WINTERFELL, THE NORTH, WESTEROS

Winterfell was one of the oldest castles in the known world, built over eight thousand years ago by Bran the Builder as a castellan from which he and his family would rule over their fellow Northmen. Unlike the castles built by those in the south of Westeros, such as the lustrous white marble of the Lannister's Casterly Rock or golden-coloured bricks of the Tyrell's Highgarden, Winterfell was built from solid grey stone that might not have been picturesque but hadn't changed over the centuries it had stood. A few towers were in slight disrepair and one was completely open to the elements, known as the Broken Tower, but the castle itself stood unbroken and proud. Flying from the ramparts and battlements were light green banners depicting the snarling head of a grey direwolf, the sigil of House Stark who were the ruling Great House of the North. House Stark had a proud lineage going all the way back to the very first of the First Men to inhabit Westeros and were highly respected and loved by their vassals and bannermen. The current Lord of Winterfell was Eddard Stark, known as Ned to his friends and family, who inherited the position after his father and older brother were murdered by King Aerys II Targaryen. His sister Lyanna was abducted by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and when her brother Brandon demanded he be punished, the Mad King arrested him and ordered his father Lord Rickard Stark come and answer for it. When Lord Rickard arrived, he was burnt alive in the throne room whilst his son strangled himself to death trying to reach a longsword to free himself and his dying father. The act horrified Westeros enough to rise in rebellion and overthrow the Mad King. Lyanna was found dead nonetheless, and her betrothed killed Rhaegar in grief. Lyanna was laid to rest with her family in the crypts beneath Winterfell, where the earliest Starks had been buried as well.

Now Winterfell was to play host to the King, the new King, Robert Baratheon. A raven had come from King's Landing announcing the death of Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, and that King Robert was riding north with his household. Lord Eddard had been grim, for he knew the only reason why Robert would do that would be to ask him to become Hand of the King and he was torn. He did not want to refuse his old friend, but then again the thought of leaving Winterfell and the North, where life was simple and strong if a bit dull, for King's Landing with it's stench of human waste and irreversible corruption made him sick to his stomach. But right now he was not showing it; he was standing on a balcony with his wife Catelyn, watching their second-youngest son Brandon practicing with a bow. Two young men stood off to the side, watching him; Robb Stark, their oldest child and heir to Winterfell, and Jon Snow, Ned's bastard son. Behind them, hiding (poorly) because they were supposed to be in lessons, were three children, two boys and a girl. The girl and one of the boys wore curious clothing in various shades of green, whilst the second boy wore clothing like the rest of his family. Rickon Stark was their youngest and a willfull, stubborn and wild child; he watched gleefully as Bran missed his shots. The green ones were crannogmen, natives of the swampy region known as The Neck, which separated the North from the other southern kingdoms. Meera Reed, the elder, was a skilled huntress and weaponmaster despite her young age and had accompanied her brother Jojen to Winterfell to keep an eye on him. Jojen was less martial and more gentle, a dreamer almost, whose eyes were almost always focused on something other than what was around him, with one exception. The boy's eyes were fixed resolutely on Bran, not moving from him nor even blinking at times; the two had become quite close from the moment Jojen arrived at Winterfell and were the subject of quite a few jokes amongst the people of Winterfell. Ned and Catelyn privately thought that at least they didn't have to worry about one of their children not finding anyone they liked. The two of them together were just too cute for anyone to make any negative remarks; that and Meera was quite intimidating in protecting her baby brother. Lined up and watching in a row were their direwolves, the symbol of House Stark and recently discovered in the Wolfswood. A pregnant direwolf had been found wounded during a hunting trip and they'd brought her back to Winterfell. She had not made it, sadly, but had lived long enough to bear her young. Six of them, one for each of the Stark children and the last for Jon, an albino runt with red eyes. All of them were now the size of a young hunting dog despite being only a few weeks old, though the wolves belonging to the Stark sisters were elsewhere with their mistresses.

Bran raised his arm, loosed an arrow and missed again, making him grunt in anger. Jon bent down and spoke comfortingly to him.

"Go on, Father's watching. And your mother. And Jojen."

Bran looked over at Jojen and the boy gave him a wide, friendly and eager smile, which he returned. The gesture between them was not missed by Ned and Cat, who smiled.

