Winterfell is the heart of the North.
Famous across the Seven Kingdoms, the castle is not known for easy natural defenses.
Unlike Riverrun, which sits between rivers to keep enemies away, Winterfell stands on a flat plain.
It guards a major crossroads in all directions, scaring off attackers through its massive size and design alone.
The castle covers about fifty acres and is protected by two thick granite walls.
The outer wall stands eighty feet high with many guard towers, while the inner wall reaches a hundred feet with over thirty watchposts.
A wide moat runs between the walls, encircling the entire castle.
With enough soldiers to defend it, taking Winterfell would cost an invading army many times the lives of its defenders.
The traveling party admired the castle’s grand architecture as they arrived.
Though the Riverlands also boasted one of Westeros’s largest strongholds—built by an ancient king three hundred years ago—each castle had its own unique strengths.
Edmure knew Winterfell’s true secrets lay hidden inside.
Legend says that Brandon “the Builder,” the ancient founder of House Stark, used magic to construct both the Wall and Winterfell, protecting everyone within from dark forces.
Winterfell also offered comforts rarely seen in the Seven Kingdoms.
The escorting cavalry led the visitors through the castle’s East Gate.
The gatehouse featured twin high towers guarding a drawbridge over the moat.
As the main entrance, it was opened to show respect to the southern guests.
The moment they passed through the inner wall, Edmure felt the air grow noticeably warmer.
They emerged from under a stone bridge into an open training yard.
Winterfell’s riders led the wagons and pack animals to the stables.
Aside from the servants handling the luggage, everyone dismounted and walked through a heavy oak-and-iron gate to the steps of the Great Hall.
A welcoming crowd stood lined up outside.
On the outer edges stood a dozen Stark guards in thick furs and long chainmail.
Beside them were visiting Northern nobles, their clothes embroidered with various family crests.
Closer to the doors stood Winterfell’s household: guard officers in shiny armor, quiet and polite septas, a tall gray-haired knight, an unarmed steward, and a small, thin maester with gray robes, gray hair, and gray eyes.
At the middle of the steps stood a striking young couple, stepping down to welcome their guests.
Brynden Tully stepped forward to greet Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.
As the official leader of the riverland party, Ser Brynden handled the formal greetings.
Even Edmure, as the young heir of Riverrun, waited quietly in the crowd without interrupting.
Once Ser Brynden finished the official formalities, Lady Stark warmly took her uncle’s arm and invited everyone inside.
The Great HallThe Great Hall was massive, easily fitting eight long dining tables.
The hundred or so hosts and guests filled less than a third of the room.
The decorations were simple for a lord of Ned Stark’s standing, dominated by large wool tapestries showing the Stark direwolf.
A dozen fireplaces burned brightly, filling the room with a welcoming warmth.
Edmure moved quickly through the crowd to greet the host couple.
“Lady Stark,” he called out with a smile.
“It has been years, and you look as radiant as ever.” Catelyn Stark turned in surprise to see who spoke so boldly.
As Edmure lowered his hood and unwrapped his scarf, her eyes widened.
“Seven gods above!
Edmure, what are you doing here?” “I heard northern winters were harsh, and both Father and I were worried about you.” Edmure knew that moving far from home was hard not just because of the cold, but because of the unfamiliar customs and people.
It had taken Catelyn a long time to adjust.
Tears welled in Catelyn’s eyes.
She threw her arms around him, her voice choked with emotion.
“My dear brother!
You’ve grown so tall—I almost didn’t recognize you!” She pulled back to examine his face.
“The journey must have been miserable in all that snow.
How did you manage?” Travel conditions had been rough, leaving Edmure looking a bit scruffy.
His auburn hair was messy, and red stubble covered his jaw, making him look very different from the boy Catelyn remembered.
“I was lucky,” Edmure replied.
“No blizzards, no bandits.
And seeing the North in winter has been quite an experience.” Knowing the hall was not the place for a private chat, Edmure turned to Lord Stark.
Ned’s face remained calm, though a hint of surprise flashed in his dark gray eyes.
Lord Stark possessed the classic features of his house: dark brown hair, solemn gray eyes, a long face, and a neatly trimmed beard.
He was both loved and feared by his people, though few found him easy to talk to.
Outsiders often mistook his quiet nature for coldness.
“Lord Edmure, welcome to Winterfell,” Ned said formally.
“It is good to see you again.” Though only around twenty-five, Ned carried himself with a quiet seriousness.
Coming from him, even a short greeting felt deeply sincere.
