EDDARD

"The hall outside of the library at Winterfell was a beige, matte sand-coloured hall of magnificent wooden pillars that arose all around him, like the halls of history framing his reign. Is this how I will be remembered? He reflected, as he sat turning a wooden cyvasse piece to and fro in his hands. They were his own hands, King Eddard Stark's hands, the hands of a soldier, and now a king. Yet the pieces had never been his to play. They had been thrust upon him by the fickle changes of fleeting fates, tombs and hallways enveloping him in his path forward that he must walk. He did not care to think too much about it, nor did he usually have the time for that, but now at his home it seemed that he could not shake the feelings of contemplation, of melancholy and remorse.

How far have I strayed from my first, true path here in this life? Is this what my gods want of me, or is it the Seven that have called upon me? Are my southron people's gods becoming my own at last? He often prayed to the heart tree of the Red Keep, and believed that he could hear a faint rustling from it in reply to his prayers, but it was not the same as the weirwoods. This was where the old gods truly resided, and where he should have been, if not for the terrible fires and steel of war. The realm was at peace now, and had been for a long time, but exactly how long would it last? And how much did it depend on him? He had never wished to rule, never been prepared for it, but somehow the crown had fallen to him. From fire to ice, and then into the sea and smoke of a new time... He reflected once again, like he had a thousand times before.

Maester Luwen still stood without, perusing the giant tombs of sumskeeping and reckoning charts for the castle. Ned found that he had a small wonder in him at the reserve of the maester. Everyone in the capital wanted a word out of of his mouth, a word into his ear, a short precious talk of his time, and yet here, at his home, the people, his own people of the North, stood and bowed, shying away from him in humility and silence. He supposed it could be just the northern way, but he also knew that he had stayed away for far too long. Maester Luwen's acting was understandable, he supposed. Ned had only spent a few precious years with his family at Winterfell after his fostering at the Vale before the Great tourney at Harrenhal, and before the war broke out, and everything that had followed. Maester Luwen had known him only for those short three or four years, and then for the time when he had returned to Winterfell, staying a short time before finally making his dreary way south again to take up the throne and stay. More than that, the maester would not have any qualms about the goings-on in the south, nor would he have anything to say to Ned about the running of the keep that he could not tell to Benjen.

Ned looked out at the courtyard below where Robb, Jon, Willam and Theon Greyjoy stood parrying at Ser Rodrik's overwatch and command.

They were all so young still, and yet he had not been much older, he thought. And Benjen told him that Jon wanted to go to the Wall...

Ned put down the piece on the far end of the board in front of him, sighing to himself and thinking about a promise which he had made many years before. The cyvasse board had been a gift from Lord Dalt of Lemonwood when he had visited the court some moons back. Sansa had quickly seemed interested in the foreign game, but then forgotten about it after she found noone but Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole to play with. She had outwitted them both, and then played against her mother, but Catelyn was far too clever, in turn, winning all three games. Sansa had lost her spirits for cyvasse after that. But Ned had often looked at the board where it stood, at the shelf in the common room/hall, and pondered at the game.

His thoughts went back once again to Jon Arryn, his foster father of almost his entire life, and to Daenerys Targaryen, the little princess that he had watched over ever since she was little more than a babe at Dragonstone. There were so many things to consider, so many routes which his mind could go, and yet he felt also as if he needed to stave his hand at it... Lord Baelish had certainly done his best to try and rouse something up, whatever it was. Something about the Velaryons... The Velaryons, who were sworn to House Targaryen and Dragonstone. There was something about Viserys in the matter as well, he had no doubt. And yet Petyr Baelish had said that it was Aerys's old spymaster Varys who still dwelt across the Narrow Sea and apparently had nothing better to do than to try and kidnap the princess Daenerys to reinstall her or her brother onto her family's throne.

