310 AC

Eddard Stark

Today was the day that he had been dreading for some time. In some ways, he knew not why. Robert Baratheon was not a man who could be so easily described. In his prime, he was the charming, valiant, strong heartthrob of the Vale, and the Seven Kingdoms too. During the Rebellion, he had grown to be fierce, determined, and intimidating…yet he lost a part of himself the day he learned that Lyanna had died.

Eddard was not blind to the faults of his boyhood friend. There were many of them, no doubt. And at many points, he wondered if he had judged correctly to arrange a betrothal between the two. Ned would never know if he truly loved Lyanna, of course. But, he knew, at the very least, he would've never kidnapped or run off with her.

And Robert had changed since the war. Little by the time that Eddard had left King's Landing in 303 AC. But he had heard the greater changes later through word of mouth. Robert I Baratheon no longer took solace in the goblets and chalices of wine. He never touched it according to the words of the Seven Kingdoms. He had organized with Cat to not have wine available for any of the feasts, regardless of what others said.

But to happier thoughts, he had received a raven, from Edwyle. When the King had first begun to travel north, he had only meant for it to be a trip of low fanfare. But where a King rides, fanfare follows. And so more and more lords of the North were requesting leave to travel to Winterfell, no doubt in Eddard's mind to regale the King with stories… and requests.

Thusly, the raven from Edwyle. He had decided to travel north back to Winterfell, along with all the young boys that he was warding. Eddard knew that Edwyle needed not the ears of the king, or his laughter at his japes, but if the rest of the north was convening in Winterfell, it would be uncouth for him not to do so as well.

Lady Dustin had sent word that she would not attend – how shocking – as well as Roose Bolton. He sent no word, but with the Boltons, perhaps no news is good news. But others were far better. Orvyn Dustin, who came to represent the Barrowlands, had married Talia Forrester. A woman, of the same age and a great spirit for justice and the North. Just a little over a moon prior, she had birthed their first child, small Denys. According to Orvyn, Denys was smaller than a babe of his normal size, yet, as there had been no great complications from his birth, and he had arrived only a sennight earlier than expected, the maester of Barrowton simply reported that perhaps he would be a smaller man. Not unexpected; despite Orvyn possessing the body of a Northman, Talia was a shorter lady, yet nonetheless hard of spirit.

Eddard had congratulated his children's friend on the good news. Perhaps a future betrothal could be made between Denys and the newly born Jocelyn. A bright babe of happy dispensation that was the cause of the eternal grin on Jory Cassel's face.

But such matters were only an afterthought of those so young. Just something to keep in the back of the mind for the future.

At present, it was only himself and Cat in Winterfell. Edwyle would arrive soon after the King. Bran had planned on remaining with the Umbers, but with Lord Umber now traveling with his household, Bran would soon come too. Sansa would not come for the King's visit; however, she had sent word that she wishes to travel back to Winterfell within a few moons.

Lord Hornwood had sent word that he had planned on traveling as well, though he made no mention of Arya or Daryn. Thusly, he would have at least two of his children back with him, and possibly a third.

His heart went out for his dear Sansa, but though he was always thinking of her, it was not her whom he feared for. It was his eldest and youngest.

Robb and his small party had been gone for over a moon now. The last word they received of him was just before he set out from Last Hearth. As for Rickon, according to his last raven, he was still at Castle Black. Apparently, the Black Brothers were spending more time than they expected readying their provisions, though they would undoubtedly set out in a fortnight or less.

His mind told him to calm. Yet, there was a feeling, a gnawing at the back of his mind that told him that something had happened. He knew not to whom; Robb? Rickon? Sansa? He could not say… yet, he learned a long time ago, that those strange feelings, are not to be dismissed out of hand.

And that's what scared him.

"Ned! Ya bastard! Coom 'ere!" Without a measure of protocol, Robert leapt from his mount and bounded for Eddard. Before he could reply, he felt his body constrict under the great force of Robert Baratheon.

The words of the South had rung true. It was not a weight of fat that knocked the wind out of his chest, rather, it was of muscle. Not near to the degree that he had possessed decades ago, but far more than before the Lion's War. Additionally, he had leapt from his horse in a way that the old Robert could have only wished for – Ned, still remembering the King's previous visit to Winterfell in which he needed a box to remove and climb off his mount with.

And Eddard was cheery too. For he had seen that much of his old friend was back again. No longer leery of the shadows, eyes glazed over from drink, and out of breathe from gorging food. His eyes were clear, his body was recovering, and he seemed more at peace, just from a glance. Perhaps he was still paranoid, but indeed it appeared that he was more thoughtful.

