The great hall of Winterfell was full. The banners of the North swayed gently in the cold air. Lords from every corner of the North had come—old men, young warriors, and seasoned bannermen. They had all gathered for one reason: to hear from Lord Eddard Stark himself.
Well technically it was Robb Stark who called for the banners, but Ned returned so obviously he would be the one addressing the lords instead of his heir.
Ned stood at the head of the hall. Beside him sat Robb. I was also given a seat with the lords of the North. The hall quieted as Ned stepped forward.
"My lords," Ned began, his voice strong and steady. "You all know why we are here."
He looked around the room, meeting the eyes of those who had followed him for years. Then he spoke clearly.
"I was taken prisoner in King's Landing by Queen Cersei Lannister. She accused me of treason when I discovered a truth she wished to keep hidden. Her children are not the trueborn heirs of King Robert. Joffrey Waters is a bastard, and so are the other children of the queen, born of incest between her and her brother Jaime."
"Gods be good."
"Seven's cunt."
"Incestuous bastards."
A murmur of shock spread through the hall. Ned raised a hand to silence it.
"She tried to keep me quiet. Had it not been for this man," Ned said, motioning towards me, "I would be dead. He saved my life and the lives of my daughters. We escaped King's Landing with our lives, but barely."
The lords nodded, their faces hardening.
"There is more," Ned continued. "War is coming. The Lannisters have gathered their forces. Both Stannis Baratheon and Renly Baratheon, the two brothers of late King Robert, have proclaimed their right to the throne.
The war is imminent."
A few lords shouted in anger. Others pounded their fists on the table.
Ned let them speak a moment, then continued.
"Stannis is the rightful heir to Robert's throne. And we must help support him." As Lord Stark finished speaking, the hall remained quiet. But the silence didn't last long.
"My lord," said Lord Karstark, standing up. "This war in the south... it's not our fight. Let them tear each other apart."
"Let those southern cunts cut themselves for all I care."
"North doesn't need to interfere with the south."
Several other lords nodded. "Why should Northern blood be spilled for southern crowns?" another added. "We've bent the knee to southern kings for too long."
Ned's jaw tightened. "This war will come to us whether we want it or not. Stannis is the rightful king—"
"A southern king!" Lord Glover snapped. "We're not blind, Ned. You'd have us follow Stannis like you did Robert, but how long before he turns on the North? What would the North get after spilling our blood?"
"North was the first to raise their arms in Robert's Rebellion, and we very much damn won that battle. We ended those fucking dragons. But for what, Ned?
What did the North get?
Nothing."
The room grew louder with each voice joining in. Some called for independence, others wanted to hold back and wait. Ned tried to calm them, but the lords were now speaking over one another.
Then, a deep voice cut through the noise.
"That is enough."
It was Lord Commander Jeor Mormont. The room fell silent again. The old man might be the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch now, but he was a respectable lord before his son became a traitor. There was still respect for him in everyone's mind.
"The South may be bleeding," Mormont said, standing tall, "but the real war isn't down there."
He looked around the hall, his eyes hard. Ned Stark sighed hearing this.
He fully knew what would happen after the truth came out in front of everyone. Then there would be no chance the northern lords would agree upon helping Stannis.
It's not like Ned wished to do it, it was just his honor and friendship with Robert that he didn't wish to see a bastard sitting on his friend's throne.
"I came not just to bring news of Jon Snow's desertion—though we will speak of that—" the old man said, and everyone who wasn't known to the latest gossip yet started to mutter among themselves.
"But because of what we found at the Wall."
He took a breath and glanced at the blond man sitting among the northern lords.
"We have found a White Walker beyond the Wall."
A heavy silence fell over the lords. Understandable, it's hardly believable.
The moment Lord Commander Mormont finished speaking, the hall was quiet—but only for a few heartbeats.
Then, Lord Cerwyn scoffed. "White Walkers? That's a tale for children, Lord Mormont. Not something for a war council."
Laughter followed from a few of the younger lords. "Next he'll tell us he saw giants riding mammoths," one joked.
"Aye," said Lord Tallhart with a smirk. "Perhaps the ghosts of the First Men are coming too, eh?"
Even some of the older lords shifted uncomfortably, whispering among themselves. They knew Jeor Mormont enough to know that the man wouldn't joke about something like this.
Jeor Mormont's face was like stone. "I do not bring stories. I bring truth, boy." He said directly, looking at the person who mocked him. All of them.
"And I brought a corpse with me to prove it. Lord Stark." He looked at Ned who sighed and nodded.
That made the room stir again, but this time with murmurs of doubt rather than laughter.
Men in black brought a crate from outside. The Northern lords shifted uneasily.
"Don't expect a harmless corpse inside, lads." Jeor Mormont warned, and then the men in black opened the crate and threw it with great hesitation.
The lords said nothing. The chill in the hall felt deeper now. And for the first time in years, they were afraid. None spoke, even some tried and failed.
What rose from the crate was no man.
The creature stood tall and thin, bones pressing tightly against pale blue flesh. Its skin shimmered faintly with a dead sheen, as though carved from ice itself. Its eyes—bright, piercing blue—glowed with a cruel, cold fire. There was no soul in them, only death. Frost clung to its hair and fingers, and where it stepped, the stone beneath frosted over.
The moment it stood upright, it lunged.
A loud clatter rang out as its chains snapped taut, stopping it just feet away from Lord Cerwyn, who stumbled back in terror. The White Walker snarled like a beast, jaws wide, hands clawed and reaching for flesh. The sound it made was worse than any wild thing—like the wind howling through a graveyard.
Every man in the hall went still. The laughter, the mocking, the disbelief—it vanished like smoke in a storm.
Lord Tallhart dropped his goblet. "By the Old Gods."
Lord Manderly's face turned pale. "Gods… it's real."
Even the most hardened men took a step back, hands drifting to swords that would do little against such a thing.
The White Walker thrashed against its bindings, but the iron held—for now.
Ned too was stunned for a second. He knew they existed, but this was the first time he was encountering a real White Walker. Calming himself, he stepped forward, eyes fixed on the creature.
"As you all could see... war is inevitable.
I'm afraid to say this, my lords but... Winter Has Finally Come."
xxx
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