Or perhaps they had indeed meant to hurt her, or kill her, gods forbid. But that made little sense as well. What would that serve them? Were they, the eunuck and some Essosi sellswords so hostile towards the Targaryens, a broken house who were already deposed and dwindling into slow nothingness on another continent than their own? Or did they perhaps wish to stir up problems between Viserys and someone else by having the princess killed? The prince was a good enough lad, but he had always had a slight shadow of his father's mad side within him, Ned could tell. He hoped that it would never blossom into anything more than a slight flicker, same as in most people, and Stannis had done a fine job of raising him into a respectable young lord, but all the same... If anything were to happen to the princess, such things might change.

Prince Viserys was mostly harmless, Ned supposed, now commanding over Dragonstone and the other small stones of land across Blackwater Bay since a few years back of his coming of age, barely more than two handfuls of houses under his sway, and that of Stannis, whose loyalty he did not doubt for one moment. He even thought that the Prince was held in some slight fear of him, King Eddard Stark, the silent wolf king, as they all called him, and he was careful to uphold that sense of respect, if not nurture it. Jon Arryn had told him to do so as well, in one of his many hundreds of sage pieces of advice over the years. Still, no matter his current strength or number of small loyal houses which could rally to his cause, a Targaryen on the path for vengeance was a terrifying thing to consider, whether it was a Mad King or indeed even the young prince Viserys, a young and lanky lordling that was little more than the shadow of his great forebears in truth.

But why would anyone want to start a conflict between Prince Viserys and himself? Why someone on another continent altogether? And why now, after so long time? It would surely have made more sense to do it shortly after the war, while his reign was still young and untested, vulnerable to further change. Eddard sighed to himself, turning one of the cyvasse pieces back and forth between his fingers... He could not read the minds of a spymaster, particularly not of a malicious eunuch from Lys, no matter if he had Littlefinger's dubious help to do the interpreting for him.

They had gotten more reports from Lord Hoster. One of the men, an exiled westerosi hailing from Duskendale, had talked under the threat of death and admitted that their mission was indeed to free the princess from Riverrun, and to deliver her back all the way to Pentos in Essos safe from harm, though he could not say why. Their sellsword company was indeed the famed Golden Company, now commanded by Ser Harry Strickland, and they simply followed the orders that their captain told them, and he in turn followed the gold paid by someone else. Who that someone else was, though, the man did not say.

All in all, Eddard Stark was grateful that he had had the common sense to exile Lord Varys from court all those years ago. An enemy on the other side of the sea was better than one in his own keep. And regardless of whether it was truly Varys who was pulling the strings from some Free City across the Narrow Sea, Ned had enough trouble with Littlefinger to try and solve that Meereenese knot as well. If there was any truth to it, any evidence, Lord Baelish would surely find more of it in time and bring it to him. If he had only taken Varys's head... Robert had wanted the man spared, he remembered, and said that he would be a good asset. Perhaps that would have been better despite it all... No, he was sure it was not. He could not let a traitor such as that continue serving on the Small Council. Could not even let him stay in the capital, nor even on this side of the Narrow Sea. It had been the right decision. He felt more and more sure about it the more he dwelt on it.

He found himself thinking of Robert. As he was now, and also the old Robert from their youth. The Robert who had wanted all the Targaryens gone from Westeros for good in his enormous rage. The young eight-year-old Prince Viserys, for one...

Robert had commanded Stannis to have the boy killed, but Viserys was under Stannis, and Stannis had chosen to follow the orders of his newly made king instead of those of his older brother and lord. As a consequence, hed' been made castellan/lord steward of Dragonstone, and Viserys his ward. It was the perfect solution.

Robert had been furious, of course, swearing, screaming to the top of his lungs and cursing Ned to all the seven hells before his guards angled all their spears towards the lord of the Stormlands and threatened him into silence. Ned did not even have to speak a word back. He only asked Robert once. Once it had only took.

Am I not your king? He said.

And Robert turned as red as blood in his face.

But Ned said nothing more. He only looked at Robert with icy eyes that said more than his old friend wanted to hear, and then the lord of Storm's End stormed out of the hall, true to his name, returning to his own keep.

