Every passing day, the realm was inching closer to chaos. Tywin Lannister had called on his Bannerman to get back his son but now it was to defend the crown from the people declaring themselves kings. The two Baratheon brothers both had declared themselves king and had an army and was planning on marching to Kings Landing to take the for some reason, Baron Greyjoy declared himself king as well. War hadn't started quite yet but they already named it the War of 4 kings.
Kings Landing
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow across the Small Council chamber in the Red Keep. The atmosphere, however, was anything but tranquil. Cersei Lannister sat at the head of the table, her golden hair glinting like spun sunlight. She tapped her fingers impatiently against the polished surface of the table, her sharp blue eyes scanning the room. Tyrion Lannister leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, his wine goblet nearly empty.
Cersei: Why are you here, Tyrion? Isn't it enough that you've managed to wiggle your way into Father's good graces while he's away? Your presence is hardly necessary, and frankly, unwanted.
Tyrion: Ah, sister, 'his tone dripping with mockery' it warms my heart to see you miss me so. But I am, as you may have forgotten, the Hand of the King. That makes me quite necessary, even if you'd prefer I disappear.
Cersei:'leaned forward, narrowing her eyes' You think your presence is essential because you fancy yourself clever? You're a Lannister, yes, but you are not our father. And without him, you're just a shadow, one that I'd rather not have lurking at my side.
Tyrion: 'leaned forward as well in a mocking way, his expression shifting from amusement to something more serious' A shadow, perhaps, but one that can still see the light where you refuse to look. Our father is busy consolidating power, preparing for war with Renly and Stannis, while you sit here, squabbling over nothing. They are a threat, Cersei, and ignoring them will not make them disappear.
The other members of the council, Master of Coin the despicable Peter Baelish , the sharp-eyed Master of Whispers Varys, and the unyielding Lannister supporter Grand Maester Pycelle, watched the exchange with a mixture of intrigue and apprehension. Pycelle shifted nervously in his seat, while Varys kept his expression impassive, the corners of his lips almost curling into a knowing smile.
Varys: Cersei, 'interjected smoothly' I understand your concerns, but I believe we should focus on the matter at hand. The rumors of Renly and Stannis moving towards war grow louder by the day. The smallfolk are restless, and we cannot afford to let them see us divided.
Cersei: And why should we worry about them?They're rabble. They need only see a Lannister to know fear. 'Her gaze drifted back to Tyrion, her voice low and venomous' You may think you're wise, brother, but you're mistaken. You've always underestimated what it means to rule.
Tyrion: And you've always underestimated the power of knowledge. Stannis has a claim. Renly has charisma. Together, they could destabilize everything our father has built. While you squabble, they plot. Perhaps we should be discussing their next moves instead of indulging your whims.
Enough!
Cersei's voice echoed through the chamber, silencing the murmurs from the others. Even Tyrion was a little frightened
Cersei: You speak of power as if it were a game of wits, but this is not a jest, Tyrion. This is life and death. I will not allow you to undermine my authority here.
Tyrion: Undermine? 'laughed, though it held a bitter edge' You cannot undermine what you never truly possessed, Cersei. You command respect through fear, but it's a brittle throne you sit upon. At any moment, it could shatter beneath you, and I'm the only one who can see that.
Cersei's eyes blazed with fury. She stood from her chair and her eyes held so much hatred and venom
Cersei: You dare to lecture me on power? I've watched you cower behind your books while I have fought tooth and nail to keep our family intact! If it weren't for me, you would still be the outcast, ridiculed at every turn.
Tyrion: And yet here I am, at the table, while you wield your power like a dagger. We're all aware of your talents for manipulation,'he shot back making his sister quiet' But remember, Cersei, daggers can cut both ways.
Just then, a servant entered, interrupting the tension in the room.
My lord
The guard said, bowing slightly, then went to hand a note to Tyrion, he quickly reads it himself , chuckles a bit then he sits down. The stand in hand of the king then read the note out loud
Tyrion: News has arrived from Lannister spies, Torrhen Stark and Ser Barristan Selmy have been sighted in Pentos, rumor has it they are trying to collect allies, some even say they are looking for the Golden Company.
The chamber fell silent, all eyes darting to Cersei and Tyrion. Cersei's expression was anger than sad? While Tyrion's shifted from anger to curiosity.
