Eddard Stark returned to the Great Keep with frost melting on his eyebrows and beard, leaving his face wet.
He did not feel particularly cold, and after wiping away the melted snow, he walked toward his bedchamber.
In winter, the Lord of Winterfell was perhaps the busiest noble in the Seven Kingdoms.
Fortunately, this year’s grain reserves were large enough that no one would starve, but many people were still freezing to death.
Some died in their sleep trying to save fuel, others fell into deep snowdrifts, and some lost their way in blizzards while cutting wood.
Even the Night’s Watch reported guards freezing to death at their posts atop the Wall.
The recent heavy snow had also crushed several homes.
Ned had just finished inspecting Winterfell Town to count the casualties.
A few unlucky people had been killed instantly, while others were left without shelter against the freezing cold.
Rebuilding would take time, yet the snow kept falling endlessly.
Ned welcomed the commoners who could not find shelter outside the castle walls to come inside.
If necessary, he was ready to turn Winterfell’s Great Hall into a temporary shelter.
Though it was not traditional, he cared more about helping his people than following strict formality.
Before reaching his bedroom, Ned heard children laughing.
Feeling his spirits lift despite his deep exhaustion, he pushed open the door to find a young boy running around wrapped in two large rolls of fine fabric.
“Father, you’re back!” the boy yelled, running over as the long cloth trailed behind him.
Ned picked his son up and noticed the colors of the two fabrics.
One was red and blue, embroidered with a trout, while the other was grey and white, embroidered with a direwolf.
“Robb, what are you playing?” “Father, these are gifts from Grandfather.
Mother says she will make me new clothes from them, and I’ll look as noble as a prince!” The boy pulled the two fabrics together on his chest, placing the trout and direwolf side by side.
Ned offered no opinion.
Combining the emblems of the Riverlands and the North certainly showed the boy’s noble heritage, but it was also very flashy.
Holding his son, Ned took a few steps into the room and suddenly stopped.
By the fireplace, his wife, Catelyn Stark, was unfolding a piece of silk to measure his bastard son, Jon Snow.
Her look was gentle, and Jon was quietly trying to hide his excitement.
The boy’s face was flushed and his eyes were full of joy, though he still acted shy.
Seeing this filled Ned with a deep sense of guilt.
He remembered the pain and embarrassment his secret had caused his wife.
He knew he owed her so much, yet there was little he could do to fix it.
“Catelyn, thank you for taking care of everything,” Ned said, his voice sounding tired and soft.
“My uncle told me that Edmure picked these gifts himself.
The fabrics are wonderful.
Wait a moment, Ned, and I’ll pick out an outfit for you too,” Catelyn said with a warm smile.
Ned sat on the edge of the bed, watching his bright, red-haired wife.
He knew her cheerful mood came from her family’s visit.
The silk Catelyn was preparing for Jon was a fine grey-and-white pattern.
Grey and white were the colors of Winterfell and the snow, but the silk had no family emblem on it, unlike the fabric Robb wore.
A bastard has no right to use a noble house’s emblem, Ned thought.
The fabric seemed perfectly chosen for Jon—expensive and fine, but properly respectful of noble traditions.
Just as Ned was feeling grateful for his brother-in-law’s kindness, a guard called from outside the door: “My lord, Maester Luwin wishes to see you.” “Send him in.” “Maester Luwin asks to speak with you alone.” “Tell him to wait a moment.” Ned kissed Robb’s cheek and gently set him down.
The Lord of Winterfell walked out to the small sitting room outside the bedroom.
The slight maester, with his grey eyes and grey hair, was sitting at a low table.
Ned deeply respected the old man’s great knowledge, but right now, Luwin looked distracted and uneasy.
“Maester Luwin.” Ned sat down across from him, which finally snapped the maester back to reality.
“Oh…
forgive me, my lord.
I didn’t see you come in.” “You look tired.” “Lord Edmure came to see me, and we talked for almost the whole afternoon,” Maester Luwin said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.
“He wants to copy some books from House Stark’s library and asked me to give a few lessons to his companions.” “He can copy any of our books.
Are the lessons a problem for you?” Ned asked, feeling confused.
“My lord, I agreed to both,” Maester Luwin said with a wave of his hand.
“However, Lord Edmure asked me several questions I couldn’t answer.