"Your Grace." Eddard extricated himself from the great bear hug and knelt, his household following suit. "Winterfell is yours."

His head was down, but he could literally feel the King's eyes roll in their sockets.

"Oh get up, get up you." Eddard once more stood, and his household joined.

"Apologies… I was expecting to knock into that great belly of yours." He said quietly, yet loud enough for the courtyard to hear. There were some gasps, though mostly from the servants.

Robert glared at him with strong eyes that truly bore the wild spirit of the Baratheons, but they soon grew soft. Just as quick, he broke out into a grin that thirty years prior, could've melted the hearts of maids the realm over.

Releasing a thunderous roar of laughter, the King threw his head back. "Cat! You must tell me what you've done to dear Ned here! He actually told a jape!"

For a moment, Eddard stiffened. Though their relationship had not been so cold as before, and Catelyn had once more begun to sleep within their combined chambers again, she was still curt and short with him.

But out of the corner of his eyes, he could see her blush. Though no doubt, she was thinking of all the ways that Cat had 'loosened' him up over the years. Perhaps with fresh visitors, and a change in people, they could repair their own relationship.

Eddard turned and inspected the rest of the King's party. It was small, smaller than even a party for a minor lord. Only Robert himself, and three others. He had met Brienne Tarth before, once, after the war while he still served in the accursed position of Hand of the King. He gave her a subtle yet respectful nod. Catching his eyes, she nodded in return, and quickly returned to scanning all around them.

No need in the center of Winterfell, but Eddard greatly respected the conviction of duty. Her sworn brother Ser Ellery Vance stood. He was a good warrior, having served alongside Robb and Edwyle in the war. However, he was more relaxed than Brienne. Not overly so, but noticeably.

And the third rider. Eddard new his face. He had met the lad once, though only that once. He had lost the baby weight and had grown into a maiden's dream himself, yet he seemed quick to befriend and respectful; Ser Edric Storm.

Eddard remembered the stormy yet short-lived argument at the end of the Lion's War. At the time, House Baratheon was only the Brothers Baratheon three, and Shireen, along with young Edric, though a bastard he was. Initially, Robert had declared his intent to legitimize Edric and declare him his heir, yet Jon Arryn, bless his soul, had argued against it. Much to Robert's surprise, so had he. He believed that he was not as other lords were, cruel with their thoughts of bastards, but he was also a Northman, he knew of hardship and how it could affect the realm. Though Edric may have been his only true-blooded son, he was still a bastard. And the pious Reach would not follow a bastard, no matter if he had been given a name, certainly not one that was related to the very house that brought so much destruction to the Reach, House Florent. There were many Riverlords of equal piety that would also object; the Vale was largely friendly and loved Robert, though the ancestral land of the first Andals would also generally be beleaguered to follow such.

Thusly, despite the North likely not having issues, the rest of Westeros was a different story. And what Westeros truly didn't need, was just another dynastic war after Robert's death. It was in that moment, that Eddard knew that Robert had changed. For instead of ignoring them and doing his own will, he nodded, gulped down an ale, and waved them off.

The next day, he signed the royal decree declaring Stannis as a Prince of the Blood and naming him his official heir.

And what truly put Eddard in a better mood? No golden-haired, green-eyed, Lannister roaming all over believing they owned the very soil they walked upon.

Regardless, people he had no wish nor need to think on now. Grasping Robert by the shoulder, much to the chagrin of the Kingsguard, he guided him into the keep. "Come Robert, let us enjoy the warmth of my hearth."

And the courtyard began clearing. The Kingsguard followed. Eddard allowed Cat to escort Robert the rest of the way as he wished to remain outside a moment longer, he enjoyed the cold air.

The bailey was now empty 'sides the occasional guard or servant. He was about to turn when he heard an eerie sound. A single black bird had flown over the yard and had landed on a stone parapet. It's slow cawing grated his ears.

And it seemed that the bird was looking directly at him. Suppressing a shiver he told himself was the wind, he turned to finally return to the inner hall.

Though he could convince himself the chill was of the wind, he could not push away that feeling at the back of his mind.

Something had happened. And he knew not what.

He could hear the heavy breathing of his horse. Feel the tenseness of the muscles beneath him. Snapping the reins, he urged his mount on. As best as he could, he kept the band 'round his wound as tight as he could.

It was a time of story and song, of joy and merriment. The main hall of Winterfell was set with a soft yellow glow. The many candles and torches reflecting off of the silver of the plates and eating instruments, and the polished stone walls.