After that, the relationship between them had been frosty, to say the least. Robert had found some sort of solace in the arms of Cressina Estermont, his cousin of only a year or two younger or elder, whichever it was, but it had not been until Balon Greyjoy had risen up in rebellion and the Greyjoy Rebellion that they had made their peace in truth. They had fought together side by side once more, hacking their way through the hordes of ironmen on Great Wyk and storming the walls of Pyke. After that, they had feasted in goodly nature, and Ned and Robert were both glad to have made their peace.

Ned took up another piece from the cyvasse board, this one a knight, examining where it had stood at the border close to his lap and placing it further back, close to the mountains in the distance.

...

Speaking of peace, he had made his own with Jaime Lannister as well. It was a time of peace, it seemed, at least between Lannister and Stark. That was some good fortune in the middle of all the trouble, at least. Or peace and peace... Call it whatever one might call it. As ever close to a peace of sorts which a man could be expected to make with his judge and jailor.

It was an unexpected meeting. It had happened suddenly at the feast. He had not expected a meeting from the Wall, but there it was. A small honour guard of perhaps six or seven black brothers, most of them westermen, but some northerners in the bunch as well, he thought he spied. Benjen had welcomed them graciously, just as everyone else who had wanted to attend and see the king.

…

"And even Jaime Lannister had appeared at the feast, on a visit from the Wall. He had walked right into me, Ned reflected, with no fear in his eyes at all, only smugness at still having his head intact. Although any man who had lived at the Wall for half his life should surely not have any reason to fear the king sitting down south on the Iron throne, he supposed.

"Hello, Your Grace", he had smiled with a glistening smile, although he certainly looked older than the last time he had seen him, a man grown in truth, among the best fighters of the realm, and hardened by the harsh conditions as First Ranger beyond the Wall since several years back. He had felt complied to bow down, and to give him the sense of honour befitting the First Ranger of the Watch, be it Jaime Lannister or no.

"How good of you to come back up North and give us a visit. It's been a bit cold and dreary here withour your presence for these past… How much is it? Fourteen years?"

"Aye", Ned had simply replied, with a face of stone. "I can imagine it has."

"Still, I've kept the Wall safe for you and your brother… It's right there, waiting for you, if you want to take a look. Sturdy old thing. I wonder how many kings have seen it, or indeed gone up and pissed down from its edges while they ruled… And how many who did afterwards."

He had smiled his whitest Lannister smile, as ever. It was as if fourteen years had disappeared, and he was sitting on the Iron Throne in front of him all over again. He had known it to be so. Expected it to be so. Waited for all this time to say precisely such a thing again. And he went on, even.

"Must be nice to spend your days sitting down in the warmth of The Red Keep all throughout the long summer… Is it not? The privileges of being king…" He chuckled.

"Are the wildlings causing you any trouble?" He had asked, better than to stand staring and say nothing.

"Not so much that I cannot handle it, Your Grace", he smiled his best smile, half smugness and half resented hatred of the past fourteen years. "I keep my sword sharp, and my mind as well up here, you see… As I'm sure you knew back in your younger days, Your Grace... The cold… preserves."

"How good", Ned had said. "Then perhaps I was indeed right in sending you here."

With that, he had turned and walked off, leaving Jaime Lannister to stand contemplating on his words.

Ned thought of his those last words, realizing what he should have said back instead of letting the Kingslayer walk off to greet his sister on the dais, as he finally put the cyvasse piece down on the board in front of him.

"There are days, in truth, when I might have swapped places with you, ser."

And so he had thought, but said nothing of the sort, as he did not now either. He simply waited for another while in the Library Tower, trying his best to get a calm from the castle before he had to leave it all behind once again.

The sun was high in the sky, but slowly beginning to go down. The boys were still practicing. Robb was great, as ever, but Willam held his own. The Greyjoy lad pushed him on, and Jon stood between them both, silently watching.

Best I had gone down and join them, he supposed. I will not get a chance to see such a fight again in a generation, he reflected. Not until Robb himself was married and had children of his own, surely. Then perhaps they would find the time to return here again. The Red Keep would do its best to hold them away for years and years again, most like, for such was the curse of the Iron Throne, which semmed to have held him more than he held it for all these years, as he thought to himself. And I doubt that Ben will have made any southron tourney fighters of them either..."

