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The next day, Ned was pleased to see Theon’s mocking smile back on his face.
When Theon met Roose Bolton in the hall, he even knew enough to joke about Lord Bolton’s soft voice.
Robb, Jon Snow, and a group of squires around their age were roughhousing in the hall.
Arya was talking with horseboys from the Rills.
Sansa, little Beth Cassel, and Jeyne Poole had gathered around Domeric Bolton, who held a harp in his hands.
Domeric’s music had enchanted Sansa and the girls of Winterfell.
Sansa clasped her hands near her mouth and gazed at him with open admiration.
“Did you write all those lyrics yourself? Your voice, your talent, the notes from your strings… they are like something from the heavens. I especially love the stories in your songs. Great knights, beautiful princesses, everything so perfect.”
Domeric gave a modest nod and smiled like sunlight.
“Thank you for your praise, Lady Sansa. I am glad my songs moved you.”
Ned studied Domeric’s handsome face and eyes as clear as an ice lake.
With that gentle, cultivated air, it was hard to believe this was Roose Bolton’s son.
Sansa said, “Winterfell rarely has singers visit. Domeric, you are the finest singer I have ever seen.”
Domeric answered calmly, “You flatter me, Lady Sansa. I am not a singer by trade. Music is my pleasure. I am happy to share my songs at feasts, but I would never sing for coin.”
A burst of adoring praise nearly drowned him.
Sansa said, “I wish you would live in Winterfell forever and perform for us every day.”
Domeric shrugged.
“I like Winterfell very much, but tomorrow I am leaving for Barrowton with my aunt, Lady Barbrey.”
Sansa, little Beth Cassel, and Jeyne Poole all looked disappointed.
Sansa said, “No. I will ask Father to keep you here, at least for a few more days. I have not heard enough of your songs.”
Ned walked over.
“Sansa, Domeric is Lady Barbrey’s page, and more importantly, he is heir to the Dreadfort. He is not a singer for you to command as you please.”
Sansa pouted.
“Father, not you too.” She tossed her auburn hair and turned away. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Jeyne Poole and little Beth Cassel curtsied to Ned before following her.
Domeric stood and bowed to Ned.
“Lord Eddard, I did not expect Lady Sansa to love music so much.”
Ned said, “Sansa’s head is full of impossible dreams about knights and princes. Girls her age rarely know that songs and life are not the same thing. Yesterday at the feast, I heard you sing about the First King. That tale is thousands of years old. Do you believe it was true?”
Domeric plucked a string, drawing out a sorrowful note.
“I do. We all need something to believe in, or we lose ourselves. I like history, and I like books, but good copies are too rare. Lord Eddard, Septon Chayle told me Winterfell’s library tower holds many precious books, some even the Citadel does not have.”
Ned said, “It does. House Stark has ruled from Winterfell since the days of the Kings of Winter. No place in the world holds more books about the North than Winterfell’s library tower.”
Domeric’s eyes brightened.
“Then there are books on House Bolton as well? Lord Eddard, I have long been interested in the histories of my grandfather’s House Ryswell of the Rills, my aunt’s House Dustin of the Barrowlands, and House Bolton. May I read them?”
Ned said, “Those books are precious. Many are fragile parchment or ancient scrolls. You may read them in the library tower, but you may not take them away.”
The books were priceless.
Ned had instructed Septon Chayle to guard them carefully and had even posted extra men outside the library tower.
Domeric thought for a moment.
“Then it seems I must stay in Winterfell a while if I want to read. Would Lord Eddard welcome that?”
Ned rather liked the young man before him.
At the very least, Domeric did not speak in Roose Bolton’s soft whispers, nor did he have Lady Barbrey’s sharp tongue.
“Sansa and the girls of Winterfell like you well enough. Stay as long as you wish. Yesterday, I saw you with Jon, Robb, and Theon.”
“Theon and Robb are fine lads.” Domeric looked toward Robb, Theon, and Jon Snow in the distance.
“Lord Eddard, your household is lively. I have always wished for a brother, but I have none. I spent three years in the Vale, at the Redfort, as squire to Lord Horton Redfort. He has several sons.”
“You have brothers and sisters as well, Lord Eddard. My aunt Barbrey often speaks of your elder brother, Brandon Stark. Yesterday, I had the honor of speaking a few words with your brother Benjen, the famed ranger of the Night’s Watch. He even invited me to visit Castle Black.”
Lady Barbrey approached.
This time she wore a gown as white as new snow, which only made Ned suspect more strongly that her black dress at Rickon’s birth feast had been deliberate.
Barbrey gave Ned an exaggerated curtsy, then turned to Domeric.
“Domeric, what are you doing here? Have you forgotten the match? Ser Rodrik Cassel, Winterfell’s master-at-arms, mocked you in public at the feast yesterday, saying you only knew how to play and sing. Domeric, show them what you can do.”
“A match against whom?”
Lady Barbrey pointed toward Jon, Theon, and Robb.
“Those three.”
Domeric frowned.
“Aunt, Robb and Jon are children. I am nearly grown. I am fifteen. What honor is there in bullying boys?”
Robb and Jon heard him and came over at once.
Robb drew the wooden sword at his belt.
“Domeric, I often beat opponents older than I am. If you call me a child, I think you are the one who is afraid.”
Jon Snow folded his arms.
“I once beat Hodor, the giant of Winterfell, in the yard. He is much bigger than you.”
Domeric smiled.
“Children always think themselves strong enough to defeat the world. It seems I must step into the yard and teach you. For fairness, you may come at me together. I can fight two against one. Add Theon as well, if you like.”
Theon laughed contemptuously.
“I do not join children’s games. I can beat you one-on-one.”
Winterfell’s squires, the squires from Barrowton, and the squires from White Harbor shouted their approval.
Robb, Jon Snow, and Theon surrounded Domeric and headed out of the hall toward the training yard.
Ned meant to leave, but Barbrey, the widow of Barrowton, stopped him.
“Lord Eddard, come watch.”
Ned looked disgusted.
“Lady Barbrey, I am busy. I have no interest in children sparring. No, more precisely, I have no interest in any tourney. Even if the Kingslayer faced Barristan the Bold, even if the Sword of the Morning climbed out of his grave to face Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, I still would not care.”
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