A dozen horses trotted through the mud, it had rained yesterday and another light shower fell over this morning as they all broke their fast within the great hall.
It was wet, even before leaving past the two walls and moat in between Winterfell did his boots soak and are now mud brown instead of black as they were when he received them on his last name-day.
Willam Stark looked ahead, eyeing the prisoner being hauled on the wagon, and thought grimly that he wished his father didn't have to bring them out here again and again.
This is the eighth, no, ninth after today. The Night's Watch is losing control of its recruits nowadays, and his father had beheaded enough to prove the Watch's worthlessness.
If he were Lord of Winterfell, he would simply man the walls with bannermen instead of criminals or traitors. The unreliable should not be trusted with being guardians of the Realms of men, less so rapists and thieves.
"What do you think he did?" He asked Robb, his elder brother, and the heir to their father looked at him and then at the man in the wagon before scoffing with slight disgust at the prisoner doomed to death.
"Another runaway is likely, same as every other one." Willam frowned, he wanted to know what he did to make him risk running away from his vows.
Robb was a growing youth of fifteen, another year, and his brother would be a man grown and will marry. His brother is handsome, with curls of auburn and piercing blue eyes, features shared with their brothers Bran and Rickon and sister Sansa.
As for himself, Willam had a long face like their father and another sister Arya. His hair was dark brown, and his eyes were like the steel of Ice, their ancestral sword that's to be used to cut this deserter's head clean from his shoulders.
It's a trait he shares with another of their family, glancing behind him, he spotted Jon looking as sullen as he usually is. Jon's eyes were so dark, they bordered on black compared to his or Arya's.
Willam considered himself a lean youth of fourteen, tall and matches the height of his especially tall sister, Sansa but a lot less pretty or handsome when compared to Robb or Jon, or Theon.
His mother said he is still growing and said he'll be turning heads around Winterfell soon. He doesn't believe her, but nonetheless, he appreciated the kindness of his mother.
Looking around the hill, he spotted the Wolfswood. "I loved riding through here." Love, not loved he thought, correcting himself on his poor wording.
"You are speaking instead of thinking, little brother," Jon said with a grin, Robb laughed and Brandon and Theon smiled and smirked where he frowned and was red with embarrassment.
It's been an issue since he was a boy, so many thoughts and books being read and he often gave voice to his thoughts without noticing.
With his face flushed red, he scowled "Shut up!" He kicked his light-brown palfrey into a gallop to go to the front of the column where his father was riding beside Ser Rodrik and Hullen, the master of horses.
They arrived at the execution spot, a carved log as old as his father or perhaps even his late grandfather, Rickard. The wood is ironwood, the same cultivated by House Forrester of the Wolfswood.
His father always did the deed with his own hands and said to each of them when it came their time to see this that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.
The Lord of Winterfell always kept these things quiet, he didn't want public executions as they do in White Harbor in front of the populace. A few guardsmen, a wagon to pull the head and corpse, and witnesses to hear the dead man's last words. "If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die." He cursed, having done it again and his father gave him a kind smile, patting him on the shoulder.
The deserter, Jory called Gared was brought forth by Harwin and Alyn, members of the guard. They made the man stand, his father sighed looking into Gared's eyes. "Do you have any last words, before your crime is brought to bear?" The man didn't speak and looked half-mad.
Nodding, their father had Gared knelt before the log. Theon brought forth Ice, and Willam watched his father pull it out and stood with it pointed to the earth.
Ice is a greatsword as wide across as a man's hand and six feet long. The blade is taller than Robb and the Valyrian steel is dark and smokey. So much history is held within that blade, thousands of years of Stark ownership after it was forged in the heart of Old Valyria before the Doom.
"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name and King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North... Sentence you to die."
With a great swing, Gared's head came from his shoulder and rolled near Theon who grinned and kicked it away.
"Ass." Jon whispered, a hand on Bran's shoulder, "You did good, Bran." Their half-brother said to the ten-year-old.
"He died well, at least," Robb mentioned, they were on their horses and Willam watched Bran speaking with their father, being given the same wording they were all made to hear.
Jon disagreed, as they started their journey back to Winterfell ahead of everyone else by leave of their father. "He was afraid, you could see it in his eyes." Robb huffed at Jon.
"The Others take his eyes!" Robb cursed, "He died well is all I am saying... You want to race to the bridge?" Willam heard Bran's pony gallop to their pace a moment after Robb's challenge which Jon and Theon agreed to but he himself scowled.
"Wait! You all know my horse isn't... Fast." And then it was just him and Bran, though moments later after his brothers and Theon's laughter receded did the rest of the party reach them.
His and Bran's father trotted up to him on his grey war horse, bigger than his palfrey and definitely Bran's pony.
