The recent weeks had thrust Barristan Selmy into a maelstrom. At first, he regarded the young girl asserting herself as Arya Stark with a healthy dose of scepticism. A passing resemblance to her aunt wasn't enough to dispel doubts, yet her knowledge exceeded the plausible range for an impostor.
Barristan, corresponded with Lord Eddard Stark, seeking the truth of this unexpected claim. The Warden of the North's confirmed the tale. His daughter, had journeyed alongside Theon Greyjoy on a mission to secure a skilled blacksmith.
In the wake of this revelation, Barristan found himself eager at the prospect of meeting Rhaegar's youngest son. The revelations from Lady Arya—though she denied the title—painted a portrait of a brooding young man. Much like his father with the looks of his mother.
Amongst their trio, the blacksmith was an enigma, The decision by Ned Stark to send his daughter and ward all the way to King's Landing was a strange move. Complicating matters was the undeniable familiarity Barristan felt when regarding the lad. It wasn't until Arya revealed Gendry as Robert's bastard, did the pieces click into place.
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 cold. Fortunately, Lord Stark had the foresight to enlist the aid of Lord Manderly. He provided the essentials for a night. A reprieve granted by a warm bed and suitable attire to ward off the relentless cold.
When they embarked 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 Winterfell.
The sprawling silhouette of Winterfell materialized on the horizon. For the first time, Barristan's eyes, bore witness to the colossal reality of the castle. Its vastness, surpassing the expanse of the Red Keep.
Arya was eager to return to Winterfell's looming walls. Home, a sanctuary for most. Anticipation radiated from her like a beacon of joy. Yet Barristan couldn't shake the observation that beneath the youthful facade, Arya harboured a maturity that transcended her years. Instead of the exuberance of a child, she held a feline poise. It allowed her to navigate unseen, a quality that unsettled the seasoned knight.
They passed through the imposing wooden gates of the enormous castle. There, the sight of Ned Stark's familiar face offered a reassuring sight. They dismounted their horses, and for once, Arya shed her composed demeanour and transformed into a genuine, unrestrained little girl. She raced towards her father with unbridled enthusiasm, painting a grin on Lord Stark's face.
Amid this familial reunion, a young lad, seemingly of an age akin to Arya, approached with a discernible frown etched on his face.
"Are you Ser Barristan the Bold?" the boy inquired.
Arya had told tales of her siblings, and this lad standing before Barristan, too mature to be Rickon, must undoubtedly be Bran.
"I am," he replied, astounded Ser Barristan recognised him.
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, I don't see 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?"
Ned led Barristan through the Winterfell courtyard towards an imposing tower. The shift in temperature upon entering was immediate. The rumours of Winterfell's ingenious plumbing, had always seemed fanciful to Barristan. Yet, as he ascended the stairs, a warmth enveloped him, causing beads of sweat to form upon his brow.
Upon reaching what he presumed to be Ned's solar, Barristan surveyed the modest surroundings. A simple room, 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 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. "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 did not know Prince Rhaegar well, therefore, I cannot say 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."
"Rhaegar was correct." Ned said, 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?"
"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 move south and fight for us. Jon is proving his worth by parlaying with Mance right now."
"Is he safe? Especially with the army of the dead roaming?" Barristan asked.
Barristan trusted Ned Stark's sincerity. But the very thought of the undead was fanciful. However, Jon had entered dangerous negotiations with the wildlings for this purpose. It gave him pause for thought.
Ned drew a deep breath. "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 tried to remember the northern tales. Whispers of magic powers attributed to the First Men. They told of skin-changers and greenseers. He had once dismissed such notions as superstitions. Yet, in the bleak and eerie north, the tales seemed less fanciful.
"I have." Barristan replied.
"The three of them can see the future. They know what is coming if we do not adapt and act." Ned said. "They claim to have experienced it."
Barristan was sceptical. The idea of visions into the future seemed akin to fanciful children's tales. Yet, the image of Arya, mature beyond her years, made Barristan think. He was a pragmatic man. Not one to be swayed by the whispers of magic. But the existence of dragons and the Children of the Forest forced him to question his beliefs.
A mental picture of Jon, with his Valyrian and First Men lineage, was a unique amalgamation of powers. The more he thought about it, the less he could dismiss green-sight and the children having experiences beyond their years.
"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.
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 air of innocence, was a trained assassin, astounded him. Her cat-like stealth and cold poise, now made sense. 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. He wanted 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 thrill 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.