"Those two are like lovesick puppies.", Ned remarked to himself.

"Oh stop it, Ned! It's adorable!", Cat said, clapping her husband's shoulder.

Down below, Bran loosed another arrow and it soared over the target by a good margin. This made Jon and Robb crack up laughing, with Rickon giggling as well.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?", Ned's voice called out.

Jojen and Meera glared at Rickon, who stopped giggling but also glared back.

"Go on, Bran. Keep practicing.", Ned said.

Bran nodded and nocked another arrow.

"Don't think too much, Bran.", Jon said.

"Relax your bow arm.", Robb said.

An arrow thudded into the bullseye mark… and Bran looked round to see his sister, Arya, standing there with a bow having just fired that arrow. The others looked at her with astonishment as she smiled and gave a little curtsey. Bran threw his bow and arrow aside and went for her, but she was already running. They laughed to see this.

"Go on, Bran! Catch her!", Jon called.

Ned and Cat watched this scene, their happy family, with great joy. The smiles were still on their faces as they turned to the man approaching them.

"Lord Stark. My Lady."

Ser Rodrik Cassel was the castellan of Winterfell, a great bulky man with white hair and a beard woven into a distinctive muttonchop style. Beside him was Theon Greyjoy, the Stark's ward. He was born on the Iron Islands and had been taken as a ward to ensure the behaviour of his father, though it was widely acknowledged that his life in the North was much happier. Indeed, he was treated more like a son than a hostage by the Starks. Ser Rodrik's face was grave.

"The guardsman just rode in from the hills. They've captured a deserter from the Night's Watch.", he said.

Ned's smile disappeared, as did Cat's; both of them knew what this mean.

"Get the lads to saddle their horses.", Ned said to Theon.

Theon nodded and departed.

"Do you have to?", Cat said pleadingly.

"He swore an oath, Cat.", Ned said simply.

"Law is law, milady.", Ser Rodrik said.

Ned paused for a moment, thinking.

"Tell Bran he's coming too.", he said.

Ser Rodrik nodded and left them. Cat looked distressed.

"Ned. Ten is too young to see such things.", she said.

Ned looked at her with a grim face.

"He won't be a boy forever. And winter is coming.", he said.

And he strode off, leaving Cat alone on the balcony. Down below, Meera and Rickon were helping Robb to retrieve the arrows and Jon was putting them back in their holders. He looked up at Cat and she glared back at him, awful coldness in her eyes that was absent at all other times. Jon bowed his head and she turned and left.

The party rode north from Winterfell to the place where the soldiers were waiting with the captured deserter, Ned, Robb, Theon, Jon, Bran and Jojen, with a small contingent of soldiers led by Ser Rodrik and his nephew, Jory Cassel. The direwolves trotted alongside them, the horses being used to them now; Bran's was Summer, Robb's Grey Wind and Jon's was Ghost. The Starks, Theon and Jojen were all wearing huge thick fur cloaks; even though it was technically summer, it was never warm in the North, and winter was coming. Bran rode side-by-side with Jojen, both of them talking quietly, until they saw the men waiting for them. They all dismounted and walked up as two soldiers led the deserter up to Lord Eddard; he was a young man, probably in his late twenties, and wore the customary black of the Night's Watch. He was fearful, which wasn't surprising, but did not seem fearful of his impending death; no, he was afraid of something else. He looked at Lord Eddard, then at Theon who was acting as swordbearer.

"I know I broke my oath, and I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers."

A shudder ran through the gathering at those words; the White Walkers, the creatures of legend who came with the Long Night, riding giant ice spiders and killing all in their path and raising their corpses to become wights that served them.

"People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm a coward. Tell them I'm sorry."

He finished. Ned looked at him, mulling over what he said, then nodded to the soldiers behind him. They forced him to his knees and he bent his head over, presenting his neck. Ned drew the sword that Theon held, from a scabbard made of an entire wolf's pelt. The blade made a deadly sing as it was drawn, a huge two-handed greatsword with a smoky-grey blade. Valyrian steel, a rare and ancient material. This sword, Ice, had been forged many centuries ago and been in the possession of the Starks for over 200 years as their heirloom. Ned rested the point of the greatsword on the ground and bent his head, intoning.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard, of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

Bran was aware of Jon behind him.