Then we discussed academic subjects and had a disagreement.” “An academic disagreement?” Ned was surprised.
“Lord Edmure has a very creative mind, and he is quite bold,” Maester Luwin hesitated for a moment.
“He said that if I found even a small amount of truth in his ideas, I must tell you everything, because it is extremely important.” Ned nodded quietly.
Since the maester had come to see him late in the evening, the matter had to be serious.
He was also curious to know what Edmure had said to stir up such a wise and experienced man.
“Lord Edmure first asked me why a maester like me, who studied magic at the Citadel, was assigned to serve way up here in the North.” “I had never questioned my assignment before, so I told him it was simply a standard decision by the Citadel’s leadership.” “Lord Edmure pushed further, asking if other maesters had sidelined me, or if the Citadel had a hidden reason for placing me here.” “I had no answer,” Maester Luwin said, pulling nervously at his metal chain.
“Then Lord Edmure changed the subject and asked if I believed magic was real.” Ned rarely remembered that his maester had studied ancient secrets, and he certainly had not realized Luwin was the rare expert Edmure had talked about earlier.
Now, Ned was curious too.
“Maester, does magic actually exist?” “The Citadel taught me about it when I was young.
What child could resist the hope of finding magical powers within themselves?” “I tried practicing magic many times, but every attempt failed.
The rituals and spells simply do not work,” Luwin said, a hint of old disappointment in his voice.
Ned frowned.
“What about the old stories?
Legends say my ancestor, Brandon the Builder, used magic.” “Magic may have been real in ancient times, but that age is long gone.
Valyria was the last place where magic lived.
When the dragons, giants, and Children of the Forest died out, magical knowledge disappeared with them,” Maester Luwin explained regretfully.
“Edmure didn’t agree, did he?” Ned guessed.
“Is that what you argued about?” “Lord Edmure claims magic rises and falls like ocean tides.
He says just because the tide is out doesn’t mean it will never return.
He believes magic might come back within our lifetimes.” “We can’t prove whether he is right or wrong yet,” Ned reasoned.
“You both have a point.” “If magic returns, the monsters of legend will return with it—that is what Lord Edmure warned me,” Maester Luwin said, looking troubled again.
“He told me to watch for signs: a red comet streaking across the sky, petrified dragon eggs hatching, direwolves roaming the North, and wildlings fleeing south of the Wall.” “The young man has a wild imagination,” Ned said with a short laugh, though his smile quickly faded as he began to worry.
Maester Luwin took a deep breath.
“If Lord Edmure is even slightly right, it means the legendary enemies from the Lands of Always Winter are real.
Their return would bring a long, dark night upon Westeros.” Ned’s face turned serious.
After a long silence, he stood up and looked out the window.
The dim candlelight barely lit the darkness, showing only the endless, thick snow falling silently into the freezing night.
“If anyone else said these things, I would call them foolish stories.
But I cannot ignore them.” Ned turned back, looking directly at the maester.
“Winter is Coming.” Maester Luwin knew the Stark family motto well.
Almost every noble family in Westeros had its own motto, passed down through generations to teach honor, loyalty, or bravery.
Only House Stark’s motto was a constant warning of danger, which was very rare among the noble houses.
“My ancestors always warned us with those words.
You never know when disaster will strike, so you must always be ready,” Ned said thoughtfully.
“Edmure’s warning sounds just like our motto.
Could that really be a coincidence?” Maester Luwin stayed quiet, listening as his lord thought out loud.
“His idea is worth considering.
Maester, is there a way…” Ned’s eyes brightened.
“Could you use your old magical rituals to test the air every six months or once a year?” “If a ritual ever works, it means magic has returned, and we can prepare for war ahead of time,” Maester Luwin finished the thought.
“My lord, I cannot guarantee it will work, but I will try.
I will also write to the Citadel, as they have better methods than I do.” “Please do this for me, Maester.
I trust no one else with such an important task,” Ned said.
“It is my duty, my lord,” Maester Luwin replied humbly.
Trying to lighten the heavy mood, he smiled faintly.
“My conversation with Lord Edmure was very eye-opening.
His intelligence makes it hard to believe he is only fourteen.” Ned nodded slightly in agreement.
At fourteen, he had only cared about horses, hunting, and jousting—never anything as deep as the thoughts in his young brother-in-law’s head.