He rose up from the table, taking leave of the room. Maester Luwin stood still without, bowing as he made his way past him.

"Your Grace."

"Maester Luwin."

He made his way down the stairs and out to the courtyard. The boys were still hacking at eachother, Robb clearly giving Willam the fight of his life. Willam was slightly taller, but thinner. He has gotten those traits from Ben and Jaime Lannister both, Ned thought to himself. Benjen had always been skinny, with long legs and arms, but there was definitely the uncanny resemblance to the Kingslayer in the looks of his nephew, and his grey eyes with a small, slightly nauseating hint of green in them, like an old olive that had been left out and gotten stale. Ned did his best at silencing such thoughts inside his mind, though. The young Willam needed not be handsome, nor to quell his own traumatic thoughts of the Lannisters; he needed only to be a good lord for his people. Ned hoped he would be.

He thought it so strange to think on the matter, but did his best to silence his thoughts inside his head. Not all those who look like their blood resemble them in the heart, he reminded himself. And he was sure that Willam, from what he had seen, was an honourable lad, although perhaps a bit haughty and arrogant, a trait he had gotten from his mother Lady Cersei, and which also in truth reminded Ned a little of his older brother Brandon. Ben should have taken the name and named him after him before I had the chance, he thought to himself.

At any rate, Willam was a fine swordsman, and tall and thin as a sword himself, the tallest of all of the boys in fact, except possibly for Theon, but he could barely tell. Robb was more rough-lined, with a stockier build, and tall for his age, but still an inch or two shorter than his younger cousin. Jon was between all of them, somehow, despite looking more Stark than anyone else. He blended in perfectly. Ned was pleased to see it. And Benjen had done a fine job of raising the lad into an honourable young man. He decided to tell him so.

"He's certainly fast. And he's got some proper moves as well."

Ben laughed.

"Aye, that he does. He'll almost outrank me soon, I fear."

They stood silent, watching for a while, before Ned turned to Jon.

"Are you only watching, Jon? Not partaking in the practice?"

Jon turned to face him, not having seen him until just the moment he heard King Eddard's voice.

"Your Grace...! No, I-... I will, but not for the moment. I will have my chances later, when they are all tired out", he smiled.

Ned smiled back at him.

"That sounds wise indeed. The mark of a true commander to be."

Theon Greyjoy stood beside them, watching the fighting intensely, waving his fist in the air and yelling for one to finish the other, along with Quentyn and some of the men-at-arms, while Ser Rodrik screamed and buffled at them from the other side to keep moving and to never stand still or expose their chest towards the enemy. The young and mud-coloured Quentyn Martell was wearing a thick pelted hood, quilted mittens and greaves, as well as a large pink scarf, and still looked to be freezing. It was a queer sight to see up here at Winterfell, thought the King. He pitied him for having to join them on their journey come all the way up here, though perhaps he thought it an excite adventure as well as an exhausting ordeal. He was not sure.

"Are you holding up, Quentyn?" he asked the boy.

"Yes. It's quite cold, Your Grace, but I can manage", the boy said politely, bowing as he did so.

King Eddard Stark nodded, not prodding the boy more at that. A Dornishman did not fare well up here, and there was not more to say about it, though old Lord Commander Qorgyle had apparently gotten used to the weather fast in his years at the Wall, he mused as the song of steel and clanging rang out over the courtyard.

"Where are the others? The children?" he asked Jon, out of all people, though Quentyn and Jory were just there.

"Inside, I believe", Jon answered. "At least some of them. They were all out here before, but then they went away when they saw Willam flashing his steel and Ser Rodrik's morningstar about. Now I haven't seen them in a while. I don't know if they're all inside, though. Perhaps some stayed out here. Bran seemed to go to the smithy earlier."

"It will be all of them, or none of them", Ned said, "if they are to keep Bran and Arya from wandering about in all of the godforsaken places where they should not go. My hair turns grey... "

Jon looked up at him, intending to say something of importance. He hesitated first, but then spoke.

