Lord Eddard Stark
Winterfell, 294 AC
Ned had to stifle a sigh as Hullen, his master of horse, sat before him, red-faced and seething.
"The boy lured her in with his charm," Hullen fumed. "Took her maidenhead and left her dishonored! How am I to arrange a proper marriage for her now that she's spoiled?"
The man nearly rose from his seat in fury. Ned raised a hand to calm him, then shifted his gaze to Jon Snow, seated with an air of studied indifference.
"Well?" Ned asked, his voice low and edged with disappointment. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Jon gave a nonchalant shrug. "She wanted it as much as I did. I was happy to oblige."
Ned resisted the urge to cover his face with a hand. Beside him, he caught a slight twitch beneath Ser Arthur's helm—no doubt stifling a laugh.
Across the room, Hullen surged to his feet again, barely restrained by Jory's firm grip. His face flushed crimson, and his voice thundered.
"You little shit! That's my daughter you're speaking of!"
"And your daughter came on to me," Jon replied smoothly. "Who am I to deny a beautiful maiden? We were just having a bit of fun."
Ned shot Jon a sharp look, one that should have withered most men. Jon only offered him that damned wolfish grin—the same one Ned had seen a thousand times, mostly from Brandon and Lyanna.
"You're not helping, Jon," Ned said dryly.
Turning back to Hullen, who was still glaring murder at the boy, Ned asked, "What would you have me do?"
Hullen took a deep breath, visibly reining himself in. When he spoke again, his tone was more measured—though no less intense.
"Have the boy marry her. That'll settle it."
"Absolutely not," Jon said at once. "No offense to your daughter, Hullen, but I'm not getting tied down—not like this, not so young."
Hullen bristled. "Ashamed of her, are you? Is a horse breeder's daughter beneath you?"
"Not at all," Jon replied with a shrug. "But I'm too young for marriage. And your daughter is five years my elder. She should have known better than to bed someone so young."
Ned winced.
Hullen exploded again, Jory once more forced to restrain him while Jon reclined lazily, looking more entertained than concerned.
"Enough," Ned commanded, raising his hand again. Silence fell as both men turned toward him.
"Here's what we'll do." Ned looked first to Hullen, then to Jon—who, infuriatingly, smirked in return.
"Hullen, I will see to it that your daughter receives a proper match, and I'll pay her dowry myself. She won't suffer for this."
That seemed to mollify Hullen, who nodded stiffly.
Then Ned turned to Jon.
He'd long known the boy was growing restless, spending more time in the Wolfswood or slipping off to Wintertown. This would sting—but it would also give him exactly what he wanted.
"Jon Snow," he said, letting his voice grow colder, sterner, "you are hereby exiled from Winterfell for one year. You are not to return until you've learned how to behave like a man and carry the weight of your actions."
Jon's smirk faltered slightly. Hullen smiled for the first time. And with a curt nod from Ned, he was dismissed.
Only Arthur and Jon remained in the room with him now.
"Thank you, Father. I know that wasn't easy for you," Jon said once Hullen had left.
Ned exhaled slowly and gave him a weary look. "Really, Jon? Did you have to bed the man's daughter?"
Jon only grinned in response, shrugging with outstretched hands. "She gave as good as she got. It's not my fault."
Ned's glare was answer enough.
Behind him, Arthur let out a low chuckle, and then gave Jon a pointed look toward the door—one that needed no words.
Jon winked at him, still grinning like a wolf pup who'd gotten into the meat stores, then turned and left without another word.
Ned glanced at Arthur, already bracing himself.
"This is my revenge," Arthur said, a smirk in his voice. "For all the grief you and your brother gave Ashara."
Ned huffed a quiet laugh. "In my defense, she gave as good as she got," he replied, echoing Jon's words.
Arthur shot him a glare that lacked real heat, then swept from the solar, leaving Ned alone with his thoughts.
Jon was becoming a real handful. The boy's charm, confidence, and lack of inhibition were drawing attention—for all the wrong reasons. Ned had already received complaints from the smallfolk about Jon monopolizing the brothels in Wintertown, with the whores too tired to take other custom after a night with him. It was more than Ned ever wanted to hear about his nephew's nightly activities.
Gods, he was too much like Lyanna and Brandon—wild, stubborn, and full of fire. Lyanna's fierce spirit, Brandon's recklessness and womanizing. All of it, wrapped up in one black-haired storm of a boy.
The exile would be good for him. A year touring the North under Arthur's watchful eye might settle some of that restless energy. Give him space to roam, to burn off the wolfsblood that pulsed so strongly in his veins, and maybe—just maybe—let him gain a bit of sense.
Still, Ned couldn't help but worry. Hullen had been a manageable headache. But if Jon managed to offend one of his bannermen—an Umber, a Karstark—that could lead to real trouble.
No, better to keep the boy moving. Let him see the North. Let him understand the people he might one day lead. After the year, Jon would return to Winterfell, and Ned would begin training him properly—two years at his side, learning the weight of leadership. Then, perhaps, he'd be ready to take up his seat at Moat Cailin.
If the gods were kind.
The Shield of the North was coming along well. In five short years, the three remaining towers had been fully restored, and ten more were in various stages of rebuilding. Small villages had begun to sprout around the region, giving Jon's future seat a growing population base.
Jon himself had proposed several ideas for the keep—some quite ambitious. He'd suggested piping heated water through the walls, making use of the natural hot springs that dotted the surrounding land, and constructing aqueducts that would drain into the Fever River and out to the Sunset Sea.
