At the Godswood…
Winterfell’s Godswood
Lady Catelyn Stark, born as the eldest daughter of Lord Hoster of House Tully, makes her way through the Godswood to find her husband, Lord Eddard “Ned” Stark Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North polishing his family’s ancestral Valyrian steel sword Ice, having recently beheaded a deserter from the Night’s Watch: Will.
The Night’s Watch was an organization founded 8,000 years ago in the aftermath of the Long Night to guard the realms of men from what lies beyond the Wall, a colossal fortification 300 miles along the northern border and over 700 feet tall made of solid ice, such as Wildlings (aka the Free Folk) and White Walkers, should they ever return.
According to legend, the Wall was supposedly constructed with the use of magic and mundane means with the aid of the Children of the Forest a race of non-humans who were reportedly the original inhabitants of Westeros before the arrival of the First Men and the Andal invaders.
Members of the Night’s Watch upon recruitment would swear an oath of duty that prohibits marriage, family, and land ownership.
Recruits renounce all past allegiances and birthrights.
Joining the Watch provides absolution for past crimes and immunity from further punishment.
Brothers start with a clean slate and can rise within the ranks whatever their origins.
Once the Night’s Watch was highly regarded and filled with volunteers from noble houses, now the Watch consists of only 1,000 men (not enough to operate the other castles on the Wall), and its ranks are filled with criminals avoiding punishment, nobles avoiding scandal, orphans, and other social outcasts.
Before his execution, Will gave a detailed report of what he had seen before recklessly deserting in terror: undead beings with eyes glowing blue brutally killed his companions; the White Walkers have returned.
Ned sat as he continued polishing Ice, cleaning off the blood as he reflected on Will’s words.
He still remained unsure, but deep down part of him believed the lad.
“All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here,” his wife admitted, breaking Ned’s thoughts.
“You have five northern children.
You’re not an outsider,” Ned reassured her.
“I wonder if the Old Gods agree.”
Ned smiled.
“It’s your gods with all the rules.” His smile soon ceased as soon as he saw how Catelyn shifted from contemplating to consoling.
“I am so sorry, my love,” Catelyn professed.
“Tell me,” Ned beseeched, wanting to know what was troubling his wife.
“There was a raven from King’s Landing.
Jon Arryn is dead.
A fever took him,” Catelyn answered truthfully.
Ned felt as if he had just taken a punch in the gut as he found himself unable to speak.
Jon Arryn had fostered both him and his best friend Robert Baratheon at the Eyrie when he was a child.
Both thought fondly of Lord Arryn, and Arryn in turn treated the younger Stark and Baratheon as his own children.
Those were fond memories.
Dead?
How could it be?
“I know he was like a father to you,” Catelyn continued.
Ned took a moment to regain his composure.
“Your sister and the boy…?”
During the rebellion 17 years ago, Jon Arryn cemented an alliance with House Tully of the Riverlands by marrying Lord Hoster’s second daughter, Lysa, while Eddard married Lysa’s older sister, Catelyn, after his older brother Brandon was executed along with their father, Rickard, during the Mad King’s reign.
Catelyn was originally betrothed to marry Brandon but was wed to Eddard when word arrived detailing Brandon’s death.
When the war was brought to an end, Jon Arryn welcomed the birth of his first and only child almost 10 years ago Robin.
One day the boy would have inherited Jon’s lands and titles, but now it seemed the boy would already do so.
“They both have their health.
“Gods be good,” Catelyn answered thankfully.
She then changed her tone.
“The raven brought more news.
The King rides for Winterfell.
With the Queen and all the rest of them.”
Ned studied his wife’s words, tactfully coming to a decisive conclusion.
“If he’s coming this far north, then that means there’s only one thing he’s after.”
Catelyn gently placed her hand on top of Ned’s.
“You can always say no, Ned.”
Ned pondered considering his wife’s advice, feeling his place was at Winterfell.
Winterfell’s Great Hall
In the Great Hall of Winterfell, preparations are being made for a great banquet in anticipation of the royal family’s arrival.
Catelyn was adamant that everything be set properly and tidy for her honored guests.
“We need plenty of candles for Lord Tyrion’s chamber.
I’m told he reads all night,” she fussed.
“I’m told he drinks all night,” answers Luwin, an elderly maester in service to the Starks.
“How much could he possibly drink?” Catelyn sighs in exasperation.
“A man of his… stature.”
“We’ve brought up eight barrels of ale from the cellar,” Maester Luwin replies.
“Perhaps we’ll find out.”
Catelyn simply nods.
“In any case, candles.”
