The little Lord.

A.C 298

"Don't look away when the time comes." Jon's voice was strong and grave, contrasting their brother Robb's powerful but melodic tones. They had ridden out at dawn to meet out the King's justice. One hundred in all and down the Valyrian-style roads that have covered the North for the last eight hundred years. One of the many advances that changed the North forever, according to Maester Luwin. His Lord father made them stop at a village on the road to converse with their subjects. To hear their grievances and take lunch at their local tavern, they met with a man named Hego from Lys, who was the master of the village and was the one to alert the Wolves to the fugitive.

The Knightly Order of the wolves was another effect of the roads, food, and soil health brought on by the mammoths that were allowed through the wall five centuries ago and who now were commonplace throughout the North and in some areas of the Riverlands and Vale. As populations grew and towns and villages and even cities (Though the North still had precious few compared to the South, or so Luwin says.), it had become necessary to form orders that answered to the Lord of Winterfell and the great lords of the realm, sworn at first to keep the peace and justice of the Kings of Winter.

They would eventually enforce the peace and justice of the Dragons. The Westerlands and Reach had similar orders, Bran remembered. "The Order of the Lion" and "the Order of the Greenhand" as with the North. They mostly responded to banditry and acted as auxiliaries for a Lord's forces. Still, father said that the Lions answered directly to the Rock and could usurp a lord's authority on his lands if they were derelict. Maybe that was why the other Kingdoms hadn't adopted such orders? Because they didn't like the idea of armed men on their lands without their leave?

The riders stopped, halting suddenly as a herd of mammoths crossed the smooth black cobbled road ahead of them. Robb jested about the weight of the lead sow while father nodded his head differentially to her. "She's a Highborn lady in her own right; see her old gray hair? She has survived more than a century walking this world. She was alive most like when the first dragons lived and remembers their smell." Amazing. Bran thought, watching with more respect now. Most were wild, but House Umber and House Forrester maintained herds of mammoths.

The foresters because the gentle beasts were excellent for lumber work and construction and because their droppings enriched the soil, and the Umbers because the cheese rendered from their milk was incredibly popular among the minor nobles and merchants of Oldtown, King's Landing, Duskendale and Lannisport. And because merchants from the Jade Sea so desired it, a Lengii prince once paid two ships full of silver and rolls of silk for a thousand wheels of mammoth cheese. Bran didn't understand the fuss; the cheese was bitter and sour, and the spiced variety made his nose run and eyes water. But Sansa and Dany insisted it was good for you and helped you grow. It is hard to imagine Umber caring about silk; maybe they sold it to buy more of those big swords they love.

Sansa was allowed to ride with them on this journey, even though mother wasn't happy about it. Grandmother Rhaella was adamant that the daughters of the North honor the traditions of the first men and Valyrians, and in both cultures, women governed in the same way men did.

By the sword.

Bran's heart fluttered in his chest. This would be his first execution. Finally, old enough, his father insisted that he ride out with them, and for the last stretch of the ride, the youth allowed his mind to wander to avoid the looming truth that he would soon see a man die. "Is he a wildling, do you think?"

"Like as not he is," Robb answered as he tossed half a loaf of bread to brother Jon. The two were opposites in many ways; Robb held his mother's coloring. Auburn hair, pale blue eyes, and broad shoulder and muscular like Uncle Brynden. He had the wild wolf of Uncle Brandon in his nature as well; he was slow to anger, but when he did, it was a torrent of fury that was hard to quell. Where his half-brother Jon looked all Stark, dark hair nearing black and purple eyes like their grandmother and lithe and slender. He was tall, too, taller than Robb, and he had a tremendous temper that he kept under control, for he was quick to anger and quicker to calm down and forgive because he feared uttering words that would be hard to take back. Jon was better at horse than Robb as though he were born to the saddle (Or so Ser Roderik says.) and better with the lance.

Robb was almost unstoppable with a sword and learned ax work from Tormund Giantsbane, people said Robb was nearly as good as Ser Aerion and Ser Jaime, but Bran didn't believe that. The Kingslayer was supposed to be unbeatable with a sword, and Bran once witnessed Ser Aerion defeat their father, Ser Roderik and Uncle Brynden at once. They even dressed differently, with Robb preferring the greys and whites of his House and Jon adorned in all black as though he were already a brother of the Night's Watch. He didn't want Jon to go, no one did, and Dany would have his hide when he told her.

But Jon was stubborn.

"A scout for Mance Rayder, mayhaps?" Sansa asked; she was so tall and, like bran had the auburn hair and pale blue eyes of House Tully. She was dressed in leather trousers, riding boots, and a long cloak made of mammoth wool with silver fox fur around the collars.

Bran had to suppress a giggle at how uncomfortable she looked; his sister tried so hard to be a mix between mother and grandmother. A proper Southron lady but one that could fight beside her family if she needed to. Like Grandmother did during the battle of Summerhall, when Prince Valarr Blackfyre, the Lord of Storm's End, and grandmother fought King Aerys and his dragon Aegos.

It had been a terrible battle; grandmother didn't like to speak of it, but when she did, it was an honest, raw, and scary story that Bran loved for its sincerity and the haunting images it conjured. And the nights that grandmother and old Nan come together to tell stories in the great hall…I cannot sleep after, but I would be nowhere else.

