When dawn broke over the horizon, the feast felt like something that had happened in another lifetime.
In normal times the northern lords would already be out on their own lands with bows and spears, returning with fresh kills for the morning table.
Today was different.
The king was here, and everyone followed his lead.
Ned Stark woke gasping from a dream.
In it he was still a boy.
His father, Rickard Stark, rested a hand on his head while the other lords praised young Eddard’s skill with a blade.
“He’ll be the finest warrior in the North,” they said.
Rickard smiled, then his eyes drifted past his second son toward the taller figure of Brandon.
The true heir.
Ned sat up, heart pounding.
The dream faded.
He washed his face, ate quickly, and was barely finished when Robert sent for him.
The hunting party gathered at first light.
Forty men in total rode out from Winterfell, though few of them looked eager.
Some were still recovering from the previous night’s wine.
Others had left their bows behind, treating the outing more as an excuse for Robert to ride and talk with his old friend than as serious sport.
Robert wanted to hunt the old way.
No crowds.
No constant guards.
Just him, a bow, and open ground.
They rode for hours.
Eventually Barristan Selmy rode up beside the king.
“Your Grace, we should turn back soon.” Robert ignored him and reined in near a rocky rise.
He looked out over the slope where the shadowcat had been killed days earlier.
“This is the place, Ned?” “It is, Your Grace.
Ser Barristan is right.
We’ve come far enough.” Robert waved the warning away.
“I’m tired of Lannisters hovering over my shoulder.
Let me enjoy a few hours without them.” They continued forward.
Up ahead, a hooded figure stood alone in a clearing, bow in hand, watching the sky.
Robert narrowed his eyes.
“A poacher?
Bold, this far inside Stark land.” “No, Your Grace,” Ned said quietly.
“That’s one of my rangers.
The man who killed the shadowcat.
He’s also been teaching Arya the bow.” The hooded man nocked an arrow and drew.
High above, a pair of birds wheeled against the gray sky.
Robert snorted.
“He’s going to try for a bird at that height?
Even a good archer would wait for them to drop lower.” The man released.
The arrow climbed fast and true.
It struck the first bird cleanly, then continued on and drove through the second.
The first bird tried to veer away but the shaft had already done its work.
Both dropped from the sky.
Robert stared.
“Could any of the Kingsguard make that shot?” he asked.
Barristan Selmy was silent for a moment.
“No, Your Grace.
Not even our best bowmen could manage it from that range.
Not reliably.” Robert turned to Ned.
“Who is he?” “The same man who put down the shadowcat.” The hooded figure turned at the sound of voices.
He pulled the hood back.
Robert’s face split into a wide grin.
“You!
The boy from Lys!
The one who sold me those damn expensive sweets!”