Eddard V

Winterfell was a lonely place without his children. Lord Hoster was not long for the world, or so his lady's last letter said, and Cat would soon rule from Riverrun. She had Sansa, Bran, and Rickon with her. Who knows when he'd be able to see them again? Bran squired for his uncle Brynden, and Sansa was a maiden flowered. The first offers for her hand had already arrived. Ned had Robb, of course, but Robb had Jynessa and the little one.

Shireen Stark, named for the princess, came into the world at the turn of the moon. She was a lovely little babe, but surely all grandfathers must think the same. Ned could hardly believe himself a grandfather, and Jon...Jon had children of his own.

His breath caught when he read the letter from Hellholt. Mara and Morgan had purple eyes, it said. Well, he ought not to have been surprised. How queerly the world turned, and back in Dorne of all places. The gods japed at them all.

Things were still a bit tense with his son and heir, sore feelings over Theon, mostly, and the lad was terribly jealous over missing out on the "glory" won beyond the well. Ned laughed bitterly at the recollection. There was little in the way of glory to be had in those lonely, savage woods.

Ned spent most of the battle against the army of the dead high on the Fist, directing men to plug gaps and hold the outer redoubts. Those awful creatures, with their blue eyes and black hands, hurled themselves up the hill with no fear, climbing over mountains of burning corpses. Lord Commander Mormont insisted on a closer look once Lord Bolton retook the path to the small stream, which was their only water source, and what Ned saw chilled him in a way beyond ordinary cold. There was a power there, old and evil, which hated life and light. It was only seeing that awful truth that made Eddard agree to Bolton's plan to treat with Mance Rayder. Even Mormont was willing to swallow his pride.

But it was not until the raid on the frozen lake that Stark knew true fear. Ice met ice, a thin and pale blade that flashed in the moonlight. Gods, those blue eyes; they looked at Ned, and they hated. The Others were back, the long night come again, though you'd never know it from this uncommon heat. If Maester Luwin had not assured him the days were shorter, as in autumn, Ned would name this high summer. Everything was queer now, and he was not as young as he once was. Still, he thanked the gods that he still had the strength to fight. Would that he could spare Robb the battles to come, little as the boy would like it. Mayhaps it was for the best that Cat and the young ones were further south in safety, but not all his children had gone south. One went east.

Lord Bolton sent a raven himself, begging leave to come and pay his respects, as well as bring Arya for a visit. Lord Stark smiled. It would be good to see her again.

***

"Gods be good, girl, do you grow taller every day?" he asked incredulously.

Ned felt Arya smile into the crook of his neck. "I am a growing girl, Father." Aye, she was at that, and the way she carried herself could not be missed. His daughter had a swordsman's grace, and held her shoulders high and proud, as well she might. Many great knights of the realm had not fought in half as many battles as her.

No great feast was needed, though the size of Lord Bolton's party meant they needed to eat in the great hall. Lord Domeric was good enough to play a few tunes for them, which soothed baby Shireen right to sleep. His son's lady, Jynessa, looked tired, but terribly happy. His castle was merrier than it had been in a year, and Arya looked so lovely holding her baby niece that Eddard might have wept.

Bolton handed off his harp to a big man who looked a bit like a young Robert. Who could forget Ser Alesander Frey? He wielded Longclaw against the Others with great skill, and was wed to a lady knight, the very one Arya dreamed of being.

The two lords talked quietly while the music played. "I sent my report to the king," Domeric told him seriously.

Ned nodded. So had he. "So far the wildlings have kept the peace."

"So far. There have been a few incidents, but the work of building shelters and a chance at a few more autumn harvests has kept them busy. My lady wife could tell you a thing or two about the giants, but that is a Dreadfort problem."

"Probably for the best. The wildlings respect you. All know it was your counsel that brought them south."

