The recent weeks had thrust Barristan Selmy into a maelstrom of conflicting sentiments. Initially, he regarded the young girl asserting herself as Arya Stark with a healthy dose of scepticism. A mere resemblance to her aunt wasn't enough to dispel doubts, yet her reservoir of knowledge exceeded the plausible range for an impostor. Barristan, ever the vigilant knight, even corresponded with Lord Eddard Stark, seeking confirmation of this unexpected claim. The Warden of the North's reply sealed the authenticity—his daughter, in truth, had journeyed alongside Theon Greyjoy on a mission to secure a skilled blacksmith.
In the wake of this revelation, Barristan found himself on the brink of anticipation. The prospect of encountering Rhaegar's progeny stirred a unique fervour within him. The revelations from the self-proclaimed Lady Arya—though she vehemently denied the title—painted a portrait of a young man bearing the essence of his father's character and the visage of his mother. Theon's jests about prettiness aside, the anticipation of conversing with Ned Stark at Winterfell kindled a flame within Barristan's soul.
Amongst their trio, the blacksmith emerged as an enigma, a puzzle that stirred contemplation in Ser Barristan Selmy's seasoned mind. The decision by Ned Stark to dispatch his daughter and ward all the way to King's Landing was nothing short of audacious, an intriguing move that demanded scrutiny. Complicating matters was the undeniable familiarity Barristan felt when regarding the lad. It wasn't until Arya unveiled the truth, revealing Gendry as Robert's bastard, that the puzzle pieces clicked into place. The realization struck with a weightiness that mirrored the rumours circulating—whispers of the grim fate awaiting anyone suspected of being a progeny of King Robert Baratheon.
Gulltown, a temporary anchor in their journey, detained them for six long weeks before the northward voyage to White Harbor became feasible. Ser Barristan, initially bound for the narrow sea in pursuit of Daenerys, Aerys's last living daughter, found his trajectory altered by the unfolding revelations. The emergence of Jon Snow, if the claims held true, presented a seismic shift in the power dynamics of Westeros. A true heir to the Iron Throne, and not the exiled girl across the narrow sea, seemed to redefine the very essence of his quest to regain the true heir to the Iron Throne.
The biting chill of the North clawed at Ser Barristan Selmy's every fibre Six interminable weeks spent weathering the harshness of Gulltown, coupled with another month navigating the unforgiving seas, culminated in their arrival on the frost-kissed shores of White Harbor. The veteran knight, unaccustomed to travelling so far north, found himself ill-prepared for the frigid ordeal. Fortunately, Lord Stark had the foresight of enlisting the aid of Lord Manderly, ensured the provision of essentials for at least one night. A reprieve granted by a warm bed and adequate attire to ward off the relentless cold.
Embarking on the next leg of their journey, they set sail up the sinuous course of the White Knife river, transitioning into a horseback ride from Castle Cerwyn to the legendary Winterfell. As the sprawling silhouette of Winterfell gradually materialized on the horizon, Barristan's eyes, seasoned by countless tales, bore witness to the colossal reality of the castle. Its vastness, surpassing even the expanse of the Red Keep, struck him with a revelation. Scepticism gave way to awe as the grey edifice seamlessly melded into the sombre northern skies.
The anticipation etched on Arya's countenance as Winterfell's looming walls drew near was palpable. Home, a sanctuary for most, radiated from her like a beacon of joy. Yet, Barristan Selmy, seasoned as he was, couldn't shake the disquieting observation that beneath the youthful facade, Arya harboured a maturity that transcended her years. Instead of the exuberance expected of a girl her age, she exuded a feline poise, a subtle prowess that allowed her to navigate unseen, a quality that unsettled the seasoned knight.
Passing through the imposing gates, the sight of Ned Stark's familiar face offered a reassuring anchor in the sea of uncertainties. Dismounting from their horses, a rare spectacle unfolded before Barristan's eyes—Arya shed her composed demeanour, transformed into a genuine, unrestrained little girl, racing towards her father with an unbridled enthusiasm that painted a grin on Lord Stark's face, a rare sight to behold.
In the midst of this familial reunion, a young lad, seemingly of an age akin to Arya, approached with a discernible frown etched on his face.
"Are you truly Ser Barristan the Bold?" the boy inquired, his curiosity cutting through the air like a crisp northern wind.
Arya's disclosures had painted a vivid canvas of her siblings, and this lad standing before Barristan, too mature to be Rickon, must undoubtedly be Bran. "I most certainly am." Barristan affirmed with a smile, his gaze assessing the eager boy before him. "Let me hazard a guess; you must be Brandon."