They continued down the path and found Jon dismounted and knelt near something on the road. Robb remained seated on his horse along with Theon too.
"Father, we found something." the Lord of Winterfell dismounted along with several others including him and Bran who walked towards the dead creature.
It was a large deer, no, a great stag, and must have been dead for a few hours as the gamey meat gave off an awful stench that he was surprised no bear had come to consume it or a shadowcat.
"Could it have been a mountain lion?" Theon suggested.
"There are no lions in these woods." Eddard Stark said and rose to his feet, following a blood trail down below the bridge leading to a creek that runs through it.
Willam and everyone else followed, "By the Gods... " He whispered seeing something right out of Nan's stories.
It was a direwolf, and actual direwolf pups feeding off her teats. He watched his father kneel to one knee, patting the beast that had been long dead.
"It's a freak!" Theon spat.
"It's a direwolf," Reaching out, his father pulled an antler from the beast's throat, it was almost a foot long, "Tough old beast." He heard him whisper.
Robb's brow furrowed, "There are no direwolves South of the Wall."
"Not for centuries, brother, the last being noted during the Dance," Willam said and he looked down, a pup had found its way to his boot, Jon picked up two others and handed one to Bran then another to Robb.
Kneeling down, he heard Hullen and Jory, and Rodrik talking about the large wolf.
The pup in his hands was silver and grey like the others apart from the black one, he smiled and held it close to his chest. "What will we do, their mother's dead?" Bran asked with some concern for them.
"They don't belong down here," Rodrik said and their father grunted in agreement before rising and dusting the small bit of summer snow from his knees.
"Better a quick death, they won't survive without their mother." His father said with reluctance.
Theon, ever eager for approval reached out his hand, "Right, give it here, Bran." Theon took the one Bran was holding causing his little brother to cry out along with the pup, Greyjoy went and pulled out his blade.
"Put away your blade, Theon!" Robb said to his friend, his brother's tone was as commanding as their father, proof of his years being groomed to be the next Lord of Winterfell. "We will keep these pups." His brother said defiantly and Hullen argued back that he can't do that.
"Please, Father!" Bran pled to the Warden of the North.
Willam decided to aid his brothers, "Ser Rodrik's hound whelped last week, only had one pup so there is enough milk to feed them."
"She'll tear them apart when they try to nurse, Will," Rodrik responded.
His father looked at him, then at Robb, and lastly at Bran, "Sorry Bran, it is easier this way instead of the cold and starvation." Willam was upset, and Bran looked about to cry till Jon spoke up on behalf of their interest in keeping them.
"My Lord, I see six pups here. Four males, two females, one for each of the Stark children... You were meant to have them." It did seem like this chance encounter was willed by the Old Gods.
Their father was quiet for a long moment, keeping his eyes on Jon who did the same thing, "You don't want one for yourself, Jon?" His father asked and Jon frowned and shook his head no.
"I'm a Snow, not a Stark." Jon's words cut like a knife across cooked meat.
Bastards are born out of the marriage bed, and in their society, the distrust against bastards is quite common apart from their counterparts in Dorne.
Jon's had a better life than any bastard, but at the same time, he was ostracized for it. Especially by Willam and his sibling's mother.
Willam saw she wasn't outrightly cruel to Jon, but neither did she treat him like family as he and his siblings have done.
"Fine, keep them but the servants won't care for these beasts. You will feed them, train them, and if they die you will bury them, is that clear?" Their father commanded and Willam smiled with Bran and Robb.
"Yes, Father." The three said in unison, Lord Stark then nodded and said to gather the pups and get back on the road toward home.
Gathering the pups, the five of them turned to leave until Jon heard something and turned around. "What is it?" Robb asked and Jon walked behind the fallen dire wolf mother and returned with another pup.
Theon chuckled, "An albino? Ha, this one will dire for sure." Jon, in a rare moment, smirked at Greyjoy.
"No, Greyjoy... This one is mine." Willam smiled along with Bran and Robb, a sign from the Old Gods that Jon is just a part of this family as he or any other of their siblings, and Willam noticed his father seemed glad Jon got his own pup.
The party returned to Winterfell shortly after, his father commanded a pair of guardsmen to escort the corpse back to Castle Black.
Sansa and Arya and Rickon were excited, seeing the pups as the children of Eddard Stark settled in the great hall a day later choosing names for their chosen pups, it was warm inside the hall and Willam smiled as his pup crawled and stood on its feet.
Nymeria. Lady. Grey Wind. Shaggydog. Ghost. Bran didn't name his yet, still couldn't come up with the right one.
As for him, he chose the name 'Swiftrunner' and hoped the wolf would be fast so he won't think himself a fool for choosing the name.