Littlefinger: Torrhen Stark? That changes things.
Varys's eyes flickered, and he quickly adjusted his approach. Hoping no one caught that small moment but of course the Master of Coin caught it and smirked.
Varys: While I understand the implications of this news, I think it prudent we focus on the immediate threat: Stannis. He is a man of iron will and might rally support among the realm.
Cersei: 'turned to Varys, her voice icy' I care little for your scheming, Varys. You're right that Stannis is a danger, but Torrhen's movements cannot be ignored. If the Starks unite
Tyrion cut in not letting her finish her statement , leaning forward again.
Tyrion: You're both right. But we cannot let Torrhen's presence in Pentos distract us. Stannis is preparing to march on King's Landing. If we do not act quickly, we could find ourselves surrounded on all fronts.
Cersei: Then let us make our plans, but do not think for a moment that you will dictate this council, Tyrion. Your place may be at the head of the table, but my will is the one that commands loyalty.
Tyrion sighed, the tension between them palpable. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with this crap.
Tyrion: Loyalty is earned, Cersei, not demanded. And right now, the realm is looking for leadership, not tyranny. Remember that, or you'll find yourself not just a shadow, but a ghost.
As the council members exchanged glances, the stakes had been raised. The Lannisters were at war not only with their enemies but also with each other, and the very future of the realm hung precariously in the balance. The tension in the air thickened, and as the council resumed their discussions, the shadows of the coming storm loomed large.
Arya Stark was usually a happy child for the most part, unless of course she was in lessons with the Septa. Not long after the rescue of her father and escape of Kings Landing, Arya and her father traveled on horseback for a while before they ran into Robb's camp, they decided not too march any further and return to Winterfell where they would decide what to do. They had returned to Winterfell a few days ago, while the bannerman should be getting here sometime today.
Arya since returning to Winterfell, had become sad, almost a depressed like state. Robb had tried his hardest to make her happy or even crack a smile. He even tried to continue her sword lessons he had heard about but she refused to even pick up a sword. Her mother, Lady Stark even let her miss lessons with the Septa. She haven't even been to the Godswood since she has returned. That was hers and her brothers favorite spot when they were hang at.
Dragonstone
The wind howled around Dragonstone, fierce and relentless, carrying the salty scent of the sea. The island loomed dark against the fading light of day, a place steeped in history and shadow. On the rocky shore, the silhouette of Stannis Baratheon stood resolute, the flames of a growing pyre dancing in the twilight.
Before him lay the remnants of the old gods, wooden idols, intricately carved with ancient faces and symbols, now gathered for their fiery end. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and acrid smoke that curled upward, blending with the last rays of sunlight. Stannis's jaw clenched as he watched the flames lick the figures, devouring their forms and sending embers spiraling into the sky.
Lord of Light
Stannis murmured, his voice a low rumble against the crackle of fire
Stannis: I offer this sacrifice for my cause. I will burn away the old ways that have kept the realm shackled in superstition and weakness.
Beside him, Melisandre stood, her crimson robes billowing in the wind, eyes aglow with fervor. Yet beneath her confident exterior, a flicker of doubt played across her features. The flames danced before her, revealing visions she wished to ignore. For now, she will decide to ignore them.
Melisandre: The old gods cannot protect the living. Only R'hllor can guide you to your destiny, Stannis. Embrace the fire, and it will illuminate your path.
But as the fire blazed higher, she felt the heat shift, an uneasy warning pulsing in the flames. A name surfaced in her mind Torrhen Stark. No matter how she tried to ignore it, the young Stark kept showing up, for someone she has never met, she hated the boy.
Your grace!
The maester's voice broke through the moment, trembling with alarm. He had stepped forward, his face pale as he pointed to the burning idols. Maester Cressen was his name.
Cressen: You cannot do this! The old gods
Silence!
Stannis thundered, his voice echoing against the rocky cliffs. The old Maester, scared, took some steps back. and took a deep breath
Stannis: I will not be swayed by fear or superstition. These idols represent a weakness I refuse to inherit. The fire will cleanse this place of their presence.
Cressen: But 'the maester stammered, his eyes wide with panic' This will invoke their wrath! You risk
Stannis: I risk nothing but stagnation! My claim is stronger than any superstition. The Iron Throne is my destiny, and I will not falter.
