Ned stared silently as Benjen moved swiftly through the biting winds and fallen snow. The last time he had seen Benjen was just before he was to leave Winterfell and join the Night's Watch. They had laid Lyanna to rest together, right next to Brandon and their father in the crypts. He was just a boy then, but he had their father's face now. He towered over Ned and his hair was longer and his beard fuller. But it was more than that. His blue eyes, that used to laugh, were hardened and cold.

"Your grace," Benjen said as he dropped to one knee. His voice was calm, deep and regal. Though he hadn't born a title in decades, his royal manner still lingered.

"The deserter. Where is he?"

"I ordered your men to take him to the dungeons, your grace," Benjen said, keeping his gaze locked on Ned's boots.

Without a word, Ned spun on his heel and silently made his way towards the dungeons. He heard Benjen's heavy footsteps follow closely behind, but Ned kept his gaze forward as they reached the descending stairs right below Winterfell's main hall. Swiping a torch off the wall, Ned looked grimly over his shoulder at his brother, who still struggled to look Ned in the eyes.

"Follow me."

——————

The dungeon stank of urine. There was no windows, no beds and the darkness seemed to swallow Ned as he trudged further down the halls. Ned remembered the tales his father had told him and his siblings about this dungeon. He'd said that the old King's of Winter, who had labored to build it by hand themselves, used the dungeon as a means to keep the old Blackwood Warg Kings in chains. Thick chains hung loosely from the ceilings of each cell and a mass of rusted armor and swords lie scattered across the stony floors.

"On your feet," Benjen's voice brought Ned back to the present. He had opened the cell door to their left and in the corner, curled up into ball.

"I said on your feet!" Benjen hauled the boy to his feet, or at least he tried to because the boy's legs hung loose, as if they had no muscle in them.

"This, is the deserter?" Ned asked.

"Yes, Lord Stark." Benjen said.

Ned eyed the boy carefully. He held onto his bruised throat as breath came short and shaky, steaming in the cold air as he struggled to breathe. His eyes wildly looked everywhere except straight at Ned and tears streamed down his face.

Taking a deep breath, Ned knelt down in front of the him. "What is your name?" He asked gently.

"W-Will, y-your grace."

"Will. Tell me what happened."

Will's eyes filled with terror and his voice shook. "Direwolves, your grace. An' monsters! Men dressed up in ice, they were."

"Ice? Direwolves?" Ned whispered harshly.

When the others came, they say that the animals sensed them first. Direwolves the first of them, those kingly beasts. And that's what you have to be when that day comes. You must be ready. Because when the others move south. That's when the King's real watch begins.

Ned heard his father's voice in his head. He had heard him say this to Brandon many times. But now, the burden laid on him. "Are you certain? You know the punishment of lying to your King."

"Yes! M'lord!" Will cried. "The beasts tore my brother to pieces. To pieces. And I don't know if it was really a man, but it looked like a man! Walked like a man. But it was cold and dead. Cold and dead. Cold and dead. Cold and dead..." Will started to rock back and forth and dug his nails into Benjen's arm.

Benjen shook him. "Tell the King what you said it said to you."

"It said a pact was broken? But I don't know of any pact, your grace. I swear!" Will's eyes swelled up with tears. "It killed my brothers with a shard of ice, my lord. But it let me live. I don't know why, m'lord! I just ran!" Will broke down once more.

"He returned to castle black like this," Benjen set the boy back onto the cell floor. "Lord Mormont and I sent Dywen and Hake back to scout the area in the morning. We had hoped to find the bodies to give Ser Waymar and Gerald a proper burial." Benjen stared right into Ned's eyes. "They found no sign of them., Ned. Their bodies were gone."

"You have to believe me!" Will pleaded.

Ned numbly rose to his feet and immediately headed back towards the stairs.

He heard the cries of Will as Benjen chained him back against the wall in the dungeon, and the hurried footsteps as Benjen chased after him.

"Ne—" He started.

"Not here." Ned said. He quickly led Benjen out of the dungeons and across the yard, barely acknowledging Jory, Rodrick or any of his men. Shadows moved and lurched against the ancient stones of Winterfell as the brothers walked two by two towards the Crypts of Winterfell.

——————

Even after all these years, seeing the tombs of his dead ancestors made Ned shiver.

The Kings of Winter sat on their stone thrones against, backs against the sepulchres that contained their mortal remains. In long rows they sat, great stone direwolves curled round their feet and their likenesses carved into the stones that sealed the tombs. Their eyes watched Ned and Benjen closely as they passed, judging the future of their House.