Eddard looked over to his right, past Cat, where Arya sat with Daryn Hornwood. It was odd to think of her as Arya Hornwood, she would always be his little wolf pup to him. They kept stealing glances to one another. Eddard often wondered when the two of them would try for children. Though, according to some minor washer-talk, apparently Daryn was slightly frightened of…trying for children.

His little Arya was a force of nature she was.

It was good to see her. With her marriage to Daryn, she became more mild-tempered. She never lost that boyish outlook, but she became more refined. She still practiced every day, and Daryn was open of how she was better than he with blade and bow. Yet, she no longer openly despised womanly things, she was courteous, if not for a lack of tact, with others. In other words, she had grown into a true shieldmaiden of the North. For a short moment, Eddard thought to himself that she appeared to be what his own dear sister Lyanna had hoped she would be.

To his immediate left, was Robert. He had a plate of roast boar, and roasted roots. A large horn of ale was before him as well. It appeared that Eddard's order to Cat to hide the wine was not needed, Robert hadn't even mentioned it once. Though he would still smile and flash smiles to the serving girls, he no longer pulled them into his lap. Eddard hoped this change was for the better.

His horse was getting tired, he could feel it. It was slowing down, though only marginally. But he couldn't stop, he needed to get back to Winterfell… he needed to.

The wind blew through his hair. He could only hope that also gave speed to his mount. Ouch, his wound was opening more and more, he couldn't keep the band tight enough.

"Edwyle!" Cat called out. Eddard turned. Edwyle just arrived at Winterfell. On his own arm was Roslin, a beauty herself.

"Mother!" Stomping down the center of the aisle of the great hall, she came around the dais and hugged him. Eddard approached, seeing him, Edwyle stood straighter and bowed from the neck. "My lord."

"Ha!" Robert called out from the table. "He's a lil' version of you Ned, all prim and fucking proper!"

"Come here son." Opening his arms, he allowed Edwyle to embrace him. As they left the embrace, Edwyle motioned behind him, allowing Roslin to come forth too.

"Lord and Lady Stark, a pleasure always." She commented sweetly.

Cat waved her off. "Come dear, let me show you to a place at the great table." As Cat led their gooddaughter away, Edwyle once more motioned behind him, gesturing to the now awaiting line of children at the entrance hall. It was over a dozen boys.

The boys who warded with Edwyle.

"Ronnel! Samsyn!" Edwyle called out. Sternly, but not unfriendly. The two boys walked forward with some confidence. It was the first time that they'd seen their grandfather in such a 'regal' fashion, all dressed for the king himself.

Eddard could see in the faces of his two grandsons…of how they saw him in that moment. He imagined they believed that they were gazing upon a true King in the North. His shoulder length hair brushed back behind his ears to his neck, a great leather surcoat crossed with a court gorget, one meant for dress and court, not for battle.

"Grandfather!" Gods, Eddard felt old all of a sudden! Just yesterday it feels like he met Catelyn for the first time. Now being called a grandfather?!

The two children ran up to him as he took a knee, embracing them in a tight hug themselves.

"Come on boy…come on…come on boy!" He urged his mount. His vision was starting to go. Dark circles embraced his vision. But he could see it, finally. In the distance…the fortress of the heart of the North. Winterfell.

He couldn't stop now, not now, when he was so close.

"Grandfather?"

The night had rolled on, some guests had retired already, yet as the host, Eddard could not do so until his greatest guest, the King, retired himself. Robert may have changed a great deal, but he never lost that love of life, so for now, he still sat, japing and storytelling.

But down, in front of the dais, to the right, stood Samsyn. "Samsyn?"

"Grandfather… may we speak?"

His gooddaughter, Dacey, noticing Samsyn, leaned down to him. He could hear what she was speaking in his ear. "Samsyn, your grandfather is hosting the King of Westeros, you mustn't interrupt this." She muttered.

But he waved her off. "Have no worry Dacey. All is well." He turned to the King. "Pardon, Robert; I must speak with my grandson."

The king, pulled from a story from Arya, nodded and waved him off.

Standing, Eddard guided him away from the main hall. Outside, to the tiltyard. Looking down upon Winterfell as if you were a bird, thus would be the setting; to the south and north, along the doubled-ringed walls, were the two great gates of Winterfell. In the center of the walls, stood the great keep, a fortress of stone and granite unto itself. Directly to the west and south, stood the great hall. To the north and west of the great hall and keep, lay the large Godswood. To the east of the great keep, connected by covered bridge, stood the armory and barracks. The tiltyard was to the north and east of the keep and armory. To the south of the keep and the east of the great hall, was the main bailey, where guests and travelers were received. To the north of the great keep were the glasshouses.