While the matriarch of House Stark oversees the banquet and other necessities, her eldest child Robb Stark, along with his bastard half-brother Jon Snow and their father’s ward Theon Greyjoy, get themselves trimmed.
“Why is your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the king?” asks Jon.
“It’s for the Queen, I bet,” Theon replies.
“I hear she’s a sleek bit of mink.”
“Last I heard, Daveth’s made quite the name for himself these past nine years,” Robb says as he gets finished shaving.
“His brother, on the other hand, not so much.
I hear Prince Joffrey is a right royal prick.”
Theon grins.
“What’d you expect?
Daveth’s the crown prince and by far the most talented.
Think of all those southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick.”
Robb shakes his head.
“No, Daveth’s not like that.
At least, I certainly hope not.” As he’s done, he grabs a towel to wipe his face.
“Go on, Tom, shave Jon good.
He’s never met a girl he likes better than his own hair.”
Jon rolls his eyes while Theon and Robb laugh at the joke.
Bran climbing
Atop the castle’s towers, Brandon “Bran” Stark, the second son and fourth child named after his paternal uncle, continues his adventurous climbing from perch to perch as he notices the royal procession approaching Winterfell.
The 10-year-old boy then nimbly begins his descent down to tell everyone the news.
Elsewhere, Catelyn and Maester Luwin walk into the courtyard, passing by Bran’s rapidly growing direwolf pup, Summer.
Summer was adopted with the rest of his siblings, Grey Wind, Lady, Nymeria, and Shaggydog, when Eddard Stark and his entourage came upon the pups and their deceased mother.
At the request of Jon Snow, the pups were spared, and each Stark child adopted one as their own.
“Gods, but they grow fast,” she exclaims in astonishment before seeing Bran climbing the walls.
“Brandon!”
“I saw the king!” he says excitedly as he makes his way onto the ground.
“He’s got hundreds of people!”
Catelyn bends down to look at her son in the eyes.
“How many times have I told you: no more climbing!” she scolds.
Bran didn’t seem to care.
“But he’s coming right now!
Down our road!”
“I want you to promise me,” she says firmly again, “No more climbing.”
Bran’s excitement slowly fades away as his mother continues to scold him, looking down at his feet before returning to meet Catelyn’s gaze.
“I promise.”
Seemingly convinced, Catelyn stands up.
“Do you know what?” she asks.
“What?” Bran asks, appearing rather confused.
“You always look at your feet before you lie,” Catelyn points out.
Bran smiles and lets out a small giggle.
“Run and find your father.
Tell him the king is close.”
Bran obeys and runs off, with Summer in tow.
Robert Baratheon arrives at Winterfell
As the king’s horses and men make their grand entrance into Winterfell, a little girl wearing a helm and cloak pushes her way into a tall wagon to get a much closer look.
The girl’s name is Arya Stark, the youngest daughter and third child of Eddard Stark and Catelyn.
Unlike her older, more beautiful sister Sansa, Arya is considered a tomboy who rejects the notion that she must become a lady and marry for influence and power.
Instead, she believes that she can forge her own destiny.
She is fascinated by warfare and training in the use of arms and is bored by embroidery and other “lady-like” pursuits.
In attendance stood the entire Stark family along with their household retainers.
From left to right stood Bran, Sansa, Robb, Eddard, Catelyn, and Rickon (the youngest at age 6).
All that was missing was Arya herself.
Catelyn turned her head in every direction, looking for her daughter, but couldn’t see her.
“Where’s Arya?” Catelyn asks before turning to her eldest daughter.
“Sansa, where’s your sister?”
Sansa shrugged her shoulders, implying she too didn’t know where Arya was.
As more riders arrive holding their banners, Arya runs in the middle of the front to get to the receiving line—only for Ned to stop her in her tracks.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” Ned says as he looks at Arya.
“What are you doing with that on?”
He removes Arya’s helm as she looks disappointed before scooting over towards Bran, not noticing Jon or Theon cracking a smile in amusement.
“Move!” Arya barks at Bran as she begins to rudely push him aside.
The royal procession rides up, making their presence known.
The first to approach were Daveth and Joffrey, along with Joffrey’s personal bodyguard Sandor Clegane (who wears a helmet in the shape of a menacing-looking hound).
Sansa smiles at Daveth, with Robb nodding at his old friend while silently glaring at Joffrey.
The coach carrying their mother, Queen Cersei, along with their sister, Princess Myrcella, and youngest brother, Prince Tommen, lumbers in after them, followed by King Robert Baratheon, who is accompanied by his Kingsguard knights.
All in the assembly knelt in acknowledgement of the king’s presence.
Eddard looks up to catch a glimpse and is shocked at the sight of his old friend, now fat and red-faced.
