- Winterfell -

The hunt began shortly after breakfast, the King wanted not to be hungry whilst hunting elk or boar in the woods.

That and Artos wanted to take in his home a bit more before going out on his horse, seeing some old friends, and catching up with his brothers, nephews, and nieces.

Artos breathed in the familiar scent of home, the old, crisp air of the North.

The dawn light filtered through the ancient oaken beams of Winterfell, casting a golden glow over the hall. After a year away, the first night had been filled with reunions, laughter, and the warmth of family.

The children of the Stark household, his nephews and nieces, had surrounded him with stories of their own adventures, their eyes wide with curiosity. Artos had listened, a smile playing on his lips.

As he stepped out into the courtyard, the weight of his absence seemed to lift, replaced by comfort.

"Uncle, we got your horse for you," Robb said, his eldest nephew was astride his own steed and next to Jon and Benjen who were deep in their own conversation.

"Gratitude, Robb. Ah, it is good to be home." he smiled and gripped the reins.

"Your friend departed before dawn, uncle, he sent his farewells." it was well enough, that Robin had spoken about how he would need to ride home after escorting him all this way. "You need a spear?" Jon asked, handing him one.

"Much obliged, Jon, where's that white wolf of yours, yours too, Robb? Wolves can be as useful in a hunt as hounds, direwolves to boot." it was a beautiful coat, and the creature was quiet as a mouse. It's sure to be a frightening menace when it is full-grown.

Robb answered, "Father wanted the wolves put away whilst we were gone, well, Jon and mine own as we will be with you all in the Wolfswood." Artos nodded in understanding.

The King signaled for the hunt to begin, Ned was riding at his Graces' side. "Let's hunt!"

Artos gaze fixed on the edge of the forest where the shadows of ancient trees beckoned. The Wolfswood was an old place, its depths known only to those who had grown up with its secrets. He could hear the baying of the hounds and the clatter of armor neared closer.

He glanced back at Winterfell then with a final deep breath of the frigid air, he turned his steed towards the forest, ready to hunt and show these southerners how to hunt.

In the dense, shadowy confines of the Wolfswood, the air was crisp and filled with the scent of sentinels and damp earth. The Starks of Winterfell were joined by their retainers, huntsman, and hounds, and among them was the King and his eldest son, a Clegane, the Kingsguard barring Ser Jaime, he saw and was continuously humored by the Imp.

Other than that was a handful of Baratheon and Lannister men-at-arms.

Artos, though he hadn't hunted for a year, was not really an activity to be done in Braavos but still carried himself with quiet confidence.

Nevertheless, he had hunted before leaving home and had great knowledge of these woods. As they ventured deeper into the woods, the party spread out in groups, taking a different path in search of game. The sounds of hounds baying and horses' hooves crunching through the underbrush filled the air.

Eddard, with Jon and Robb at his side, kept a close eye on the King, who was more interested in drinking and jesting than the hunt itself.

Artos, on the other hand, joined Tyrion and the Sandor, scanning the forest for any sign of movement as Tyrion continued to talk their ears off. Eventually, the Imp's focus turned to him.

"So I hear you were in Braavos for a year, Lord Stark."

"Just Artos is fine, Lord Lannister, I am no Lord. The title belongs to my brother," he said though he never corrected anyone during his time away, in fact, he liked having the Sealord and other courtiers refer to him as Lord Artos or better yet, Lord Stark.

Tyrion chuckled, "Then please, call me Tyrion. Lord Lannister doesn't quite roll off the tongue, and that is my father's title for now." for now, the man sure is confident for someone so short. "Mind me asking why you left home? From what I've seen of your family, they all seem focused on staying in the North."

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, words from his brother, and unofficial house words of the Starks. "I wanted to see the world, as a fourth-born son, and fourth in line of the succession, I am more than welcome to come and go as I please."

"I envy such freedom, I am either going from King's Landing to Casterly Rock as my father's heir since my older brother put on the white cloak." Luwin had suggested such a path for him when he was young, he laughed and said it would be a crying shame for the women in wintertown.

"Quiet, I see something," Sandor said with a gruff response, Artos investigated and indeed saw what Clegane spotted.

It was a stag, a powerful one with dark brown fur, and beside it was a juvenile, quietly signaling to the others, Artos led them in a slow, careful approach. He could feel the thrill of the hunt coursing through him, his senses sharpened by the challenge. As they closed in, Artos let loose a whistle, unleashing the hounds and spurring his horse forward.

The chase was exhilarating, with the stag bounding gracefully through the trees, pursued by a whirlwind of dogs and riders. Artos kept pace, deftly guiding his horse over fallen logs and through thick undergrowth. When the stag was finally cornered, it was Artos who delivered the final blow, a clean shot with his bow.

The hunt was a success, or at least his was.

The hunting party stayed in the woods for the better part of the day, five stags, a dozen rabbits, and two boars were caught and dressed in a camp, his grace boasted a mighty feast tonight.

Artos drank from his skin of wine, savoring the cherry taste, and past it to Jon. "Come on, Jon, live a little." he insisted and his fourteen-year-old nephew reluctantly took his beverage and took a swig. "You and Ben have been talking a lot," he said letting the lad know that he noticed.

"I have thought about joining him on his way back to Castle Black." ah, so it is that then.

"Your father would say the Starks have manned the Wall for eight thousand years, it takes a hard man to be a brother of the Night's Watch." his nephew gave him a queer stare, offended as if he is doubting his heart. "Many a courageous person is there, Benjen is one of them, and Lord Commander Jeor Mormont too, but there are others- Traitors, rebels, thieves, poachers, and rapers."

"You lie," Jon said defiantly, Artos raised his hand and shook his head.

"You'll see for yourself if you truly want to go, and you will have one chance to back out but should you swear the oath, well, you know what happens to deserters." Jon might think his father and brother wouldn't do it, but honor and duty run as deep in Ned as blood does.

He'll leave it at that, his nephew certainly has his father's stubbornness and a lack of seeing sense. He got up and decided to take a walk before getting some rest, however, he wouldn't even get the chance.

A rider had ridden into camp, flush with panic and urgently needed Lord Stark so Ned came to see what was wrong... Artos wished it was nothing.

Bran had fallen from the Broken Tower.