"Don't look away. Father will know if you do.", he said.

Ned hefted the sword in his hands and Bran felt his hand steal into Jojen's as his father swung Ice up and brought her down, slicing the man's head clean off with one stroke. Bran fought the urge to vomit but did not look away. Many of the surrounding men made noises or gestures of finality; it was done.

"You did well.", Jon said.

Jojen gave his hand a squeeze, which he returned; his feelings for the boy were quite well-developed. Ned put Ice back in her scabbard and walked over to them as they were readying their horses for the journey back.

"You understand why I did it?", he said.

"Jon said he was a deserter.", Bran replied simply.

"But you understand why I had to kill him?", Ned asked.

"Our way is the old way.", said Bran.

"Yes. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.", Ned said.

Bran did not immediately respond to that.

"Is it true he saw the White Walkers?", he asked.

Ned inhaled sharply.

"I don't know, Bran. They're supposed to only be legends, but… Winter Is Coming, and I can feel there's something else about this one."

Bran gulped; he could, too. Winter was coming….. but what else was coming with it?

WINTERFELL

The castle was ancient, yes, but the godswood was even more so. A small enclosed area of forest containing various trees, mostly pine, and mysterious black pools heated by volcanic vents beneath them. Their surface was like black glass, reflecting like a mirror the sky and the trees above. The centrepiece of the godswood, however, was the weirwood. This tree was thousands of years old, with bark whiter than fresh-fallen snow or exposed bone and red leaves. Carved into the trunk was a weathered old face, with blood-red sap leaking from the eyes and mouth. Beneath the spreading branches of this tree was Ned's favourite place to worship the Old Gods, though truthfully there was little ceremony in doing so. The Old Gods of the Forest weren't much for elaborate rituals, organised ceremonies or senior clergy; Ned often came here to think on things, the state of the world, his place in it, that sort of thing. Right now he was cleaning Ice, running a cloth along the flat side of her great blade to remove the blood of the deserter. No need for sharpening her, though; Valyrian steel never lost it's edge. He looked up to see Catelyn approaching, a note in her hand.

"All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here.", she said.

The godswood could have that effect on all of them; it was an ancient, cold and primeval place, from a time long before there were Seven Kingdoms, or even men. Ned grinned.

"You have five Northern children, Cat. You're not an outsider.", he said.

Cat gave him a weak smile.

"I wonder if the Old Gods agree.", she said, glancing around her as though expecting them to emerge.

"It's your gods with all the rules.", Ned replied.

She smiled again.

"More news?", he asked, indicating the scroll in her hand.

"Yes. Sent from White Harbour, the king and his court rested there for a few days before departing. They should be a day's ride from here by now.", Cat said.

"Good. Is the castle ready?", he asked.

"Ready as it will ever be.", Cat replied.

The sound of giggling made them look round; Bran, Jojen and Rickon had just come running into the godswood, Summer and Shaggydog, Rickon's wolf, tearing along behind them. They were congratulating themselves on something, and what it was became apparent when Maester Luwin came hobbling in after them. The old maester was getting on in years, but still a faithful servant.

"All right, where've you gone? It's no use hiding, I saw you come in here!", he called.

The two parents smiled as they watched this. Winterfell might not be as grand as King's Landing, but it was what it needed to be for them; home.

The convoy was seen long before it arrived, virtue of being atop the great keep. Bran watched, amazed at the sheer number of people and horses; never had he seen so many! He turned and ran along the roof, climbing carefully down the wall of the tower to the battlements below, running along them to climb down further. Watching him below were Jojen and Summer, who stood as Catelyn and Maester Luwin came along. Catelyn shook her head.

"Gods, but they grow fast.", she remarked to Luwin.

Then she followed their gaze and saw Bran climbing down from the tower.

"Brandon!", she said sharply.

Bran winced; the use of his full name meant she was not happy.

"I saw the king!", he said.

"How many times have I told you, no climbing!", she said, not in the mood.

"But he's coming right now! Down our road!", he kept up.

He got down in time to be cornered by her, looking very severe.

"I want you to promise me. No. More. Climbing.", she said with authority.