As the flames roared, the maester stepped back, his hands trembling. He even surprised himself when he decided to keep speaking
Cressen: But there are forces beyond your control, my lord. This is not just about you
Stannis's eyes remained fixed on the pyre, unwavering. After a minute or two of silence he finally talked
Do you doubt me, maester? This fire is my ally. It will cleanse this realm of false idols and guide us to victory.
In the shadows, Melisandre's expression tightened. The flames flickered ominously, revealing glimpses of a young man with Stark features, a warning she could not fully comprehend. But his eyes, normally, people described them as beautiful but the eyes that stared into her should, scared Stark. She felt the weight of his presence lingering in the flames, an omen that unsettled her deep within. She was thinking this was some type of warning to her. Having to find the courage, she finally decided to voice her concern
Your grace
Melisandre: 'ventured, her voice softer now, hinting at concern' the fire speaks to me in ways I cannot ignore. There are currents at play that may... complicate matters.
Stannis: 'turned, brow furrowed. Not really concerned' What do you mean?
But before she could respond, the flames crackled louder, casting erratic shadows that danced around them. Melisandre swallowed her uncertainty. Almost like it was another warning for her, telling her not to provoke his name.
Melisandre: I will interpret the signs. For now, we must remain steadfast in our resolve.
Stannis: 'nodded, dismissing her concern' We shall not be cowed by threats, whether they come from the old gods or the new. We will forge our path with fire and blood.
As the pyre roared, Stannis felt a surge of power, even as a dark premonition whispered at the edges of his mind. The Iron Throne awaited, and he would reclaim it—regardless of the warnings hidden within the flames. As he started walking so he could enter the caste, he didn't noticed a certain maester holding a cup and falling over.
The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with the crackle of firelight, the heavy wooden table scattered with maps and notes. Lord Eddard Stark stood at the head, flanked by his son Robb. The air was thick with tension, the bannermen of the North gathered to discuss their next move in a world spinning dangerously towards chaos.
Ned glanced around the table, meeting the eyes of each lord. Everyone stopped their talks and drinks, showing Ned they were ready and waiting for him to begin
Ned: We have lost much in recent days, yet we cannot allow the Lannisters to dictate our fate. We must find a way to secure our future without rushing into battle.
Lord Umber, ever the blunt warrior, leaned forward, arms crossed.
And what do you propose, Eddard? Stand idle while they plot our demise?
Robb: We need allies, not just any allies, those who share our interests. Renly Baratheon and Stannis, they both have claims to the throne, and they have cause to oppose the Lannisters.
Stannis is a hard man, and Renly is well, he's Renly. Can we trust either of them to stand with us? They have their own ambitions
Lord Karstark replied, skepticism coloring his words, the hall reminded quiet until Ned decided to speak
We don't need blind loyalty. We need to open dialogue. If we can convince them that supporting the North serves their interests, we can strengthen our position.
And how do you propose we send word to them?
Asked Lord Manderly, stroking his chin thoughtfully. The roads are fraught with danger, and both Baratheons have their own matters to contend with.
Robb: We'll send envoys. Men we can trust, those who can navigate both the politics and the perils of the South. We must find out where their loyalties lie and see if they will join us against the Lannisters.
Ned: A wise decision, Robb. Let's choose our messengers carefully. They must not only be persuasive but also wise in their dealings.
Then I will go
declared Theon Greyjoy, sitting at the edge of the table. I know the lands south of here. I can speak to Renly and gauge his intentions.
Your loyalty is commendable, Theon, but you must tread carefully
Ned cautioned. Renly is ambitious, and he may not welcome your presence without cause.
Robb: 'With Determination in his eyes' Then I will accompany him. I will not send others to do what I can do myself. If we are to forge an alliance, I will be there to represent the North.
Lord Umber: You would travel to the south? It's a dangerous journey, especially for Stark men.
Robb: It is a risk I am willing to take. If we are to unite against the Lannisters, we need to make our intentions clear.
Ned: Very well 'he agreed, pride swelling in his chest at Robb's resolve' We will send word to Stannis as well. He is a man of honor, but he too has his own goals. We must ensure our approach is measured and wise.
The bannermen nodded, murmurs of agreement echoing around the hall. They understood the importance of alliances and the necessity of caution.
Lord Umber: Then let us prepare our envoys and make ready for their journey,"
Ned: The North will not be silent while our enemies scheme. We will show them that we are a force to be reckoned with.