"I saw that Prince Bran was climbing the castle walls yesterday. He is mighty good at it."

"Indeed", the King said. "But now I have put Ser Erryk, Ser Mandon and Ser Arys to guard over him and Arya both, along with four other guards and their mother and septa. Perhaps we have some small chance of keep them at bay until the morning comes..."

Jon seemed to smile at the comment.

Willam got a swift maneouver on Robb and knocked him down to the ground with a sturdy shot at his shoulder, as Robb fell back with a thump on the dark brown dirt of the courtyard. Theon roared in excitement, shouting "Good one, Will! Good strike!".

Robb soon got up again, however, now more angry and fiery from the admittedly small but rare defeat, his auburn hair streaming wildly about as he chopped himself closer to his adversary again, and sought a revenge for his falling down. Willam parried, and he was quick to do so, using the slender and sharp moves he knew from Benjen, and with the grace of someone whose family had been famous swordsmen for generations. He will certainly be able to defend the castle, at the very least, Ned thought, as Benjen laughed in triumph over each small victory of his son. The two Stark cousins were surprisingly evenly matched, although they both fought with very different styles. One was half Stark, half Lannister, and one was half Stark, half Tully. It was a fascinating sight for all to see.

After seeing them battle it out for a while longer, he left them, excusing himself to go inside and check up on Catelyn and the children. Arya and Bran were at the forefront of his mind. The boys were doing great.

He walked in past the guards, some new young ones that he did not recognise from his own time, who bowed before him, and into the keep. Catelyn and Septa Mordane indeed sat on each side of the children, keeping a tidy watch like two mother hens in their broad skirts.

It was almost a comical sight, seeing the children so propped up between them, not even able to move off from the bench, but in truth it was more than necessary. Not even Lyanna had been as good at sneaking out as Arya in her youth, he thought. She was a northern girl in her heart if ever he saw one, just like her old namesake of the Flints had been. He had chosen her name well. Lyanna had been wild too, but not even she had been able to keep away from the guards for as long as Arya had, at least not without being told on by some of the commonfolk after a day or two. Then again, he had not seen her much when she was in her prime and he was in the Vale. Benjen would know better, and which places were the hardest to keep watch over. He was certain that he had also climbed and snuck around his fair share when he was little. The two had been inseparable.

"Is everything well?" He asked, to noone in particular.

"For the moment", Catelyn answered, with a smile at his presence. "They have not moved out of their seats for an hour or more. I believe we are making progress."

"I need to go to the privy", Bran said just then. He seemed to have been waiting for the chance to speak. They had all been silent when he'd come in.

"Very well. Take Ser Erryk and Ser Mandon with you both.", Catelyn said.

Bran sighed, and went with them as commanded.

"I'm impressed", the King said. Catelyn smiled again.

"I heard you and Benjen are planning on going hunting. You will not bring Bran, I hope? Please..."

"It is an important rite of passage for any young boy. I rode in the Wolfswood at his age myself."

"Ned, we have just spoken of how we don't want to lose them again."

He sighed.

He considered leaving Bran behind for a moment. Although how long would he wait until they would come here next time? It was not worth it, to wait, only for the small chance that he would run away. For the sake of Catelyn's worries, aye, but there were other factors to consider.

"He is only seven..." Ned said. "Seven is old enough to come along. And even a boy of seven is surely wise enough to not stray from the party in the woods. I will be sure to tell him of the dangers that are there."

"If you tell him, you'll only encourage him more." Catelyn sighed, pinning down her sewing needles into the cushion in her lap. "I only wish you would think about it. Seven... Yes. That means he has many more years before he needs to hunt for true. Perhaps we can wait 'til the children are all older with things such as this."

Ned said nothing, only waiting for the idea to formulate and take root inside his head. It took some time, but he did it for her, for her to not have to worry.

"Aye. I shall think on it... I promise you that much, at least."

"Good. When are you riding out?"

"I was thinking in three or four days' time perhaps. That will give us plenty of time to settle in here, get to know the stables, the horses and what not. And to do some other things before thinking of the hunt."