The boy's nod was enthusiastic, his aspirations laid bare. "Arya tells me you wish to be a knight." Barristan observed, a subtle spark of approval in his eyes.
"I'm going to be a Kingsguard when I grow up!" Bran declared with earnest determination.
Barristan's response carried the weight of seasoned wisdom. "As long as you hone your skills with the sword, there's no reason why not." he encouraged, just as the approaching figure of Ned Stark came into view.
"Be off with you, Bran." Ned smiled, extending a hand to Barristan. "Good to see you after all these years, Ser Barristan."
The handshake conveyed more than mere formality. It bridged the years since their last encounter. "It is good to see you too, Lord Stark." Barristan replied, a nod of respect accompanying the words.
"Call me Ned." he insisted, a warmth in his tone. "Lady Stark is still in Queenscrown, therefore Poole is having your rooms prepared; would you like to come to my solar, so we can speak privately?"
Barristan trailed behind Ned, navigating the Winterfell courtyard on their way to an imposing tower. The shift in temperature upon entering was immediate, a tangible departure from the northern chill outside. The rumours of Winterfell's ingenious warmth, courtesy of hot springs, had always seemed fanciful to Barristan. Yet, as he ascended the stairs, a subtle warmth enveloped him, coaxing beads of sweat to form—a testament to the castle's unconventional heating.
Upon reaching what he presumed to be Ned's solar, Barristan surveyed the modest surroundings—a room marked by simplicity, furnished with an oak chair and a trestle table standing in as a desk. The hearth crackled with a comforting blaze, casting a warm glow across the space. Ned gestured for Barristan to take a seat opposite him.
"Ale?" Ned offered.
"I won't say no," Barristan responded with a smile, settling into the proffered chair as Ned deftly poured ale into horns for both.
As the rich aroma of the ale permeated the room, Ned sighed. "How much has Arya told you?"
"She spoke of Aegon." Barristan said. "Is it true? He is not Ashara's boy, but that of your sister and Rhaegar. And that they were wed."
Ned nodded knowingly. "Jon. I doubt he'll take kindly to being called Aegon unless necessity demands it." he chuckled.
"What is he like?" Barristan asked, yearning to understand the son of prince Rhaegar, to whom he now supported. The desire to rectify perceived failures to Rhaegar propelled him to seek solace in Jon's character.
Ned's response was measured. "He's a better man than his sire." Ned asserted, his choice of words prompting a subtle frown from Barristan. The term 'sire' applied to Rhaegar invoked a realm of implications, lack familial connection, only biological in their ties. "You must understand, I raised him as my son. In my eyes, he will always be my son. I cannot say I knew Prince Rhaegar; therefore, I cannot say whether they are alike."
Barristan, lost in his thoughts, contemplated the knowledge he had so far gathered of the bastard Jon Snow from Arya. "From your daughter's description, she could have been describing Rhaegar himself. Although he lacks the musical skills, I believe."
Ned's laughter resonated in the room, a hearty response to the observation. "Aye, he's not one for singing, dancing, nor playing any musical instrument. He's smart, studious, and probably the best swordsman I have ever encountered, aside from Ser Arthur Dayne. Jon is a natural-born leader. People flock to him. They want him to lead them. That is the similarity to the prince Rhaegar I know of."
Barristan acknowledged with a solemn nod, his mind retracing the contours of the past. "Everyone who knew Rhaegar loved him. Except for Aerys, who harboured jealousy of his son. Rhaegar had been a natural-born leader. Of course, he had his faults. Rhaegar was obsessed with prophecy. He was convinced he or his son was the Prince that was Promised."
Ned's response stirred a surprising revelation within Barristan. "Rhaegar was correct." Ned asserted, leaving Barristan momentarily taken aback.
"What do you mean?" Barristan queried, a mix of curiosity and uncertainty etched on his features.
"The Prince that was Promised refers to someone who will lead us through the long night. The army of the dead has risen beyond the wall. They are marching on Westeros. Jon is negotiating with the Freefolk to bring them south of the wall. It should give us more time and reduce the size of the Night King's army."
Barristan's scepticism lingered in the air, a discernible edge to his inquiry. "Are you certain?" Ned's affirmation carried a weight that permeated the room.
"The Night's Watch has confirmed it. Wildlings are scaling the wall as we speak, desperate to flee the army of the dead. Mance Rayder has been uniting the Freefolk for the last twenty years. A hundred thousand strong. The wildlings can either stay north of the wall and become part of the Night King's army, strengthening it. Or they can relocate south and fight for us. Jon is proving his worth by parlaying with Mance right now."