As the bannermen raised their cups in a toast to their resolve, Robb felt the weight of leadership settle on his shoulders, but he also felt the warmth of unity in the hall. Together, they would navigate the treacherous waters of politics, for the sake of their home and their future. As Robb strode toward the heavy wooden doors of the Great Hall, the murmurs of the bannermen rose and fell behind him. The weight of their discussion lingered in the air, but his mind was focused on the journey ahead. He would seek allies, but thoughts of his brother Torrhen gnawed at him.
The moment the door swung shut behind Robb, Lord Umber spoke up, breaking the tension that had settled in the room.
Umber: Eddard, before we turn our thoughts to the south, we must address another matter—Torrhen.
Ned turned, his heart tightening at the mention of his eldest son. He was barely able to get the words out of his mouth
What of him?
Lord Manderly: He helped you escape from King's Landing,'his voice grave' But now he is lost to us, and we have heard nothing since he fled to Pentos with Ser Barristan.
Ned's jaw tightened. The thought of Torrhen, his brave, resourceful son out there alone was a burden he carried heavily.
Ned: We have sent ravens to every corner of the North, but news from the Free Cities travels slowly, if at all. I fear for his safety.
Lord Karstark: 'leaned forward, concern etched on his face' He is a Stark and has the blood of the North in his veins. But in Pentos, he is a stranger. We cannot forget the dangers he faces there.
Ned: The last we heard, Ser Barristan was with him. He is a man of honor, and he will do all he can to protect Torrhen. But we must also prepare for the worst.
Lord Umber crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. He did not like where this conversation was going, Torrhen was his favorite Stark, he would gladly give his life for that boy, especially considering everything he has done for him.
Umber: Should we not send a party to look for him? He is your heir, after all. If the Lannisters were to discover his whereabouts... it would put us all in peril.
Ned's heart sank at the thought, but once again the honor won out
Ned: I cannot abandon the North at this moment. We have pressing matters to attend to, and if we divide our forces, we risk weakening our position against our enemies. But I will not stop searching for him.
What if we send a small envoy? Lord Umber suggested.
Manderly: A few men who could navigate the waters without drawing too much attention? They could search for news of Torrhen and return swiftly.
Ned considered this, weighing the risk against the necessity. Torrhen could be in danger, the amount of danger he could be in was ridiculous, Ned couldn't comprehend how much danger the boy could be in but he cannot send a bunch of men out.
Ned: Perhaps. If we can find someone discreet enough to gather information without raising alarm, it might be worth the effort.
Robb, having paused at the door, turned back at the mention of his brother. He thought quickly, deciding it would be better if he went looking for Torrhen instead.
Robb: I will not rest until we find him. Torrhen is more than just my brother; he is a Stark. We cannot leave him to fate.
Ned: Then we will begin preparations to send a small group to seek news of Torrhen. We will not abandon him, not now, not ever.
The bannermen nodded, the resolve in the hall palpable. As they continued to discuss the details of the envoy, Ned felt the weight of his family's legacy pressing down on him. He would fight for the North, for his sons, and for the honor of House Stark. Together, they would face whatever darkness lay ahead. Not knowing this would be a turning point not only for the North but House of Stark as well.
A sun-drenched terrace in Highgarden, fragrant with blooming roses and the distant sound of birdsong. The air is warm, filled with the scent of herbs from the garden below. Olenna Tyrell, the sharp-witted matriarch, sits in a comfortable chair, her fingers deftly weaving a garland of flowers. Margaery and Loras lounge nearby, their expressions a mix of anticipation and concern.
Olenna:You know, my dear Margaery, the moment I laid eyes on Renly Baratheon, I thought, Now there's a man who could wear a to mention, the lovely armor suits him.
Margaery:'A faint smile, but her eyes clouded' He does wear it well, Grandmother. But can we be sure he'll fit comfortably on the throne? The Iron Throne is a fickle seat, after all. But I know you don't like him grandma, no need for jokes but I'll be queen
Loras:Renly may have the looks, but does he have the strength? We all know he is not his brother, Stannis. And the North... they will not be swayed easily.
