Winterfell’s library tower held more books and scrolls than Aragorn had expected.
Histories from Brandon the Builder onward, biographies of famous knights and lords, records of every major event across the Seven Kingdoms, old legends, poetry, and even foreign texts that had traveled north through trade.
Everything sat crammed onto shelves or packed into chests on the floor.
He had asked Eddard Stark for access more than once.
This morning, after a plain breakfast of bread and milk, permission finally came through.
“These Valyrian scrolls are fragile,” the librarian warned as Aragorn stepped inside.
“Handle them carefully.
Some are irreplaceable.” Aragorn nodded and moved slowly between the shelves.
The sheer volume of information was overwhelming.
He decided to narrow his search to anything about the Targaryens and dragons.
Everything else could wait.
One book caught his eye even though it had nothing to do with either.
It told the story of Brandon the Builder, the Liberator, who had joined forces with Joramun, King-Beyond-the-Wall, to end the Night King’s thirteen-year reign and destroy the Corpse Queen.
“The Watch on the Wall,” he read aloud.
“My old nurse used to scare me with stories about the Others when I was little.” Arya’s voice came from behind him.
Aragorn turned.
She stood there wearing a helmet that was far too big for her head.
She looked ridiculous.
“What are you dressed like that for?” he asked.
“Expecting an attack?” “The king’s party is almost here,” she said, knocking on the helmet with her knuckles.
It made a hollow clang.
“Everyone has to go out and greet them.
That fat king is finally coming!” Outside the walls, under a dull gray sky, three hundred men rode toward Winterfell in ordered ranks.
The crowned stag of House Baratheon snapped in the wind beside the golden lion of House Lannister.
Eddard Stark waited at the gates with his family and household.
Young Bran stared at the white-cloaked Kingsguard with shining eyes.
Becoming a knight and joining the Kingsguard had been his dream for years, even if the North had no tradition of knighthood.
The column poured through the gates in a thunder of hooves and voices.
Ned picked out familiar faces in the crowd: Jaime Lannister with his bright golden hair, Sandor Clegane with his burned face, Prince Joffrey looking arrogant, and Tyrion Lannister, the Imp.
Tyrion’s gaze swept the crowd and landed on Aragorn.
Aragorn stood with the castellan, dressed in a finer silk tunic with silver thread at the shoulders and sleeves and a white cloak over it.
He kept his face calm while his Eagle Eye skill let him see every detail up front.
“The King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm—Robert Baratheon the First!” Everyone dropped to one knee.
Robert raised a hand and the crowd rose.
His eyes found Ned’s across the open ground.
For a moment the air between them felt tight.
Cersei Lannister stepped down from her ornate wheelhouse and looked around at Winterfell’s plain stone with open disdain.
Joffrey followed, his doublet embroidered with a split shield—stag on one side, lion on the other.
“Looks like a girl,” someone muttered nearby.
Robert suddenly roared with laughter.
“You’ve gotten fat!” Ned stared at him for half a second, then laughed just as loudly.
The two old friends stepped forward and crushed each other in a rough embrace while the whole courtyard watched.
“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace,” Ned said once they stepped apart.
“What have you been doing with yourself all these years?” “Guarding your North, Your Grace.” The Stark children were brought forward and introduced.
Sansa’s eyes lingered on Joffrey with open interest.
The prince gave her a polite nod in return.
After the formal greetings, Robert turned to Ned.
“Take me to the crypts.
I want to see her.” Cersei made a quiet sound of disgust.
“Must we rush to visit the dead the moment we arrive?” Robert ignored her.
He raised a fist to acknowledge the cheering soldiers, then walked beside Ned toward the castle’s lower levels, leaving the rest of the royal party behind.