A thoughtful furrow creased Barristan's brow as he absorbed the revelation. Safety amidst a supposed army of the dead was a precarious notion.
"Is he safe? Especially with the army of the dead roaming?" Barristan's doubt lingered regarding the threat of the supernatural.
Barristan trusted Ned Stark's sincerity, the very thought of the undead was surely a figment of the imagination. Yet Jon Snow had willingly entered such dangerous negotiations, testing the mettle of a leader gave him pause for thought.
Ned drew a deep breath, an exhale laden with the weight of revelations. "Jon, Arya, and my eldest daughter, Sansa. They have abilities."
"Abilities?" Barristan's brow furrowed, a reflection of his perplexity.
"Are you aware of the abilities of the First Men?" Ned asked.
Barristan's mind sifted through the fragments of northern tales, whispers of magic powers attributed to the First Men—of walking in the footsteps of animals and the enigmatic green-sight He had often dismissed such notions as superstitions, yet the question unearthed a buried reservoir of awareness.
"I have."
"The three of them can see the future. They know what is coming if we do not adapt and act accordingly." Ned said. "They claim to have experienced it."
Barristan was sceptical, his mind battling the notion presented by Ned. The very idea of visions and glimpses into the future seemed akin to the fanciful tales woven into Westerosi lore. Yet, the image of Arya, poised and enigmatic beyond her years, nudged Barristan toward contemplation. He, a man of pragmatism, wasn't one to be swayed easily by the whispers of magic, but the existence of dragons and the Children of the Forest lingered as testament to the extraordinary within the realm.
A mental echo surfaced, reminding Barristan that Jon, with his Valyrian and First Men lineage, embodied a unique amalgamation of powers. The thought lingered, a seed of acknowledgment taking root. The dismissal of green-sight and the children having experiences beyond their years became a tenuous stance.
"If you don't believe me, challenge Arya to a sparring session. Although it might be an idea to keep it somewhere private. Jon is the only one who can best her," Ned suggested, the challenge carrying a weight of certainty.
Barristan's initial impulse was laughter. "She is a mere girl of three and ten."
"She was trained by the House of Black and White," Ned said. Barristan's laughter melted into a contemplative silence. Those trained by the House of Black and White were not ones to be trifled with.
Barristan's shock lingered in the air like a charged storm. The revelation that Arya, with her innocent countenance, was a trained assassin, rippled through his consciousness. Her cat-like stealth and cold poise, once puzzling traits in a child, now suggested lethal proficiency. The shadows, once mere corners of the world, became potential hiding places for a practised killer. Barristan's mind, seasoned by years of experience, connected the dots. Skills befitting an assassin.
"I would love to spar with her." Barristan declared, a smile betraying his curiosity, a desire to witness first-hand the capabilities hidden beneath Arya's façade.
"I'm sure she would love to show off her skills to a worthy opponent. I fear she has had little opportunity since Jon travelled beyond the wall." Ned acknowledged, the undertones of pride and worry blending in his words.
Barristan, however, needed a concrete purpose for his journey north. "Will His Grace accept me as a Kingsguard?"
"Jon is not a king until he takes the Iron Throne." Ned clarified. "However, he would probably be very grateful if you were to act as a sworn shield to his wife until he can officially appoint you as his Kingsguard. As would I. Our intentions are hidden right now, so it would officially have to be as a guard for Sansa."
The revelation of Jon's marriage caught Barristan off guard, an unexpected puzzle piece. He sifted through the fragments of his conversation with Arya, trying to recall any mention of a wife. The information seemed elusive, perhaps mentioned in passing, a detail buried amidst the tales of Jon's exploits.
"I will follow His Grace's instructions. May I ask, who is the lucky lady?" Barristan inquired, his curiosity tinged with a note of intrigue.
Ned's smile held a paternal warmth as he divulged, "My eldest daughter, Sansa. It is a marriage of convenience, however, I suspect they will come to appreciate one another as husband and wife in time. Sansa is still only ten and five."
Barristan's surprise lingered, the notion of a Targaryen alliance with a Stark stirring unforeseen considerations. However, Ned's unwavering confidence in Jon softened Barristan's scepticism. "I look forward to meeting them both." He said.
"Sansa probably knows him best. I have gifted them Queenscrown, where they are preparing the Gift for the Freefolk to settle. I will send a raven to Sansa to let her know of your arrival. She knows Jon better than I. They are… close." Ned said.
Amidst this exchange, a knock echoed on the door, heralding an unanticipated interruption.
"Come in," Ned called out.
Through the door swept an elderly gentleman, wearing the grey robes and silver chain of a maester. A courteous smile adorned Ned's face as he made the introductions. "Maester Luwin, this is Ser Barristan Selmy."