"That sounds wise", Catelyn said, tending to her needlework again.

Ned sat down next to her and the children on the long, immoveable stone bench.

"How are you faring here, Sansa? This is your family home. Me and Benjen grew up here. Do you like it?" He turned to her to ask.

"It's all right..." she said hesitantly, demurely, lifting up her needle with the thread inside of it, "though I don't very much like the cold."

Ned laughed.

"Aye, it's cold, all right... And this is still summer. I can only wonder at how Cersei will manage the winter...

But she has once before, so I hope for the best for her and the children."

He got a sudden sense of alware inside him.

"Summer is still here", Catelyn tried calming him down. "Although Maester Luwin told us that it would be snow in only a couple of days. Do you believe him?"

"Luwin? Aye, I reckon so. He is a good maester. Pycelle would have said the same had I asked him. And it does seem like snow might be on its way."

He looked outside the window.

"Will I have to go outside when it's snowing?" Sansa said. "I don't want to. I only want to stay inside. It's perfect temperature in here. Not too warm, and not too cold."

Ned laid his arm around her.

"I suppose you can stay in here if you truly like, though it would be good for you to get at least a small grip of the feel of cold before it starts to come down south. Even back in King's Landing it will become winter in a few years' time. We will have snow there as well, strange as it may seem. Perhaps sooner than that. The last of the summer is usually the warmest, and then... It will slowly begin to turn."

"I don't want it to become winter", Sansa said. "I don't like when it's too hot either, but... This... Why can't it stay like this always?"

Ned looked out at the window again, and then at the fires of the hearth, crackling in the corner.

"Aye... that would be nice, wouldn't it, love."

"It would."

"But if it were always nice and sunny, you would not appreciate it the same. These are the best days, and you are still not outside and playing in the courtyard like you did when you were little."

"I don't like playing anymore. Playing is for small-bairn."

He chuckled.

"Well... at least you've picked up on some of the Northern Tongue. Where is Cersei and Myrcella and Tommen, by the way? Why are you not with them?"

"Lady Cersei is feeling ill today, Septa Arbane told us. Myrcella and Tommen are close to her, but she hopes that they will be able to be present tomorrow", Catelyn said.

"Aye. Tomorrow and tomorrow, and the day after that... And Clegane, the Hound? There is noone here but us. Is he also with the children?"

"He went out to speak with the guards, I believe. He will be back soon", Catelyn said.

"All right", Ned said, steadying into the comforting hardness of the grey stone bench beneath him. He sat between Sansa and the empty seat which Bran had just left from, with Sansa, Septa Mordane, Vayon and Jeyne Poole to his left, and Arya, Haelda, Lady Helaena Wendwater, Rickon and Catelyn to his right. Lady Eresa, Lady Tanda and Lollys and all the rest of them sat further away, at the other bench.

Ned felt right at home.

It was not a throne, not anywhere close it, and he shared it with all the others, but somehow he felt more comfortable here, sitting on the wonderful hardness of the sturdy stone bench of his youth – a seat he well remembered but had not sat on in a generation – with his arms around his children and his wife, than he ever had sitting at the jagged blades of King Aegon's steel monstrosity. For once in Eddard Stark's life, he was feeling calm enough to let old memories come trailing back to him again. Memories of Brandon, of Ben, and Lya, and his father and mother, Old Nan and all the rest...

The smell of pine needles and sentinel trees, sheep shit, cold fresh northern air and the smoke of the hearth... He kissed Sansa on her head, as she continued sewing her work.

She was good enough for the septa to let her make whatever she liked, and she had begun to amaze him with her crafts. As they had ridden, she had made at least three different patterns showing the places they were at, being finished with them always only a day after they had left the flowing rivers, willows, cottages and linden trees of the Riverlands, the high-rising mountains and blue skies of the western edge along the High Road, and the dreary grey green swamps of the Neck, though there she had focused more on the flowers, making the foreground larger and the swamp only visible as some small green trees and a waterline of water lilies behind them.