King Robert motions for a servant to get his stool, taking two or three tries to dismount his horse before approaching the Stark family.
Motioning his fingers, Robert signals for all to rise.
“Your Grace,” Ned greets respectfully.
“You’ve got fat,” Robert flatly says in front of everyone.
Everyone was quiet as a crypt.
What was going on?
Did they offend King Robert?
If so, what did they do?
No one said a word.
Eddard, on the other hand, gives Robert a ‘What about you?’ look.
The silence was broken when Robert burst out into raucous laughter as Ned laughed himself before the old friends warmly embraced each other, bringing about a sigh of relief from some in attendance as they soon caught on that the king was only joking.
“Cat!” King Robert greeted her as he pulled Catelyn into a big hug like a long-lost sister.
“Your Grace,” Catelyn greeted.
Robert patted their youngest Rickon’s head before redirecting his attention towards Eddard.
“Nine years,” he said.
“Why haven’t I seen you?
Where the hell have you been?”
“Guarding the North for you, Your Grace.
Winterfell is yours,” Ned answers.
Queen Cersei, along with her other children, descends from the coach, and the Golden Lioness makes her way towards the Stark household.
“Where’s the Imp?” Arya asks.
“Will you shut up?” Sansa snaps quietly.
Daveth took notice as well.
‘Don’t tell me he’s where I think he is again…’ he thought to himself.
“The Imp” was what people called his uncle Tyrion Lannister for his size.
Robert ignored this and took a look at the rest of the Starks.
“Who do we have here?
You must be Robb.”
“I am, Your Grace,” Robb answers respectfully as he shakes the king’s hand.
“My, you’re a pretty one,” Robert says to Sansa, who smiled at the king’s compliment.
He froze and stared at Arya for a moment.
“Your name is?”
“Arya,” she answers.
Robert moved onto Bran.
“Ooh!
Show us your muscles,” he said.
Bran immediately did so with a smile on his face and flexed his arm.
Robert chuckles again.
“You’ll be a soldier!”
Arya takes a look at one of the Kingsguard, one in particular with blonde hair.
“That’s Jaime Lannister, the Queen’s twin brother,” Arya points out.
“Would you please shut up?” Sansa exasperates again.
Queen Cersei makes her appearance to the Starks, holding out her palm.
Eddard gently takes her palm and kisses her ring.
“My Queen,” Ned acknowledges, to which Cersei responds with a smile purely for formality.
“My Queen,” Catelyn acknowledges as she bows courteously.
And just like that, the politeness was broken when Robert spoke again.
“Take me to your crypt.
I want to pay my respects.”
Daveth noticed his mother became visibly irritated and annoyed.
“We’ve been riding for a month, my love,” Cersei protested.
“Surely the dead can wait.”
“Ned!” Robert ordered, completely ignoring his wife and giving her a hard look.
Cersei stares back at Robert, uncowed.
Finally, Robert turns and walks away.
Eddard gives an apologetic bow to the Queen before leading Robert to one of Winterfell’s old towers.
Daveth dismounted, hoping to break the silence and awkwardness.
“Lady Catelyn, it’s a pleasure to see you again after quite some time,” he greeted.
Catelyn smiled as she hugged him.
“And to you, my prince.
You’re looking well.”
Daveth complimented the Stark matriarch before looking at Robb.
“My friend,” Daveth calmly acknowledged.
“Welcome back to Winterfell, Prince Daveth,” Robb greeted in a friendly manner.
Like their fathers, both Robb Stark and Daveth Baratheon had been childhood friends during their family’s first visit to Winterfell before the Greyjoy Rebellion broke out.
Much of the mystery surrounding what had happened to the prince at Lannisport remained unspoken, but Robb was among the few to notice a change in Daveth’s behavior.
He opted not to approach Daveth about it out of respect.
Still feeling humiliated in front of everyone, Cersei walked back to her twin brother Jaime.
“Where is our brother?” she said bitterly.
“Go find the little beast.”
Daveth Baratheon searching
Daveth took a moment to bask in Winterfell’s surroundings as he walked around the castle.
Some things changed yet remained the same; all held good memories, but that was years ago.
He wasn’t the same as he was back then, and neither was Robb.
People and things change, especially.
People often suggested that the Lannister side of Daveth had become the predominant personality trait despite his Baratheon looks but only he knew himself better than anyone else.
Even his own parents couldn’t figure him out.
“You look like you’re lost in thought,” Robb interrupts.
“It’s nothing serious, I assure you,” Daveth says.
Robb didn’t buy it.
“How long have we known each other?”
Daveth shook his head.
“You Northerners really are a stubborn bunch, aren’t you?” He took his time before redirecting his attention.