Ned's footsteps rang off the stones as he reached the bottom of the stairs and they continued to echo in the vault overhead as they walked to the back of the crypt. Ned led the way and Benjen followed wordlessly behind. The subterranean chill began to envelop the brothers but neither of them so much as flinched. It was always cold down here. And they'd visited the crypts ever since they were children. Both of them, Lyanna and Brandon. Their father always brought them down here to honor their forefathers.

The Kings watch over their own from down here on their thrones of stone, he'd say.

By ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep their spirits contained in their crypts. The oldest had long ago rusted away to nothing, leaving only a few red stains where the metal had rested on stone. Ned wondered if that meant those ghosts were free to roam the castle now. He hoped not. The first Kings of Winter had been men hard as the land they ruled. In the centuries before the Dragonlords came over the sea, they ruled the North clothed in the skins of their direwolves and became as ferocious as the beasts themselves.

Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern. The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. Ned did not like to think on that.

"Here," Ned said. Benjen nodded silently as he knelt and bowed his head. Ned did the same.

"They died too young." Benjen whispered and Ned's heart broke all over again.

There were three tombs that sat side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, their father, sat in the middle. His likeness stern and quiet, just like he had been in his life. Beside him sat two smaller sepulchres that took the form of his children. Brandon Stark and Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. Brandon's form sat tall and proud, like a true heir to Winterfell, to the North, and to the legacy of the Kings of Winter. He had been only twenty three when he died. He was to wed Catelyn in the great hall and then be crowned in front of all of the bannermen in the North upon the death of their father. He was the eldest, born to rule. He was a terrifying swordsman and when he spoke, men listened. Ned will never forget the day he died. He was still being fostered in the Vale when he got the news. Brandon had been strangled and burned alive by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen. His crime? Demanding the safe return of their sister.

Their sister. Lyanna Stark. A woman of nineteen years when she died and filled with an equal amount of loveliness and wildness. She was quick to love, and just as easy to love, but her will was as sharp as iron and it made her reckless, more often than not. At Harrenhall, in Dorne, in the reach and it led her early grave. She was to be wed to Robert back then before the rebellion. But she seduced and ran off with the crown prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, entertaining him until he left her with child, so the story goes.

And as much as it burned him, Ned let them tell it. The truth is the King's burden.

Ned quietly studied Lyanna's long, stone face. The stonemason had known her well. Almost every detail in the carvings were just as Ned remembered her. Strong, willful…and dead before her time.

"The boy saw the others." Benjen whispered.

"So he says." Ned said.

"You don't believe him?"

"We need more proof." Ned rose to his feet.

Benjen frowned. "I gave you proof. You heard what my brother said."

Ned stiffened. "You gave me the word of a frightened boy."

Benjen frowned. "Father's scrolls told us to watch for these signs."

"Father's scrolls are incomplete. The pact is passed down from king to heir. It wouldn't all be written down." Ned rubbed the tiredness from his face. "Brandon was likely the last person father told the whole of it to."

When he had returned North after the rebellion, Ned had scoured through his father's library. A room full of preserved journals written by all the Stark Kings. He had learned much more about his father's intentions when he decided to send him to the Vale, Benjen to the Reach and Lyanna to Dorne, in order to strengthen Westerosi alliances for the Winter to come. He had learned more about the long night and the ancient stark magic. But even after endless hours of searching, Ned found that writings on the pact were scarce and knowledge of how to keep it, nonexistent. He only found vague warnings of a binding promise between the Old Kings of Winter and an old power that waits deep in the far North beyond the wall.

Ned sighed. Once again, he felt the heavy weight of the crown bear down on his head. A crown weighed down by secrets, half truths and mysteries he still struggled to grasp.

Father told Brandon all the secrets of the North. Ned thought to himself. He would know what to do.

Gathering himself, Ned said quickly, "If you wish for me to believe the others are coming south after a thousand years, I need more than a child's word."

Benjen narrowed his eyes and slowly climbed to his feet. "Fine. Then come North with me. I can bring you to the site myself."

"I cannot just leave Winterfell. Balon has been waiting to raid our coasts. I can't risk leaving with war so close. What am I say to the lords when they start asking questions?"

Benjen stared at Ned like he had lost his head. "You won't need to leave. Warg into your crow. I've been warging into deer and bears for years now so I can follow you on the ground while you take the air. We can be in and out within a rotation."

Promise me!

"…No."