It was in the tiltyard, away from the main bailey and primary southern gate where Eddard led Samsyn to.

"What is it you wish to speak about child?"

Samsyn nervously changed weight between his feet before looking back up to him. He could see Robb's determination and stubbornness in his eyes, and the wildness and freedom of his mother too.

"Why do you not speak about the Kingsguard?"

Whatever he had been prepared for, it wasn't that. He had been ready for questions of women, he was getting to that age, or for advice. But not for this.

A lump had formed in his throat, he tried to speak, but the words were caught. Clearing his throat, he steadied himself.

"Where is this coming from?"

"I remember when I was younger-" Eddard was amused by that, by his standards, he was still incredibly young. "-of all the stories you told me. But you never spoke of the Kingsguard. Father and grandmother would tell me not to ask you of it."

Eddard gave a stern eye. "So you still ask me? Is this the amount of respect for your father and grandmother?"

Samsyn visibly shivered at his look, which he felt bad about. He gave a kind yet small smile. "A jape, Samsyn, I know, not my strong suit." He took in a great amount of air, and let out a large sigh, turning to stare at the stars overhead. He could still feel Samsyn's eyes on him.

"I do not speak of it, because, although the moments were long ago, decades in fact, they still feel real. As if they happened only yesterday. Life, Samsyn, is not the great stories of life and happiness that the minstrels sing of. It is why fathers and mothers always tell their children to hold onto their childhood as if it were precious. You and I are lucky, born as nobles. But life only becomes darker, and more sad."

"Why do you speak of these things? I see you smile and love and find joy in duty?" Samsyn responded, almost in a broken tone.

"To prepare you. Life, it is not about surviving the minor dark moments, while living in the light; rather, it is holding onto those small lights, as you stumble your way through the darkness of the days and nights to follow. Some experience such great sadness, that they never recover, others only on the outside."

"But…"

"But what?"

"About the…the Kingsguard?"

He let out another, smaller sigh. "Another day perhaps. You have come to me and asked me as a man should have. But it is too painful of a memory to think on now. For now though, live your childhood, and appreciate it."

Samsyn gave a pained smile. As if he loved the moment with his grandfather but was still saddened that his wish had not been addressed.

Throwing a comforting arm around Samsyn's shoulder, Eddard led him back to the great hall. "Come son, let's get you another honey cake, and don't worry about your mother-" He added when Samsyn looked up quickly. "-I will ensure you don't get in trouble."

And so grandfather and grandson walked back to the great hall. Samsyn did get another honey cake. Dacey saw, and she was about to speak with him about it, Eddard grabbed her attention, and waved it off.

She may have been mama bear, and his mother… but he was the Lord of Winterfell.

The night had gone on longer, all of the children had gone to bed, Cat as well. Robert was not long for staying. Yet just as they were going to call it a night, great yelps could be heard, and alarms were rung.

The guards, hitherto relaxed in the atmosphere, stood straighter and made for the main door. Both Brienne and Ser Ellery grabbed the hilts of their swords. Robert, perhaps not drunk from wine, but still tipsy nonetheless, appeared to sober very quickly.

All of a sudden, the main door of the great hall, that led to the main bailey itself, was pushed open. So slowly, the eerie creak of the hinges set the hair on his back on edge.

At first, nothing but empty shadow flooded into the hall, but then, a man, leaned over, clutching a bloody bandage, strutted slowly in.

Arya let out a gasp, and Robert stood up.

Eddard's eyes widened too.

It was Karl Cassel.

Looking up, Karl immediately found Eddard's eyes.

"Robb-" He muttered before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

"Maester!" He called out. "Someone send for Maester Luwin!" He nearly ignored the sound of a guard running for the maester's chambers.

Running over to the man, he cradled his neck and held onto the bandage. Arya, Daryn, and Robert came over too.

"Father, why did he speak of Robb's name?" Her words were a question, but her tone was one of thinly veiled concern. Daryn rubbed her shoulders to comfort her.

"Ned, where is your eldest?"

Staring down at the man, he turned to look at them gravely.

"Karl joined Robb and other men to hunt down a murderer, and Rickon's kidnapper."

He could see in Robert's eyes recognition, of that years old news.

Arya, ever worried still, spoke the words that no one wished to hear.

"If he is here, bloodied… where is Robb?"

Eddard knew that he should've heeded his feeling earlier.