“I guess some part of me is still trying to cope with Jon Arryn’s loss.
One minute he was fine, and then the next…” Daveth shook his head again.
“Grand Maester Pycelle gave him some milk of the poppy, just in case Lord Arryn was in pain.
It was all any of us could do for him.”
“Losing someone that close to you is never easy,” Robb said sympathetically.
“Nothing is ever easy,” Daveth remarks plainly.
“Hard times lie ahead of us, my friend.
I fear things will only get worse before they get better.
No doubt there’ll be those who will seek to take advantage of the chaos and throw the realm into chaos.”
Robb studied his friend’s words carefully.
“Well, whatever comes our way, know that you will have my sword when that day comes.”
Daveth nodded.
“And your help will be greatly appreciated.
Our fathers held the Seven Kingdoms together.
It seems only fitting that it passes down onto us.”
They allowed themselves a laugh as they made their way to the Godswood, talking about current events and their plans for the future.
Even though the path forward would without a doubt prove difficult for the youngsters…
In the Winterfell crypts…
Winterfell’s crypts
Eddard Stark holds a lantern as he leads Robert down the narrow, winding stone steps.
“Tell me about Jon Arryn,” he beseeched.
Robert shook his head.
“One moment he was fine, and then…
Burned right through him, whatever it was.
I loved that man.”
“We both did.”
“He never had to teach you much, but I…
You remember me at 16?
All I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls.
He showed me what was what.”
“Aye,” Ned agreed while giving Robert a sidelong, skeptical look, barely able to suppress a grin.
Robert noticed it right away as he started laughing.
“Don’t look at me like that!
It’s not his fault I didn’t listen.” He became more serious as he turned towards Eddard.
“I need you, Ned.
These are dangerous times… I need good men around me, like Jon Arryn.
Men like you.
I need you down at King’s Landing, not up here where you’re no damn use to anyone.
” Standing tall, Robert issues his decree: “Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the King.”
Eddard drops to one knee, not at all surprised.
“I’m not worthy of the honor.”
“I’m not trying to honor you,” Robert replied.
“I’m trying to get you to run my kingdom while I eat, drink, and whore my way to an early grave.
Damn it, Ned, stand up.”
Eddard complies as Robert continues.
“You helped me win the Iron Throne; now help me keep the damned thing.
We were meant to rule… together.
If your sister had lived, we would have been bound by blood.
Well, it’s not too late.
I have a son, you have a daughter…
my Daveth and your Sansa will join our houses.”
This came as a complete surprise to Eddard; he was definitely not expecting this.
Especially from Robert of all people.
Side by side, they continued to proceed, their footsteps ringing off the stones as they walked among the dead of House Stark.
Between the pillars on either side: granite sculptures of the deceased sitting on thrones, their backs against their own sepulchers.
Great stone direwolves curl around their feet.
Ned stops at the last tomb and lifts the lantern.
The crypt continues on into the darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs are empty, waiting for him and his children.
In front of him, illuminated by the lantern, a beautiful young woman stares out at them with blind, granite eyes: Lyanna Stark, Ned’s sister and Robert’s former betrothed.
Robert places a feather in the hand of her statue.
“Did you have to bury her in a place like this?” he mournfully asks Eddard.
“She should be on a hill somewhere with the sun and the clouds above her.”
Eddard stood firm.
“She was my sister.
This is where she belongs.”
“She belonged with me,” Robert answers back, reaching his hand out to touch the cheek of Lyanna’s statue, brushing the rough stone with his fingers as gently as if it were living flesh.
“In my dreams, I kill him every night,” he snarled slightly.
Eddard’s younger sister, Lyanna Stark, was betrothed to Robert Baratheon eighteen years ago before the Grand Tourney at Harrenhal.
For unknown reasons, the Crown Prince and heir to the Iron Throne at the time, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, abducted her and hid her away in Dorne.
This event was extremely scandalous, as Lyanna was the daughter of the Warden of the North and was betrothed to Robert, while Rhaegar himself was already married to Princess Elia Martell, with whom he had a daughter and a son, Rhaenys and Aegon.
It was said that this event, coupled with the Mad King (in his delusion and insanity) putting both Eddard’s father Rickard and older brother Brandon to death, as well as the demand of the heads of Eddard and Robert, triggered a bloody civil war called “Robert’s Rebellion” that led to the downfall of the Mad King and the Targaryen dynasty.
Robert won the crown, but Lyanna died not long afterwards.
He suspected that Rhaegar tortured and raped Lyanna, though no one could say for certain.
“It’s done.
The Targaryens are gone,” Ned reassures Robert.
But the Stag King lowers his head.
“Not all of them.”