When Ned first ran these ideas by the builders and Maester Luwin, they'd been surprised—and a touch skeptical—that Jon had come up with them. But after careful evaluation, they agreed the designs were viable. The Braavosi builders Ned had hired even mentioned similar aqueduct systems used in their own city, inspired by the ancient Rhoynar, and Valyrian heating systems that mirrored what Bran the Builder had once implemented in Winterfell.
The mention of Valyria made Ned wonder again about Jon's dreams.
Jon had once told him they were clearer now, that he'd gained some control over them. That had eased Ned's worries, though only slightly. Dreams, especially Targaryen ones, were never simple.
One of Jon's more audacious ideas required consultation with both Luwin and Lord Wyman Manderly: a canal cutting across the North, spanning from west to east. A bold venture, to be sure—but when Wyman and Luwin reviewed it, they confirmed it was possible, though it would take a decade or more to complete.
Ned remembered Wyman's face lighting up at the proposal. The Lord of White Harbor even offered to finance a third of the costs himself, confident that he would make it back in due time. After all, travel from the Sunset Sea to White Harbor would be nearly cut in half once the canal was complete.
So far, the western portion of the canal—along the expanded Fever River—was already deep and wide enough to allow several trading ships to sail side by side. Construction on the eastern segment had only just begun, but it was already drawing in workers from across the North and even the South, eager for coin and opportunity.
The Moat and its surrounding lands were proving to be a potential breadbasket. The soil was more fertile than most regions in the North, and with proper irrigation and settlement, it could feed thousands. It would bring much-needed coin and trade to the realm—while simultaneously acting as the North's most defensible bulwark against southern incursion.
At first, Ned had been hesitant about granting Jon such a responsibility. The boy's wild temperament suggested he'd never want to be tied down to a castle. But he'd been proven wrong. Jon had taken to his studies with diligence and insight, often surprising even Luwin with his questions and proposals.
Ned could still recall the day he told Jon he would one day rule Moat Cailin. The boy's face had lit up with such joy—it was the first time in years Ned had seen that kind of expression. It reminded him so much of Lyanna that it had made his heart ache.
Catelyn had not been pleased at first. She'd assumed the seat would go to Bran, and her resentment simmered. But in time, her concerns eased. When Ned assured her that Jon would forswear any claim—he and his descendants—to Winterfell, her fears settled into wary acceptance.
She didn't love the boy, not truly. But she no longer hated him, and for Ned, that was enough.
Speaking of his wife, she entered his solar just then, raising an eyebrow at the look on Ned's face.
"What did Jon do this time?" Catelyn asked.
"Slept with Hullen's daughter. The man was furious—Jory had to hold him back from striking the boy."
Catelyn sighed, shaking her head. "Just like Brandon."
"His punishment?" she asked after a moment.
"I exiled him from Winterfell for a year," Ned replied. "He looked like he was dying from being cooped up all day anyway, so it's a win-win."
Catelyn frowned. "The children won't be happy. Arya especially."
Ned smiled faintly. Arya and Jon were thick as thieves, their bond forged by their shared Stark looks and wild temperaments. If anything, Arya was even wilder than Jon.
"They'll have to deal with it, unfortunately."
Catelyn nodded, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. "Dinner's being served. I came to see if you'd be eating in the Great Hall tonight."
Ned blinked and looked out the window, surprised to see the sun already setting. He hadn't realized how much time had passed.
"I'll be right behind you," he said, rising from his seat.
When he entered the hall, he was the last to arrive. The castle staff began to rise, but he waved them off, signaling for them to continue eating.
His children sat dutifully at the high table. Sansa was deep in conversation with Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel. Bran and Arya bickered over some childish mischief from earlier in the day.
Robb and Jon sat next to each other, whispering in hushed tones. Theon sat at the end, his still-crooked nose a reminder of a training yard scuffle nearly a year ago. Ned hadn't shed too many tears over that—Theon had it coming. He treated the boy better than most would a hostage, understanding his loss, but the Ironborn's arrogance needed tempering, and someone had finally managed it.
"Father," Robb greeted him as he sat. Jon echoed the greeting, though the mischievous smirk on his face hadn't faded in the slightest.
"I assume your brother told you of his punishment," Ned said, raising a brow.
Five pairs of eyes locked onto him in unison, darting between Jon and Ned.
"What punishment? What did Jon do now?" Arya asked, practically bouncing in her seat.
"He slept with Hullen's daughter. About time the bastard got his due," Theon sneered—only to flinch as Jon turned and glared at him.
"Theon," Ned said sharply, "that's not talk for the dinner table. Though you are correct—Jon will be spending a year away from Winterfell for his actions."
Theon quieted under Ned's firm gaze.
Arya and Bran both erupted in outrage, while Sansa let out a dramatic gasp. Robb, meanwhile, chuckled.
"You've been saying you wanted to explore the North more," Robb said. "Looks like you got your wish."
Jon smirked, clearly unbothered by the prospect.
The next morning, the family gathered in the courtyard to see Jon off. Only Ser Arthur and Jon would be leaving. Ned felt confident the two of them could handle any danger they might face on the road.
"Keep an eye on him—and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," Ned said, clasping Arthur's forearm.
"I make no promises," Arthur replied with a smirk, mounting his horse.
Jon swung up onto his own steed—a tall, pitch-black courser he'd named Balerion, a gift from Ned on his last name day.
As they rode toward the gates, Jon paused and turned in his saddle. He looked back at Ned, catching his eye. That familiar wolfish grin spread across his face before he turned back around and spurred his horse forward.
Ned watched them disappear into the trees, a familiar knot settling in his chest.
Why do I feel like this is going to go worse than I expected? he thought with a groan.
