Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell sat at the base of the weirwood tree cleaning the greatsword Ice. He always came to the godswood after killing a man. The dark and peaceful quiet of the sacred forest helped settle his nerves after he had done his duty. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. The red eyes of the heart tree watched him, just as they had watched all the lords of Winterfell gone before, and the Kings of Winter before them. Ned felt comforted as he sat on his moss-covered stone, sword on his knees, staring into blackness of the pool before him. The Old Gods watched over him, connecting him to the long line of Starks stretching back thousands of years to the Age of Heroes.

Cat's voice came through the dimly lit grove. "Ned," she called softly.

Eddard looked up to see his wife standing before him, a letter in her hand. Instinctively, Ned knew he did not want to know what was written there. Cat wouldn't be in the godswood by her own choosing, Ned knew how little his Southron bride liked the sacred place of the Old Gods. "Catelyn. Where are the children?"

They spoke of the execution and the direwolf pups they had found as they returned. The dead mother had been enormous, nearly as large as his horse. He was still not sure he had done the right thing, allowing Jon to convince him to let the children keep a pup each. But the direwolf was the sigil of House Stark, so he had relented. They spoke of the Night's Watch flagging strength. Benjen had written that the Watch was below a thousand men and there were stirrings from Beyond the Wall.

But Ned knew something was wrong. He could see it in the way Cat was standing stiffly, how she kept the letter behind her leg, out of sight. Shouldering himself to the unpleasant task, Ned slid Ice back into its sheath. "Very well, I know you must have come with some purpose other than snarks and grumpkins. What is it Cat?"

Silently, she held out the letter for him to read.

Ned could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Jon Arryn dead by Lannister hands. The Queen and her brother arrested for treason. The bastardy of the royal children. The looming threat of war. And he was named Hand of the King and commanded to come to south as soon as possible.

Ned looked up at his wife, still in a state of shock. He saw her Tully blue eyes full of tears. "You'll be going soon then, I expect," she said, her voice quavering as she tried not to cry.

Ned stood and pulled her into an embrace. She was crying now, and Ned felt tears well up in his own eyes. They held each other for some time, knowing this would be one of the last times for a long while.

Cat finally broke their contact. "Well, there's not much use standing about here," she said with a brave smile. "You'll want to get your affairs in order to leave on the morrow."

"Yes, of course, but first I need some time alone with the gods."

Cat nodded. "Very well, I will let Rodrik Cassel know of your intentions. He will ready the men." She turned and left Ned alone in the godswood with his thoughts.

He knelt at the foot of the weirwood tree. The tree's eyes looked as though they were crying red sap down the pale trunk. Old Gods, gods of my father's, give me wisdom now. Wind rustled through the weirwood's leaves sounding almost like a whisper, but Ned could not make out the words.

Ned vividly remembered the last time he had left the North. Then, as now, it had been at the behest of the King. He had helped Robert deal with the Greyjoys and put an end to Balon's Kingdom of the Iron Isles. At that time Robb and Jon had been only five namedays old, just beginning to practice with wooden swords. And his lovely daughter Sansa had been barely more than a babe in arms. It had been hard to leave his family behind then, but the King had called, so Ned gathered his banners and rode to war.

It would be even harder now to leave the children behind. Robb was nearly a man grown but Ned still needed to instruct his son how to be a lord so that he could rule Winterfell justly after Ned was gone. Solemn, silent Jon, the same age, was Robb's best friend and would be a loyal bannerman to Robb someday. Sansa was growing into the spitting image of her mother, and was always a perfect little lady. Wild Arya, her clothes dirty and hair undone, running through Winterfell. She reminded Ned so much of his lost sister sometimes. Bran climbing up and down the walls like a squirrel. Cat was terrified that he would hurt himself, but Ned indulged his son, after all Bran would climb whether or not they wished him to. And Rickon, the babe, such a strong-willed little pup. And he would miss his Cat, her beautiful laugh, the way she would squeeze his hand when they sat at supper, their loving embrace at night.

They were his pack, and the pack should stay together. He wanted to stay with them in Winterfell and watch them grow. It was summer for now, but winter was coming and Ned wanted to be in the North with his family when it came.

But Robert, his best friend, had called for him in a time of need. He and Robert had spent much of their youth together at the Eyrie under the tutelage of Jon Arryn. Jon, who was now dead by Lannister treachery. Jon, who had raised and taught Ned much of what he knew, who Ned had loved as much as he had ever loved his father. He could still not believe that he would never again see his foster-father's face; that they would never sit together reminiscing about old times; they would never share another joke. Silently, Ned began to weep.

It all came back to the Lannisters. Jon had worked with them, trusted them even despite the fact they had been late to the war, only siding with Robert after the fighting was almost done. But Ned had never trusted the lions of the West, not since he had found King's Landing sacked and looted by Lannister forces, and Jaime Lannister sitting on the Iron Throne above the corpse of his King. His gilded sword had still been red with blood. But this business with the Queen and her brother… Ned had trouble believing such accusations.

Ned wished he could bring his wife and children south with him, but from the sound of Robert's missive, war was coming, and Ned could not put them in danger. Better they stay in the North out of harm's way. Besides, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Old Gods, watch over my family. Keep them safe as I ride south. The wind sighed through the red leaves.

Ned rose from the tree. He needed to prepare for his journey south. If war truly was coming, he would need to alert the banners. They would take time to assemble, but when the Northmen were roused, their fury was terrible to behold. The Lannisters would have no idea what they were up against. As Ned strode out of the godswood, he was determined. He would ride south for his King. He would ride south to war.