He glanced down at his feet.

"I promise.", he said solemnly.

Catelyn straightened up, a knowing look on her face.

"Do you know what?", she said.

"What?", he said, half-curiously, half-nervously.

"You always look at your feet before you lie.", she replied.

Bran smiled and gave a wee laugh; she'd rumbled him. She smiled, shaking her head as her anger evaporated.

"Go. Run and find your father. Tell him the King is close."

Bran and Jojen dashed off, Summer hot on their heels. The castle was already ready and waiting for their guests; all they needed to do was get everyone in position. Robb, Sansa and Bran were the easiest to get dressed up in their finest furs; Arya disappeared almost immediately after Old Nan got her dressed and Rickon almost had to be physically restrained, snarling and biting for good measure. Arya had snuck away to watch the royal procession arrive, wearing a pilfered Stark guardsman's helmet to disguise herself from the smallfolk who were all eagerly craning their necks and heads to catch a glimpse. The outriders were the first to ride through the outer gates of Winterfell, bearing the banners of their liege lords. The men with the orange were Baratheon men, the King's men, bearing the black stag on gold that was the symbol of that noble house. Following them were men in elaborate metal armour in red, black and gold with open face helmets, flying the gold lion on red of House Lannister, the Queen's house. Following on was a man in golden armour and a white cloak, one of the Kingsguard, and behind him came a teenage boy in red with a magnificent cape of red and black who must have been Prince Joffrey. But Arya's attention was quickly captured by the next person on, a great hulking armoured fellow in a helm that was molded like a snarling hound.

The Starks and their household stood in the courtyard of Winterfell's main keep awaiting the arrival of the King. Catelyn suddenly became aware of something.

"Where's Arya? Sansa, where's your sister?", she asked.

Sansa gave a small shrug, then noticed something and nodded towards it. Arya quickly ran past her mother, but Ned caught her.

"Hold it, young lady. What are you doing with that on?", he said, removing her pilfered helmet.

She grinned sheepishly at him, noticing many of those behind him smiling indulgently including Jon, Theon, Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik. Ned handed the helmet to Ser Rodrik and Arya grudgingly took her place in line, shouldering Bran out of the way. Just in time, for the first of the riders was entering the courtyard, the lead Kingsguard and Prince Joffrey. Sansa inhaled sharply as she saw him, staring around the courtyard of Winterfell before alighting his eyes on her. She flushed, thinking he was attracted to her, but her fellow family members frowned slightly; they saw the contempt in his eyes as he absorbed Winterfell for the first time, taking in it's grim and grey but solid towers. Robb, Bran and Arya glared; Winterfell might not have been the prettiest castle, but it was their home and had stood for 8,000 years. A big and heavy carriage rolled in next, then came the King himself, flanked by his Kingsguard. King Robert Baratheon was a big man who had the look of a great warrior gone to seed, with a large black beard streaked with grey. They all knelt at the sight of him, watching the feet of his horse as servants approached with a set of steps for him to dismount, followed by his booted feet as he strode over to them. He gestured for them to stand and they did, the older ones groaning with the effort. Ned bowed his head.

"Your Grace.", he said.

King Robert ran his eyes up and down his old friend.

"You've got fat.", he said simply.

Eyebrows went up all around as they looked at Ned expectantly, waiting for his reaction. Ned looked the King up and down and then made a gesture that screamed 'Excuse me?'. Robert's face was impassive, then he broke into a smile and laughter, which Ned copied before the two old friends embraced. Robert held out his arms to Catelyn.

"Cat!", he said warmly, giving her a hug.

"Your Grace.", she replied.

Robert ruffled the hair of little Rickon, who only refrained from biting or snarling because of the deadly look his mother shot him, before moving back to Ned.

"Nine years! Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?", he said.

"Guarding the North for you, your Grace. Winterfell is yours.", Ned replied.

The carriage doors had been opened and it's occupants disembarked; a troupe of maids and two young children, followed by the Queen. The children, Myrcella and Tommen, were blonde like their older brother but were looking around at Winterfell in awe rather than contempt. They, at least, were decent then. The Queen, on the other hand, had a look of cold disdain as she hiked up her beautiful furs and walked towards them. Ned kissed the hand she offered.

