Sidestory:
The evening after the fifth and final day of the Harvest Feast, Ned stood in a familiar library as Lord Fairchild stoked a flame. They spoke in private mere weeks ago, and the young Stark considered all that had transpired. Now more than ever, Ned feared his mentor, but his respect remained.
"I understand you will be leaving us, Eddard?"
The young Stark nodded, "I will depart with Lord Manderly tomorrow and sail to Gulltown from White Harbor." He had wanted to stay for Benjen's name day, but that was two moons off, and Lord Arryn was expecting his return. "I came to thank you for your tutelage and hospitality. I've improved more than I thought possible."
"It was my pleasure," his mentor assured. "You have supplied me with a strong foundation to build upon." Turning from the hearth, Lord Fairchild smiled, and Ned warmed from the praise.
Bright eyes reflected mild interest as they spied the steel sword on his belt, "You will not be bringing your new blade to the Vale?"
"I left it in Father's care until my return," the young Stark answered, somewhat abashed. Though he loathed to part with the silver sword, Ned had found no way to explain its origins. Claiming he had found the sword near Winterfell or its crypts would have southron lords demanding House Stark return 'Andal heirlooms' taken by the Hungry Wolf and other Winter Kings. Ned would learn to live without.
"Probably for the best," The Hunter's voice conveyed approval, "Against ordinary men, such a sword would do you a disservice. You will never learn if every enemy fell on the first swing."
Ned chose not to consider what that implied about Lord Fairchild and his foes.
Standing to his feet, Lord Fairchild grabbed a small parcel from a nearby table and handed it to his student. "Evetta prepared some pineapples from the garden, and we candied them this morning. There should be enough for you to share with your travel companions."
The young Stark offered his thanks, knowing the 'garden' in question was the small glass house–conservatory, the Hunter had called it–that had sprouted up beside the Workshop sometime between the first and last day of the feast.
When asked about the new addition to the manor, his mentor explained that Lady Evetta had started cultivating cuttings from the winter roses she had received from Father. None had dared to question him further: magic was a sword without a hilt, but Ned knew how well the Hunter wielded a blade.
"I understand you will be riding out against the mountain clans alongside Duke Arryn's knights?"
The question spared Ned from contemplating his mentor's aptitude for swordsmanship and spellcraft. "Every lord in the Vale is charged with protecting his lands and people, and every lordling must learn the same," Ned offered, hoping the answer sufficed.
His mentor placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "Then I expect to see you safe, healthy, and whole when we resume your lessons next year."
Lord Fairchild turned his attention to one of the bookshelves. His student, understanding the words to be both warning and encouragement, bowed and made to leave.
"Eddard."
The young Stark stopped, realizing his mentor still had more to say.
The Hunter lingered on his name, and Ned observed his mentor consider his words with care. "The first time you kill a man, you will be surprised by the ease of it. Most simply fall as their bodies fail them; others do not have time to scream. Do not dwell on it: kill the next man and the next until only your comrades and you yourself remain."
Lord Fairchild smiled and looked almost sad.
"You may feel something afterward when you realize that someone who once lived lives no longer, and you are responsible. Allow yourself to mourn not only for your enemy but also yourself, and know whatever pain you feel to be the conscience of a good man."
TBC
Author's note:
Got this out before the week started. I would like to thank KnightStar for volunteering to be a beta reader for this side chapter and those moving forward. Your help is really appreciated.