At the mention of the North, Margaery's expression darkens, her mind drifting to memories of Torrhen Stark, her heart aches, and the brief yet profound connection they had shared. Thinking about the Red wolf she grabbed the necklace she was wearing
Margaery:'Quietly, almost to herself The North... She swallows hard, forcing a smile' They will never follow us, will they? Not after everything that's happened.
Olenna: My sweet girl, do not dwell on lost loves. Torrhen Stark is but a memory, and memories do not win wars.
Loras:Margaery, you are stronger than this. Renly may not have the North's support, but with you by his side, he could still forge alliances that matter.
Olenna:'Waves a hand dismissively' Strength? What is strength, my dear boy? A sword can do little when the heart is weak. It is charm and cunning that win hearts and kingdoms. She leans forward, eyes narrowing conspiratoriallyBesides, who can resist the charm of a lovely bride?
Margaery:'Trying to regain her composure' I want to be queen, yes, but I do not wish to be a mere pawn in someone else's game.
Olenna:'Chuckling softly' Oh, my darling, you are no pawn. You are the player. Marrying Renly puts you at the center of it all. The queen, with her own schemes, her own alliances. Do not think of yourself as a piece to be moved, but as the board itself.
Margaery:'Nods slowly, her eyes sparkling with determination' I understand. I will charm him, yes. But I will also listen and learn. She glances at Loras, her voice thick with emotion We must also think of our family. What we do will ripple through the Reach and beyond.
Loras: I trust you, sister. Just promise me you will be careful. The world is not kind to ambitious women.
Olenna:'Smirking' And what of kind women? They seldom survive, my boy. Margaery, you must be both: the gentle rose and the thorn that pricks the unwary. It is time to prepare for your future.
Margaery smiles, her resolve hardening like steel beneath the delicate petals of her demeanor. The sun shines brightly over Highgarden, a perfect backdrop for the schemes of the Tyrells.
Margaery: Then let us begin. A queen must have her court, after all.
As the laughter and planning continue, Margaery's thoughts linger on the North, the shadows of her past weaving through her mind, while the warm winds of Highgarden carry their whispers of ambition into the world beyond, where power and heartache await. Maybe in a different life, she wouldn't have broke her first true love's heart, or maybe she would just pick him over a crown.
Loras: Your future husband won't like you frowning over some boy
Maegaery: I'm not thinking about Torrhen!
Loras: 'Smirks' I never said a name sweet sister
Maegaery: Leave me alone, I don't miss Torren, I swear it
Loras: It is okay to admit it sister, I miss looking at him too
Maegaery: 'Eye roll' Loras
Loras: 'Gets serious' Is this what you truly want?
Margaery's gaze drifts toward the garden, her heart heavy with memories. She hesitates, the weight of her unfulfilled dreams pressing down on her. She thinks to all their shared memories, their first meeting, the first time they kissed, the first time he said he loved her . . . then she broke his heart . . .
Margaery:'Voice barely above a whisper' What I truly want... 'She swallows hard, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears' I want to be with Torrhen. 'She looks away, pain flickering across her features' I know I can't have that anymore, not after what happened. I broke his heart, Loras.
Loras shifts closer, sensing the depth of her sorrow. Being the protective brother he is, he tries to reassure her and comfort her.
Loras: You loved him, didn't you? The North... it meant something to you, didn't it?
Margaery:'Nods slowly, a wistful smile crossing her lips'He was everything I thought I wanted; Kind, honorable, handsome, honest... a stark contrast to the games we play here in the South. He made me feel... 'Her voice falters, barely able to get words out' He made me feel real.
Loras's brow furrows in understanding, a mix of brotherly concern and protective instinct rising within him. He hated seeing his sister this way, the only time she was when someone brought up Torrhen or the North.
Loras: You don't have to hide that from me, Margaery. It's okay to miss him.
Margaery:'Sighs, her voice trembling' But it's more than that. I chose ambition over love. I chose power over what could have been.'clenches her fists, frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior' I was so focused on becoming queen that I forgot about the person I could have been with him.
Loras reaches out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Loras: You still have the power to shape your own destiny, sister. Just because you made one choice doesn't mean you're locked into it forever.
Margaery:'Shaking her head' But can I go back? Can I ask for forgiveness? He's in the North, surrounded by his own duties and struggles. I... I can't simply waltz back into his life and expect everything to be the same.
Loras's eyes soften, his protective nature surfacing once more.