"No? You mean to leave this to chance?" Benjen's face morphed into a deep frown. "We swore an oath to keep the winter at bay. We swore an oath to protect the Nor-"

Ned raised his hand to silence his brother.

"I haven't forgotten." Ned said coldly. "What I mean is that…I can't."

Ned felt something break inside of him at the admission. How long had it been? Since he traded his skin for his crows? It was so hard to keep track, but the memories remained. The cracking of his frail bones as he glided through the air, the shrill cry that erupted from his chest every time he tried to speak, the hollowness he felt in his own body after he slipped back into his skin, the smell of blood and winter roses. Gods, he could still smell it. Ned could no longer bear it. He could no longer go back to that that prison of meat and bone.

Ned frowned. These were perilous thoughts. Traitorous thoughts.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ned eyed his brother. "At the tower…that was the last time I warged into my crow."

Ser Oswell Whent stood tall, his sword held low to his guard. Across from him, with the tip of his sword pointed towards the sky stood old Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. And before them both, stood Ser Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning. The pale blade, once alive with light, now dripped with the blood of the five Northern soldiers that lay dead at his feet.

"So it begins…" Ned said sadly.

"No, Lord Stark." With one hand, Arthur angrily jabbed Dawn's bloody tip at Ned's chest. "Now it ends." His voice was hard and final and, well, that was the last time Ned could recall ever feeling truly afraid.

"And you haven't warged since then?" Benjen pressed, pulling Ned back to the present.

"My memories fade too quickly. The only reason I was able to get back to my body at the Tower was because Howland pulled me back. I can't risk something like that happening here." Ned shook his head. When had he become so weak?

"How have the children managed?" Benjen pressed. "Has the same thing been happening to them?"

Ned closed his eyes and said nothing. All around him the spirits of the dead glared down at him with cold, disapproving eyes.

"Ned?" He heard Benjen ask again. Ned opened his mouth but the words died on the edge of his lips, but his silence was all Benjen needed.

"You haven't told them, have you?" Benjen narrowed his eyes accusingly.

"There has been no need to involve them. They are still nothing but children." Ned felt his shoulders tense and his mouth go dry.

"They are already involved by matter of their birth." Benjen paced back and forth in front of the stone statues, the sounds of his hurried footsteps bounced off the walls of the crypts. "You know how dangerous it is not to teach them. They could be warging into cats or people. What if they've been having Green Dreams?"

"We do not even know if they're skinchangers." Ned snapped.

"Every Stark is a skinchanger, Ned. It's in our blood!"

Promise me!

"Our house has not seen a dreamer in generations." Ned's hands curled his shaking hands into fists. "As long as they think all they see are dreams, that's all they will be. They'll have no reason to believe otherwise."

A heavy silence hung between them for a long moment.

"Ned, hear what you're saying," Benjen pleaded. "First you brush off your duty to the north and now to your children? You should have sent for me. I would have trained them where you could not."

"So you could fill their heads with your fantasies?" Ned scoffed. "I would have thought you would have learned by now that we've suffered enough from that."

In an instant, Ned saw the mask fall and sorrow build up behind Benjen's eyes. The anguish, the grief, the last thread of guilt that his brother was desperately hanging onto. But just as quickly as the mask fell, Benjen replaced it with a new one full of cloudy rage.

"You cannot continue to blame me for Lyanna's choices, brother." Benjen's voice now rang low and angry. "I was a child, ten and three, sharing tales I heard from the wet nurses. How was I to know that she'd take the stories I told her so deeply to heart?" Benjen sighed. "Yes I was foolish to keep her meeting with Rhaegar secret, but what do you expect from a child."

Ned flinched at the harshness of Benjen's words.

"And I have given you space, brother. I left my home and I missed seeing the children grow, just to give you space. And yet you continue to punish me because you can't punish a ghost." Benjen spat.

"Benjen I-" Ned reached out to him, but Benjen slapped his arms away.

"The others are coming, your grace. And we don't have time to argue. If you demand it, I will go get you your proof myself." Giving a short bow, the taller man silently dismissed himself, walking headfirst back towards the spiraling staircase.

Ned closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself, and silently followed behind Benjen as they walked out of the crypts. He couldn't help glancing back at the stone statues of his ancestors one last time though.

Suddenly, just for a moment, Ned was gripped with a terrible sense of dread. He glanced back at the stone figures that lined the crypts and could feel the eyes of the dead that watched him as he walked away. They were all still listening, Ned knew.

We'll save a place for you.

They whispered.

Winter is coming.