A copper tub had been filled with hot water by the time he arrived, and he stayed in the bath until the water had cooled past the point of comfort.
It was a balm he sorely needed after being on the road for over a fortnight.
The soreness in his thighs was already improving.
He dressed, sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, and looked at the room.
It had not changed much.
The same bed, the same cupboard.
He walked to the window to see the same view, the inner courtyard from four stories up, the far wall, with smoke rising from the forge where he knew Mikken was hard at work despite the late hour.
A snow white owl entered his vision as it flew on silent wings, stopping on the crenulation atop the far wall.
A knock came from the door before a guard’s voice spoke from the other side.
“Lord Karlon, Lord Stark requests to meet you in the lord’s solar.” “One moment,” he said, stepping away from the window and grabbing his sword.
Opening the door, he was met with a fat guardsman who led him to the solar.
He remembered a time when this used to be their father’s solar instead of Ned’s.
It looked practical and had very little adornments, with the myrish carpet being the only thing of note within.
There were maps on the walls, the heavy oaken desk with many ledgers and correspondence spread atop of it.
“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” Karlon said, settling into the chair across the desk.
Ned was standing by a table in the corner, pouring a drink into the cups.
He set one down in front of Karlon and took his own, and sat.
“Were you expecting it to?” “No.” Karlon drank.
It was good wine, better than the one in Frostkeep’s cellars at least.
“But gods, Ned.
Were those really direwolves?” “We found them in the Wolfswood, on the ride back after executing the deserter.” Ned said, “A dead mother.
Six pups.
One for each of the children.” “The sigil of our House.” Karlon reiterated.
“Found in the wolfswood when the King rides north, with a stag’s antler in their mother’s belly.
If you wanted an omen, the Old Gods have given you one.” “I don’t particularly want an omen.” “No.
But they rarely ask.” Ned looked at his cup for a moment.
“How are things in Frostkeep?
The fleet?” “Well enough,” Karlon said.
“It’s been rather peaceful lately.
Less and less raiders appear now, despite Balon always insisting that those Ironborn raid independently.
As if smallfolk could secure steel or ships by themselves without a lord’s backing.” Karlon scoffed at the end, “What about you?” “What are you talking about?” “Jon Arryn died,” Karlon said, “don’t pretend it means nothing to you.” “We already lost a father, brother, and sister, Karlon.” Ned said, “I am no stranger to grief.” “True enough.” Karlon sighed, “Are you taking the Handship?” “I don’t see how I can say no,” he said at last.
“Cat has said as much herself.
One does not simply refuse a King, especially one that comes north to give it personally.” “That’s true.” He had known it since the raven, and Ned had known it since before that, and the conversation they were having was not one about the decision but about everything surrounding it.
“So we think about what can be done with it instead.” Ned looked at him.
“Aye.” They talked for two hours, as the fire burned and the light outside the window shifted through the grey stages of the northern afternoon.
They talked of the state of the north and everything that would need to hold should Ned be gone.
Karlon asked about the children.
Ned asked about Dacey.
They talked about the fleet, and about Benjen, and about the Karstark and Umber dispatches that had arrived in the past week.
There was nothing specific as of yet, which was fine.
Time was something they had in abundance, if Ned’s letter regarding the royal entourage was to be believed.
By the end of it they were both on their third cup and the fire in the hearth had toned down significantly.
“Come to supper,” Ned said, when the light had gone nearly grey.
“The children will want to see you again.” “Of course.” Karlon said, raising and walking with Ned as they reached the great hall.
As the food was prepared by the servants, Karlon salivated internally, for the cooks in Winterfell were the finest that all of the North could offer.
He found himself seated next to Jon, which was probably a rarity for the boy to be eating here judging by the look on his face.
He was a boy no longer, a year older than Alaric at seven-and-ten.
He was quiet, eating steadily and merely listening to the multitude of conversations without drawing attention to himself.
“Jon,” Karlon said, starting the conversation.
“How goes your training?” “Well enough, Uncle.” Jon said, turning to him.
Those grey eyes were all Stark, though something in them reminded Karlon of something he couldn’t recognize.
“Ser Rodrik says I’m getting better with my off hand.” “He’s being modest,” Robb said with a grin from across the table.
“He’s better than me in a fight.” Jon looked sheepish at the compliment, and Karlon noticed Catelyn’s expression shift slightly.
Karlon noted that as he took a drink.
“Have you given thought of what you want to do?” Something changed in Jon’s face — not much, but enough.
He was quiet for a moment.
“I’ve thought about the Night’s Watch.” “You want to join the Watch?” Karlon asked, confirming.