Maester Luwin acknowledged with a regal nod. "Ser Barristan. A pleasure to meet you," he greeted, a measured warmth in his tone.
"Maester Luwin," Barristan inclined his head respectfully.
"Poole has readied your quarters," maester Luwin informed him. "He wishes to know if you plan on staying long?"
"I intend to head to Queenscrown after I have rested, if that is not too much trouble." Barristan disclosed, the mention of his destination sparking a subtle change in Maester Luwin's expression, a hint of curiosity tinged with wariness.
"Why would you be heading to Queenscrown?" He asked, the question laced with a subtle challenge.
"I wish to do the right thing and rectify my mistake as a youth, by guarding the rightful heir to the Iron Throne." Barristan said.
The look of discomfort etched on the Maester's face struck Barristan as a puzzling reaction to his proclamation. The question lingered in his mind—other than the lie claiming him to be Ned's bastard, did he harbour an aversion to Jon Snow? Or did he not know of the boy's true identity His answer, however, unfolded in her words. "I wasn't aware you knew of his identity. I would not wish for him to be placed in danger by your presence."
"We can always say Ser Barristan has been approached by me to guard Sansa." Ned suggested, which indeed was a clever idea.
Barristan, sensing the need for diplomacy, offered, "In truth, it would also be my duty to guard the princess if the prince would be of the mind for me to do so."
"I think that would be a wise suggestion, Ser Barristan," maester Luwin smiled.
"Of course, as a member of the Kingsguard, my priority is to guard the future king and his family. Until His Grace's return, that would include the princess. After that, I will do as he says. I swore an oath, and I am honour-bound to keep to that oath until a time when His Grace feels I can no longer serve him."
Maester Luwin turned to Ned. "I have a raven for you, it has arrived from Queenscrown, from your daughter." he handed the scroll to Ned, who opened it and read it. His face fell.
Although Ser Barristan had never met princess Sansa, not prince Jon, any problems within Queenscrown would soon become his affairs, therefore he had to question any problems.
"What is it, Lord Stark?" Ser Barristan asked.
Ned sighed. "Lady Stark does not like Jon. She thought he was my bastard son. Now she is unhappy as she wanted Sansa to marry Joffrey. Cat finds the marriage between Jon and Sansa, distasteful. She will do anything to annul it."
"Under what grounds?" Barristan asked.
"Non-consummation. Jon left for Castle Black shortly after their marriage and she is five and ten. They wanted to wait until he had returned before consummation to allow Sansa to become of a more suitable age. It also gave them time to adapt to the idea of their new relationship. Cat does not approve. She and Sansa have come to blows and Cat is now on her way back from Queenscrown." Ned frowned, and a smile crept up on his face. "I would like it if you would stay until she returns. Arya wishes to join Robb on his Lord's Progress, I would prefer it if she spent as little time on it as possible. I would also like her to celebrate her name-day here in Winterfell. Sansa is well-protected at Queenscrown for the moment."
Suddenly feeling weary Barristan decided it would be an idea to leave the Lord of Winterfell to ponder the return of his wife. "Of course my Lord. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to retire for the evening. It has been a long ride," Barristan announced, rising from his seat. "I will not intrude upon your hospitality too long."
"I will write to Sansa closer to the time. It will give her time to arrange your quarters, as Queenscrown is currently a bit of a ruin," Ned said.
"Thank you, my lord." Ser Barristan nodded respectfully.
"Mavis will show you the way." Maester Luwin informed him.
With that, Barristan departed Lord Stark's solar.
As Barristan considered Lady Stark's lingering resentment toward Jon, fuelled by the hasty departure after his marriage, a decision solidified in his mind. Protecting Princess Sansa until Prince Jon's return seemed not only prudent but necessary. In the recesses of his thoughts, Barristan hoped Jon would heed his counsel when the time came. The mantle of a former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard rested on his shoulders, a weight borne by the wisdom gained from years of navigating the intricate dance of politics. Barristan's seat at many small councils had gifted him a profound understanding of realm governance—an understanding Jon would sorely lack. Bastards weren't raised to learn kingship.
The chamber assigned to him boasted a steaming hot bath, a welcome indulgence. Barristan shed his armour and clothing, surrendering himself to the embrace of warmth that enveloped his ageing bones. The water, a balm for his battle-weary body, cradled him in a cocoon of solace. A seasoned smile crept onto Barristan's face as he soaked, the anticipation of his new role kindling excitement within him. The prospect of departing for Queenscrown beckoned, a journey that promised challenges and the chance to impart his wisdom to those who stood at the precipice of leadership.