"My Queen.", he said politely.

At that moment, there was a considerable commotion at the gates as a huge black destrier rode aggressively into the courtyard. But if the horse was huge, it was nothing compared to the man riding it though this explained it's size; any ordinary horse would have been broken in two had he tried to ride it. He wore plate armour and a full-face helmet, both of which were thicker than any armour ever seen, and slung over his back was a sword that ordinary men would struggle to lift with both hands yet which he could wield with one. Gasps and shudders of shock, horror, fear and outrage reverberated through the crowd, particularly the Northerners. Ned's face twisted with hatred; Ser Gregor Clegane, known as The Mountain That Rides, Tywin Lannister's lapdog and the one who murdered Prince Rhaegar's wife, Princess Elia Martell of Dorne, and her little children. He risked a glance at Catelyn and saw her twist her mouth in distaste. Robert glanced back.

"Ah.", he said.

"We were not informed that you would be bringing… him.", Ned said with distaste.

"Yes, Ned. She insisted on bringing him, wouldn't shut up until I agreed, no matter how much I said that you would never stand for it."

The Queen gave him a look of loathing.

"I insisted we bring Ser Gregor because I wanted the utmost assurance that we would be safe during our trip.", she said coldly.

This did not diminish the fact that the entire atmosphere in the courtyard had turned icy cold. Ser Gregor removed his helm and glared round at the assembled Northerners, who shuddered under his glare but did not back down and met it with equal dislike. They knew what this man had done, and probably still did for all they knew, and they did not like him. When Northerners did not like someone, they made it clear. Catelyn, ever the diplomat, interceded.

"Your Grace, there was no need. Winterfell's garrison is strong and powerful.", she said.

"I'm sure.", Queen Cersei replied, in a tone of contempt.

Catelyn bristled, as did many of the other Northerners; they were not used to being insulted in their own lands, their own home. Ned could tell this was going to be an awkward visit, but Robert had moved on to Robb.

"You must be Robb.", he said, almost crushing the Stark heir's hand as he shook it.

"Yes, your Grace.", he said.

"Good, good. Named for me, I take it?", King Robert said.

"Yes, sir.", Robb replied.

"Always the sentimental type, Ned."

Ned grinned and Arya gave a giggle at her sibling's embarrassed face. Next was Sansa.

"My, you're a pretty one. Stark name, but Tully looks.", Robert said.

"Yes, your Grace. Thank you.", said Sansa, curtseying politely.

Then Arya. Robert peered curiously at her, as though trying to determine if she was a girl or a boy.

"And your name is?", he asked.

"Arya.", she replied.

"Arya. Good Northern name, sharp and to the point like a sword. You'd suit one, actually."

Arya beamed at this and shot the rest of her family a look that screamed 'You heard it, told you so!'.

"That's done it. Now we'll never hear the end of it.", Catelyn whispered to her husband.

And finally Bran, who blinked up at him curiously.

"Show us your muscles, boy.", Robert said.

Bran obliged, though there wasn't much to speak of.

"Mmm. Soldier, maybe. No, rider. Yes, I think you'll make a good horseman.", Robert said.

Bran smiled. Robert straightened up and turned to Ned.

"Take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects.", he said.

"We've been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait?", Cersei said coldly.

"No.", Robert said.

"Very well. Go fawn over the statue of the wolf bitch who stole your heart."

Stupid, cold, heartless and selfish as she was, even Cersei knew she had just crossed a line. There were almost roars of outrage at her words from the surrounding Northerners. The smallfolk clenched their fists and ground their teeth whilst the Stark guards tightened their grips on their weapons. Robert let out a bellow of rage that shook the very air.

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT ABOUT LYANNA! DON'T YOU DARE!"

But even that paled in comparison to the death glares the Starks were giving her, so intense that it was a wonder the Lannister queen did not burst into flames. Ned in particular, calm, stoic, unruffled Ned Stark had gone white with rage and his eyes were blazing. Catelyn laid a hand on his arm, her own voice trying to remain steady.

"Perhaps we should withdraw inside.", she said tersely.

Winter was not due for another year, at least, but the atmosphere in Winterfell at that moment was so cold you could have sworn it had come early.