Robb had played with Willam's heir Medgar and his daughter Bethany. Theon had been rather distant but Willam welcomed the boy as genially and affably as possible.

He looked as old as he did with small bits of grey in his once lustrous chestnut brown hair. His amber eyes were tired but still lively. It had been lucky that he had survived that battle with the Kingsguard. He never bragged about taking down Ser Gerold; only stating that it would not have happened if Theo Wull had not assisted him.

"I had expected that you brought all of your pups, Ned!"

"Robb needs to learn much about the North. And I had promised Howland that his own children would learn much of the North as well."

"How is old Howland doing?"

"Howland's done well in managing the Neck. And what of you? Your brood and wards?"

"Medgar's hungry for glory as most boys his age. And my Bethany dreams of a knightly husband. Little Ethan wants nothing more than to be a knight. Beron's grown to the near image of my great-uncle Jonnel and now acting as one of my serjeants. My cousin Artos is becoming as skilled with an axe as my uncle Harlon. He teaches them both. And my ward, Cregard, has grown to be quite a diligent young man."

"Artos. Didn't Harlon sire him on a crannogwoman?"

"That he did. Slight boy but quick and skilled. And don't worry about Cregard. He's not like Jorah."

While he did not say it, the thought had crossed his mind. Jorah Mormont had broken one of the most sacred of laws, and chose to act a craven leaving behind his family, disgracing and shaming himself and them.

"What about yours, Ned?"

"Robb has grown much. He and Jon are beginning to get along. Although, I'm quite glad that there's some distance between him and Theon. Sansa also dreams of marrying a gallant lord or knight, and Bran wants to be that. Arya and Rickon are often up in their own mischief."

"And what of Lya's boy? Has he grown well? Has Howland taught him well?"

It was then that he looked at the boys. Jon and Robb seemed to be talking well and in good graces with one another. Both happy and laughing. I should have brought him up in Winterfell with me. Howland and honour be damned. But ...

"Yes. He's a good lad. Howland ... has taught him well."

It was far stranger than being in Winterfell or Greywater. Quite lively. What had interested him the most was the apparent Bastard of Barrowton; Artos Snow. He certainly bore the figure of a crannogman. Sharp-nosed with bristly orange-coloured hair, armed with a slim build and short enough to be mistaken for a younger boy. What caught his attention about him was his eyes. Eyes like his own and his father's; a unusual deep moss green.

He no longer had his mother's lively eyes but the eyes of greenseers; dreamers. Of the Children. Why would they have blessed him? Does he have a role to play as much as him? But that was something only to ponder and not ask about. Strange nonetheless that he is here. Crannogmen seldom leave their lands. So, why? Why him?

He and Jon had kept laughing and japing. He had to admit that he was a good man. Great. He almost wishes that Father had brought him to Winterfell sooner. But if that had happened, ... what would have happened? Mother would surely hate him. She paid little to no attention to him. Sansa certainly did that too. And Theon. Theon would still act like an arse as he has been lately.

There was no doubt in his mind that Arya adored him. Rickon latched on to his leg as quickly as possible; often demanding to be carried and laughing about with him. Bran would follow him around everywhere; asking him questions from everything to anything and asking for training from him. Jory and Rodrik Cassel certainly respected him and most of the servants liked him a great deal. He seemed close with the Reed siblings, and yearned for it as well. Mayhaps not too close, given how Meera has been staring at Jon lately.

"Oy! You're both Lord Stark's sons, aren't you?" a voice had asked. It was Medgar Dustin; Lord Willam's heir. Armed with bright chestnut brown hair and bright amber eyes. The axe on his backside made him look all the more imposing for his age. The girl beside him was his sister Bethany. She bore the same look as her father and brother but seemed more shy than him.

"Yes. But he is Lord Stark's heir. I'm ... just a bastard." Jon said solemnly.

"And? What does that matter? You have his blood in your veins don't you? That means your just as much a Stark as his heir is. And, I like bastards." he said almost cheekily.

"I'm Robb. And this is Jon."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Medgar Dustin, but you remember that. Although, the last time we had seen one another, we were at Winterfell's harvest feast I believe. Still boys fresh as snow."

Now he had recalled him. Medgar was bursting with energy even then. He had played with him and his sister alongside Alys Karstark after their dance with one another.

"Seven hells! It's good to see you Medgar. And Bethany! You've certainly grown lovelier since the last time I had seen you properly!"

"I thank you, my lord. You are far too kind. It's definitely better than mistaking me for Medgar's twin brother like before!" she giggled.

"Where are Jojen and Meera?" he asked Jon.

"Jojen mentioned that he and Meera were going to talk to a man named Artos."

"Artos? That would be our cousin. Maybe some sense of kinship? His father had sired him on a crannogwoman."

"Truly?"

"Why don't we have some fun of our own?"

In reference to the Dustin relatives:

"Lord Dustin and I had not been married half a year when Robert rose and Ned Stark called his banners. I begged my husband not to go. He had kin he might have sent in his stead. An uncle famed for his prowess with an axe, a great-uncle who had fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. But he was a man and full of pride, nothing would serve but that he lead the Barrowton levies himself. I gave him a horse the day he set out, a red stallion with a fiery mane, the pride of my lord father's herds. My lord swore that he would ride him home when the war was done.