"They are so beautiful!" Sansa exclaimed and Willam would wholeheartedly agree, looking into Swiftrunner's eyes he noticed that the pup's eyes are brighter than the others.
"Maybe 'Bright Eyes' would've been a better name... " He said and cursed, Sansa gave him a sympathetic smile as the rest of their siblings took humor from his slip-up.
For three hours they spent with their pets, they are far from ready to be trained as they can barely run two feet before falling over. Willam was later sitting in the Winterfell library reading and finishing a book, it was about the short civil dispute over the Iron Throne between Aegon the Uncrowned and Maegor the Cruel.
He was peering over a fading part of the book when Maester Luwin entered the room, "Hello, Maester." He greeted and Luwin bowed his head then took a seat across from him. "I think you might need to rewrite some of these pages, the words are fading slightly."
Luwin chuckled, seeing it for himself and agreeing. "The book is almost 240 years old, many repairs done to it throughout the generations." It was written by a Maester named Gwyden. "You have a sharp eye, young Lord... Have you ever thought of being a Maester yourself?"
Him? A Maester with a chain?
"Hmm, I never thought about it if I am being honest, I guess the answer is no." He pondered a thought before continuing, "My father has four sons, five including Jon. Robb is set to be Lord of Winterfell, Bran and Rickon prefer a warrior's life, and Jon... Well, I guess we both don't really know what we want in life."
He does know that a celibate life isn't in his future, he will want a wife one day and maybe a son or two and a beautiful daughter to carry on his own bloodline.
Willam smiled, "I like to think I can sit on my brother's council or serve as Hand of the King one day," Luwin put a hand on his shoulder and smiled proudly.
"Admirable goals, Willam, and honorable ones as well."
Maester Luwin is a good man, his advice and knowledge are invaluable when the need ever calls for it. Up till today and onward he'd always go to Luwin whenever his mother or father was ever preoccupied with their own duties.
A few minutes would pass before a pair of feet shuffled at the entrance of the room, "Maester Luwin, a raven arrived just moments ago." The servant said and approached, "Milord, good day." He gave the man a nod and turned to see Luwin read the scroll's contents and the Maesters elderly face expressed concern.
"What's it say?" He inquired with a curious tone in his voice.
"Grave news, I'm afraid... I should find your father." He wished he could know what the elders knew sometimes instead of being treated like a child as he and his siblings apart from Robb and Jon are so often treated. "Sorry, my boy, this is very important and your father and mother should be the only ones to know, right now anyway." He waved the Maester off and Luwin chuckled, "Read on, young Lord, remember to put out the candles before leaving... "
It'd be almost a day and a half before the news flooded the castle, he and his siblings were informed about the Hand of the King's death and that the King is coming North with his family and half of his court.
Willam was as excited as Sansa, far as he knew he never thought he'd meet the King, or at least not so early in his life.
Like most who grew up here, he'd heard all of the stories of his father's great friend from the day they met and were raised in the Vale or about the war where King Robert sundered the Targaryen Dynasty that lasted near 300 years.
In his mind, he imagined a man in gleaming armor and a great crown, tall and manly with his legendary hammer atop a strong horse.
That isn't all, there is also the royal family and the valiant Kingsguard such as Jaime Lannister and Ser Barristan Selmy.
"You're daydreaming again, brother." He hummed to his sister, looking down and seeing he hasn't touched his breakfast for almost fifteen minutes.
"Sorry, just thinking about the coming weeks." Sansa beamed and across from them, their mother sipped from her drink and set it down as to get everyone's attention.
"Children, hear me." Mother paused before continuing, "With the King and his family coming North, there are things that must be done so we are presentable for them."
They are to wash the day of the arrival, Willam and his brothers and Theon are to get their hair cut to look nobler and they are all to wear their finest clothes. Jon was most displeased as they were getting sheered, Robb and Theon teased him about his hair.
"I don't understand why we need to pretty ourselves for the King," Jon grumbled as Tommy shaved Jon's curls.
Theon piped in, "It's for the Queen I bet, hear she's a minx of a woman."
"How would you know, Theon? The only minx you know is Ros from Winter Town." Willam jested but he underestimated the bite of Theon's comeback which was rather brutal.
"Oh? I daresay it's a far larger number than you'd have, Bookwyrm. Not the woman you fantasize of in your bed." Willam felt himself getting red in the face and was prepared to tear down Theon's smugness but Robb intervened before the words could leave his mouth.
"Alright enough, you two. Anyhow, it matters more that we show the Southerners we look better, don't we?"
On that, he might have to agree, though he doubts it as well with how much he knows about the cultures of the Southern Kingdoms who pride themselves on their looks and the grandeur of their wealth and power.