Instead of keeping his distance, Edmure stepped forward and gave his brother-in-law a firm hug.
Ned stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the sudden warmth.
“Thank you, brother-in-law,” Edmure said seriously after pulling back.
“Thank you for taking such good care of my sister.” In her youth, Catelyn was celebrated as one of the greatest beauties in the Riverlands, famous for her bright auburn hair and striking blue eyes.
Years of marriage had only made her look more graceful.
Looking at her, Edmure could tell the letters sent home were true: Catelyn and Ned shared a deep, loving marriage.
Five years after marrying, they had a four-year-old son and a baby daughter born just the previous year.
Ned offered a rare, soft smile.
After losing so much of his family during the war, his wife was his greatest joy.
Edmure had only met Ned once before, when Edmure was just a boy of eight or nine, right before Robert’s Rebellion.
They barely knew each other then, but Edmure was eager to bridge the gap.
“Sister, Lord Stark, let me introduce the companions who traveled with me,” Edmure said.
One by one, the young Riverland nobles stepped forward as Edmure called their names, offering their respects to the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.
Ned was surprised by the visitors.
While the group was small, it included the heirs to almost every major house in the Riverlands.
To the Northern lords and Winterfell’s court, this visit was a major event—a grand sign of a strong alliance that called for a great feast.
Guest Right & ReunionEdmure was invited to sit at the head table.
As the hosts and guests exchanged pleasantries, servants brought out bread and salt.
By the ancient law of Guest Right, once a visitor eats a host’s bread and salt, both sides are bound by sacred oath not to harm one another.
Breaking this rule was considered an unforgivable sin to both the Old Gods and the New.
Edmure dipped a piece of brown bread into the coarse salt and ate it.
Below the platform, the steward spoke up: “My lords, your rooms are ready with warm fires and hot water.
Please follow me to rest before the banquet tonight.” Edmure wanted to change out of his damp travel clothes, but he turned to Catelyn first.
“Sister, where are my nephew and niece?
I’d love to see them.” Ser Brynden offered to join them and asked Ser Karyl Vance to lead the rest of the Riverland nobles to their quarters.
Ned excused himself to deal with castle business, giving Catelyn time alone with her family.
Catelyn led them into the Great Keep, the central fortress where the Stark family lived.
The heavy stone walls held the heat inside, making it feel even warmer than the hall.
In the nursery, an elderly nurse sat with the children.
A baby girl rested in a cradle, while a four-year-old boy sat beside the nurse, listening to a story.
“Robb, your uncles are here,” Catelyn said gently.
The little boy ran over, greeting them politely.
“Hello, Uncles!” “Hello, Robb,” Edmure said, lifting his strong little nephew into his arms.
Brynden walked over to the cradle.
“Little Cat, she looks just like you.
They both do.” “Her name is Sansa,” Catelyn said proudly.
Both children had inherited her Tully features: bright auburn hair, blue eyes, and fair skin.
Near the nurse stood another young boy with dark brown hair, a long face, and dark gray eyes.
He peeked timidly at Edmure.
“That must be Jon Snow?” Edmure asked softly.
Catelyn’s smile disappeared, her tone instantly turning cold.
“Yes, that’s him.” Standing with her family, the presence of her husband’s bastard child was a painful reminder she preferred to ignore.
Brynden looked at the boy’s dark features, so different from Robb’s, and sighed softly.
“A true little wolf.” Feeling the tension in the room, the small boy stepped back behind the nurse, hiding his face.
Edmure set Robb down and walked over to the boy.
“My lord, he is very young…” the nurse stammered nervously.
Edmure knelt down to eye level and gently patted Jon’s head.
“I am Edmure Tully, your step-mother’s brother.
While we aren’t related by blood, your father and I are family.
You can call me Uncle.” “Un…
Uncle,” the boy whispered quietly.
“Good boy,” Edmure smiled.
He stood up and saw Catelyn looking at him in shock.
“Sister, shall we head to the guest rooms?” As they walked out into the courtyard, away from the guards and servants, Catelyn kept her voice low.
“Edmure…
I didn’t expect you to be so kind to that child.” “The boy hasn’t done anything wrong,” Edmure replied calmly.
“Before I left, I asked Father how we should view Lord Eddard’s son.” “And what did Father say?” Catelyn asked, her expression softening slightly.
“Truthfully, the boy doesn’t cause trouble.
There’s no point making a scene over him.” “It isn’t Jon’s fault; the responsibility lies with Lord Stark,” Edmure said.
Then he added quietly, “Assuming he really is Lord Eddard’s son.” ————————————————