Right now she seemed to be working on a picture of Winterfell itself, he saw to his pride. Perhaps her mother had told her, or more like it was her own idea. He turned to ask Arya about their stay.

"What about you, Arya? Do you like it here?"

"Like it? It's great! I've never been to a castle like this ever before! It's just like Harrenhal, only not as big, but the same color. And the stones here have more moss on them here. And the people are more fun to talk to." Arya went on, completely ecstatic to talk of all that she had seen already. "And there are much more children and animals here. I saw a bunch of black crows before when we were passing by that old tower! They're not black and grey like in the south, they were all black, like ravens! And then there was this boy who showed us the chickens...-"

She got her eyes as big and white as dinner plates as she looked up at him. "I want to have a chicken when we get back home to King's Landing again! One just like that! A small grey and white one, just a little one, with a pattern like that on the side of its neck! Please Father! Can I, Father? Please. My very own one. I would take care of it all the time, I promise. Not only when I was feeling like it. I could even give it water when it's a hot day outside. Which is... almost always." She shone down slightly, if only a bit, her sweet little snaggled teeth visible inside her half smiling mouth.

He put his hands on her shoulder, asking her if she would not feel guilty for trapping the poor hen into going all the way down south. Perhaps it wanted to stay up here at Winterfell.

"Okay", she said, "but what about if I just bring an egg? And then it will hatch into a chicken on its way back! And we can have it in the wheelhouse and everything! I can keep it on my shoulder, just like a northman!"

"Just like a northman?" Ned was confused.

"Uncle Benjen says that the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch has a great black raven on his shoulder. Lady Cersei said so as well, when we asked her about the Kingsl-... I mean Ser Jaime at the feast yesterday."

"You asked her about Ser Jaime? Why?"

"I don't know", Arya said. "I only wanted to know something about the Wall. You really haven't told us that much about it, so I had to ask."

"I could have told you myself", he said. "There are a lot of stories about it. The old stories of the Wall. Ben knows them, too."

"Anyway. I only wanted to tell you because you said that the Wall was a place where you couldn't bring any animals except horses, but Lord Commander Mormont has got a raven, so you were wrong! ..." She stopped up again, thinking, seeming to reflect. "But I like it here. I really do."

He began chuckling again, as her little rapid mouth went on and on about all the things she had seen, and she had spoken to Old Nan, and listened to her stories, although she had called her by some other name, and she seemed too old to tell even her and Bran apart, even. She wondered if she might be blind, to which Ned said that he did not know for sure.

"Although it would be more fun if we could go somewhere outside the castle walls", she continued. "It's so much more fun outside. It's a wilderness. I've never seen anything like it. The trees are all so old and tall. Uncle Benjen said that he wanted to take us all horse riding if we wanted, but Mother said no. He said he would take me too, and that I could ride in a boy's attire if I wanted, even though I'm a girl. It was nothing like in King's Landing, he said. Up here the ladies all wear it like that, with trousers on, when they go riding. I just want to see the forest and the horses. Please Father, can I go?"

"Into the Wolfswood?"

"No, just outside of it, and there would be no hunting. I know that hunting isn't for ladies, anyway. I only want to go riding and see some of the forest! I like it here. Please Father, can I go? I really do like it here! I haven't even fought with anyone, or escaped yet, or anything! I've been good! I just want to go horse riding! I really like it here! I wish I could stay here forever."

Ned smiled, his heart growing in a spot warm deep inside that he had saved and cherished for a similar moment to come again without ever knowing it. The cobwebs which covered it now parted before the feeling, as he saw her wild long face smiling up at him with those excited grey eyes that tingled like the stream of a mischievous brook.

He turned to her Mother, who said nothing but seemed to have given up arguing after Arya's long speech, and then back to her again, and he spoke, for once without even thinking and weighing on each word as if sitting on the throne. Here he was safe, he was with his family, in his home keep, and with noone else around. It just came out of him, as he felt the pain of twenty cairns briefly lift inside his heart.

"I'm sure you do, Lya. I know you do." He laughed, almost closing his eyes. "I'm all too sure you do."

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