“Every generation, a Stark takes the black.” Jon said it like a man reciting something he had decided to believe.
“It’s an honorable path.” “It’s one honorable path,” Karlon said, spearing a piece of the roasted hare with a fork.
“What other path is there?” Jon asked, and the question was genuine.
“Robb is to inherit Winterfell.
The Watch is where—” He paused, choosing his words.
“It’s where Stark bastards go when they want to be useful.” “Or you can go to Frostkeep and learn how to sail.” Robb interjected.
“Think about it Jon, maybe you can captain your own ship one day!” “I don’t want to be a sailor,” Jon said.
“The fleet isn’t only sailors,” Karlon said.
“I have men on those ships who’ve never looked at the sea without wanting to be sick.
What I want are men who are disciplined and patient and willing to think before they act.” He looked at Jon.
“From what your father tells me, that describes you well enough.” Jon looked at his food for a moment.
“I already spoke to Uncle Benjen about joining the Watch.” “Aye, and the Watch could certainly use a man like you,” Karlon said.
“But taking the black is an oath that could bind you for life.” Bran, who had been listening from three seats down, leaned forward.
“Could I go to Frostkeep?
I want to learn how to sail.” “Bran—” Ned said, from the head of the table.
“I’m just asking.” Bran said, “Jon could come too.
We could both learn.” “You’re only ten, Bran,” Robb said.
“So?” Bran said, “Please Uncle Karlon, I’m a good climber!
I can climb the masts and be of help!
I always climb the walls and towers here and never fall!” “Truly?” Karlon looked at the boy properly for the first time.
Ten was not too young.
Karlon himself had gone to Bear Island at nine, and the years he had spent there had made him everything he was.
A lord’s son sent to foster early learned to stand on his own feet before the world could knock them out from under him.
He glanced at Ned, who was watching him with the expression of a man who had seen the calculation running and was reserving judgment.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Karlon said, slowly.
“We were fostered away at that age, Ned.” He looked at Bran.
“You’d learn seamanship and the ways of the keep, and you’d be learning with Arella, who is your age near enough.” He paused.
“But that is your father’s decision.
Not mine to make.” “Please father!” Bran turned the full force of his attention to Ned.
Ned was quiet for a moment, glancing at Catelyn who had a frown on her face.
They shared a look before Ned spoke, “We will discuss it.
Frostkeep is certainly one of the better choices should you be warded to another Lord.” “Yes!” Bran cheered.
Jon had been quiet during this exchange, looking at his cup.
“I still think the Watch is for me, Uncle.” “You have time yet to decide.” Karlon said, meeting Jon’s eyes.
“All I’d ask is that you decide because it’s what you want.
Not because it’s the only door you can see.” Across the table, Robb was smiling.
It seems the two had this particular conversation more than once already, yet stubbornness was a trait prevalent in all Starks it seems.
… Karlon retreated to his room later that night, the window showing a sky crowded with stars.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, just taking in the cold air before laying down on the bed and closing his eyes.
Sleep took him the way it sometimes took him on the water, with the sudden completeness of a wave closing over a man’s head — and then he was not in his room anymore.
He was flying.
The cold was enormous, far colder than any wind he had known, but it did not hurt the way cold hurt a man.
It was simply part of everything, air and darkness and the immense quiet of the night sky over Winterfell.
He could see the whole of it below him: the towers and the walls, the smoke rising from the great keep, the lights in the windows small and yellow and warm.
The godswood was a darkness in the east quarter, the heart tree’s pale crown just visible among the darker branches.
The town beyond the walls, a scatter of fires.
The plain stretching away in every direction to the dark horizon.
He turned on the wind — not thinking it, simply doing it, the way breathing was simply done — and the world tilted beneath him, and he could see further than any man could see, every shadow distinct, every movement below registering as heat and motion and information.
A mouse crossed the outer ward.
He knew it without looking directly, and his body flew towards it by instinct.
He caught it on his talons, before a sharp beak descended and tore it into pieces.
He did not know what he was at that moment.
He did not think to ask.
All he knew was that he was flying, and he enjoyed it for all it was worth.
… AN: Here we go, chapter 5!
This chapter was fun, I really like writing about a family dynamic and showing the Starks here before being injected with all their trauma was great.
I have somewhat of a plan for Bran and Jon that would be a bit different from their canon counterparts.
Arya and Sansa as well.
It’s really only Rickon that has me at a stump, but I have something that might work for him.
Anyways, our guy has his first skinchanging experience, which is fun.
Check it out if you’re interested, at least chapter 10 (long form, which is around chp 18 in webnovel) should be available by the time this chapter was uploaded.