"I've heard stories that he's got a hundred thousand Freefolk at his beck and call." This from Prince Jacaerys. Who was atop a black destrier, his leather doublet was of a burnt crimson with the black three-headed Dragon breathing fire of House Blackfyre. A black cloak with a black bear's fur rested atop slender shoulders that reminded Bran of Jon. "Least way, this is what the whores say." Sansa looked at him agape, and the prince flushed slightly "forgive my language use, dearest Lady, I merely mean that. When men and women visit houses of ill repute, they speak with lips far too loose for their own good. My uncle Viserys the master of whispers, often says that brothel workers know of treachery, troop movements, and conspiracies before even the most sophisticated spies."

Sansa seemed to have no notion of what to say, and so she nodded pliantly. There was talk of betrothing her to Prince Maelys or Orys Baratheon, the son of the Lord of House Baratheon of the Arbor. There seemed to be a saddened look upon the prince's face, but when he was sneaking with Arya, he heard his mother ask Grandmother Rhaella to help educate Sansa on the ways of the world. Bran wasn't sure what that meant, but everyone seemed somber around her after.

Jon seemed ready to say something to comfort Sansa about such matters, but she was lost in thought, and Jon's comforts died in his throat. Mother hates him, but she has never so much as looked harshly at the other Stark bastards.

The castle was full of them; Winterfell was one of the largest castles in the realm and the oldest. There was a city within its walls; the family bedrooms could only be reached by a roofed walkway with stained glass that towered above two streets and was its own palace.

Maester Luwin said that meant that Winterfell wasn't a proper castle and more a series of palaces and keeps that were interconnected and built over the ancient first keep where the throne of the King's of winter sat in days of old and where his lord father held court. And so, when Maester's tallied who held the largest keeps and castles, Winterfell was seldom counted or accounted among the largest and not the largest. This was confusing to bran since Harrenhal was built to accommodate eighty thousand ironborn and was said to be larger than Harrentown. The youth was nervous; his mind wandered until he felt Jon's hand on his shoulder. "We're here."

They dismounted and followed behind father, who had his grim lord's face on, as mother called it. Bran gasped when the men of the order of the wolves brought the prisoner forth. He's a black brother; why would a black brother run? From what Bran remembered of his histories, the Watch had been in disrepair and ignored by the realms of men for thousands of years, and the once prestigious order had become a laughingstock.

It was still a place where criminals were sent and in large numbers, but ever since the boon of Valyria, the realms that benefitted the most from it and the growth in numbers they brought had begun the tradition of sending the smallfolk who couldn't find work or that were the fifth or sixth sibling to survive past infancy. They would be paid a stipend, and their families would get thrice that for their service.

Maester Luwin said that the watch blossomed with gold from the west, food from the reach, and silver and steel from the North and the Stormlands. There are ten thousand black brothers, and Jon says he will be among them soon. But his brothers are here, not there. They were well equipped, well paid, and well-funded. His garments were as good as the men at arms in Winterfell. Why would he run? The watch means a lifetime of servitude, no land, and no children. But Luwin insisted it was a comfortable life.

The man was old, gnarled, and missing an ear. The wolves knelt him down at the ledge of a large boulder, and his father asked him if he knew why he was being sentenced. "Aye, m'lord oi'ran from me bro'ers N'black. Oi'deserve it m'lord you tak'n me 'ead." He looked wild and crazed, and Bran could see the fear in his eyes and hope, but why would a man about to be condemned feel hope? "Just tell me family in Win'erton dat oi died with me honor."

His lord father nodded as the man dropped his head upon the rock.

"Father will know if you look away." Jon whispered as rob put an arm around Bran.

"In the name of Daemon of house Blackfyre, the first of his name, King of Andals, the Rhoynar, the Valyrians, and the First men. I Eddard Lord Winterfell, of House Stark. Warden of the North, member of the Lord's Council, and voice of the King in the Northern territories do sentence you Gared of Wintertown to death for treason, dereliction of duty, and desertion." Father extended a hand, and Jory brought forth Ice, a Valyrian Steel great sword that was the ancestral weapon of his house. That'll belong to Robb one day. Bran thought as he looked over to his brother, who had a slightly curved slender blade that was long that held an edge on only one side of the blade that was called a "tulwar" in Essos. Forged of Valyrian steel and made grey with white Direwolves that appeared as phantoms with red eyes danced along the blade, runic charms designed to banish cold and vanquish evil were in the blade. Winterfang was a gift by King Daemon for the heir of Winterfell.

Father also had twin suits of Valyrian steel armor forged on Dragonstone, one for Grandmother Rhaella and whoever would ride Winter after her death and the other for the Lord of Winterfell. Robb once boasted that the sword and armor suits alone could buy a kingdom in the disputed lands if sold at cost.

"Have you any last words?" Father asked.

"Dey're so beautiful M'lord, came right out of da tree loin dey did. Armor like one of them rainbows of the seven m'lord and they sang…oh how they sang. Lord Waymar took steel to 'em, m'lord. A braver man, I'll ne'er know. Used to mock him for being a lordling, but he took steel to 'em when we wept like chill'n in fear. He took steel to 'em, and they sang, and it was beautiful…Send me on m'lord maybei'n in da next loyf I won't hear their pretty songs no more."

His Lord father paused for the briefest of moments before relenting and dropping Ice.

Bran didn't look away, not even when his head rolled.

His eyes remained fixed on the body and in the look in his father's eyes.

His father was shaken by what was said.

Bran had never seen his lord father shaken before.

None of them had.

What did the madman mean? Why did he desert over singing? Why is father afraid of a madman's words?