Loras: Perhaps it doesn't have to be the same. You're not the same girl he knew. You've grown, Margaery. You've become someone stronger, more complex. He may see that in you if you ever get the chance to speak again.
Margaery looks out over the garden, lost in thought. The roses sway in the breeze, a reflection of her tumultuous emotions. Roses . . . She never thought she would hate roses
Margaery:'A hint of hope in her voice' Maybe one day. But for now, I must play this game. I must be the queen that everyone expects me to be.
Loras: Then let me help you. I'll stand by your side, whatever path you choose. You're not alone in this, Margaery.
Margaery turns to him, gratitude shining in her eyes, the bond between them stronger than ever despite the weight of her heartache. Moments like this reminded her of how amazing her brother was and how she was lucky to have him.
Margaery:'Softly' Thank you, Loras. Your support means everything to me.
As they sit together, the weight of their responsibilities settles in, but the hope of new beginnings lingers in the air, a fragile yet persistent bloom amidst the thorns of their reality. Her thoughts again went to Torrhen, she just sighed, went to her necklace again, this time, she removed a rose cover from her necklace to reveal a red wolf.
The cold stone halls of Winterfell, where the flickering light of torches casts long shadows. Ned Stark and Catelyn Stark sit together in their chambers, the air thick with tension and uncertainty. Outside, the wind howls through the trees, a reminder of the encroaching winter. Ned had finally decided what the North would do
Ned: We cannot sit idly by, Catelyn. The realm is on the brink of war. We must choose a side.
Catelyn: But which side? Stannis or Renly? Both claim the throne, both have their own vision for the realm. It feels like a fool's errand to choose.
Ned:'Nods slowly, his brow furrowed' I agree. We must align ourselves with the strongest cause, but... 'He hesitates, his thoughts lingering on the weight of his decision It's more than just allegiance' It's about our family and what we must protect.
Catelyn shifts in her seat, her expression troubled. She glances at Ned, her heart heavy.
Catelyn: What of Torrhen? He is a Stark. If we choose Stannis, what will that mean for him?
Ned: I cannot promise our loyalty to one brother over the other without consequence. Torrhen must choose his own path when the time comes.
Just then, Maester Luwin enters the chamber, interrupting their discussion with urgency.
Maester Luwin:'Quickly' My lord, my lady—Bran is asking for his mother. He seems quite upset.
Catelyn rises immediately, worry etched on her face. She quickly heads to the exit.
Catelyn:'Anxiously' What is it? Is he hurt?
Maester Luwin: No physical harm, but he claims to have had a troubling dream.
Catelyn hurries out of the room, following Maester Luwin through the winding halls to Bran's chamber. She finds Bran sitting up in bed, his face pale and drawn.
Catelyn:'Kneeling beside him, concern washing over her' Bran, my sweet boy, what's wrong? What did you see?
Bran looks at her, his eyes wide and filled with fear. Tears were falling down his face, at first, her didn't want to say, after a minute of his mother rubbing his back, he finally spoke though it was just a whisper
Bran:'Breathlessly' I had a bad dream, Mother. 'He clutches the bedspread tightly' Torrhen... he was surrounded by men in red and gold. 'His voice trembles' They were shouting, and then... a roar . .. he was consumed in fire.
Catelyn's heart sinks, a chill running down her spine. She gently brushes Bran's hair back from his forehead, trying to keep her own fear at bay.
Catelyn:'Soothingly' It was just a dream, Bran. Dreams can't hurt you.
Bran:'Shaking his head vigorously' No, it felt real, Mother! 'He grips her hand tightly' I could hear him calling for help. He yelled a name, I can't remember the name. . . I think... I think it means something.
Catelyn's gaze hardens as she processes his words, a sense of foreboding settling over her.
Catelyn:We will keep him safe, Bran. Whatever it takes.
Bran looks at her, his youthful face filled with a mixture of hope and fear. She sees that Arya isn't the only one struggling with Torrhen's absence
Bran:' Whispers' Promise me you'll find him.
Catelyn nods, determination rising within her as she gathers her son close, vowing silently to protect their family from the shadows looming , the wind howls again, a portent of the storm brewing in the realm and the dangers that await the Starks in the days to come. As Ned thinks how when winter comes the pack needs to be together. . . And right now the pack is far from being together . . .
AN:
Whatcha think?
Favorite part of the chapter?