"True enough," Bolton agreed. "But we should speak more on the circumstances that forced us to let them through. King Stannis is at least taking the threat seriously. He is searching for a source of obsidian, and has promised to send the Dreadfort a Wisdom of the pyromancers. Oh, and there is a red priestess who attends the queen. She is coming to offer assistance, though I don't know how much help an eastern religion would be."

"They are a great faith in Essos," Eddard explained. "There was a red priest at Robert's court as well, I recall. He fought in the siege of Pyke. If nothing else, we should hear what she has to say. There is much lore in that part of the world that not even maesters know. We must assume we haven't seen the last of the Others. We need all the help we can get."

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Lord Bolton inclined his head gravely. "Your daughter Arya dreamed of a crystal city, teaming with them. Her dreams have been true before. I'd like to march into the Land of Always Winter and burn it to the ground, but that would be folly."

"Would that it were so easy, my lord. Most like, we'll have to wait for them to come to us."

"Most like," Domeric agreed.

Hopefully, the Wall would hold them.

***

The weather was so uncommonly good that they decided to hunt in the Wolfswood. Gods, his daughter could ride! She rode like the wind, as good as Lyanna.

Better, Ned was forced to admit. This was the fruit of Domeric Bolton's training. She could best any boy squire around her age in the yard as well. Only big Bradamar Frey could fend her off, and only by using his size and strength advantage. Eddard began to see how his daughter would make a knight for true. This was no mummer's act to curry favor with him. Bolton really was making a fighter of Arya.

Robb grew morose when he saw she was a better hunter too. Arya and her wolf were of one mind, tracking the best game for leagues. They found a fat black bear and a monstrous great elk with a rack of antlers like the merlons on a castle wall. Boars were almost too easy, but they took a few to salt away. Ned intended no great feasts, but they had so much good meat he ended up throwing one anyway.

They hung the game for a few days, giving Ned plenty of time to talk more with Lord Domeric. They needed to "stay on top of the Wildling issue," in his words. Once they'd built their villages and planted their corn, they would be idle and turn into a source of trouble. Riding out and making the lord's presence known would be best, all the better to deter mischief. Bolton sent similar suggestions by raven to his kin in the Barrowlands and Rills, where many of the wildlings now resided. Ned was grateful for that. Lord Domeric's sacrifice spared lands closer to the Wall from taking on those who had been their foes a fortnight past.

One afternoon, Arya asked to speak with him alone. She wore a lovely pink dress, and even jewels, making her look a proper highborn lady, if not for the sword she carried. Ned took her to his solar, and they sat down together.

"What is it, child?" he asked kindly when he noticed her fidgeting nervously.

"Well, uh, Father, Lord Domeric said I ought to keep you abreast of issues."

Ned laughed aloud. That was the queer way Bolton talked. He always wanted to be understood, did Domeric Bolton. Before the battle, he spoke to everyone, laying out precisely what he wanted, and how. "Ambiguous orders lose battles," he said. There was a certain wisdom in it, Stark thought, in always making "commander's intent" crystal clear.

"And what issues are those, Arya?"

"My future, Father. I don't know if there are already plans for Sansa's hand or not..."

"Not yet," Ned informed her. "But mayhaps soon. There are suitors."

His daughter nodded. "I thought so." She took a deep breath to steady herself. "I don't know if Lord Bolton told you, but the giants have agreed to work for Lady Alyx. They are building a castle at the mouth of the Weeping Water to guard a port town. Ser said he might give it to me to be my seat when I win my spurs."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?" That was terribly generous.

Arya nodded. "That is the 'tentative plan,' as he calls it. I would found House Stark of Dreadport, and oversee one of the principal holdings sworn to House Bolton." Her voice grew quiet. "There has also been talk of my marriage," she said almost too fast to be understood. She was blushing now, no mistake about it!

"Arya, you're twelve!" Ned pointed. "Even Sansa is not yet promised."

"That is why I said 'tentative,' Father. My notion is, if I wed Brad Frey, our children would be first cousins to the issue of Lord Domeric and Lady Alyx."

Eddard leaned back in his chair. Oh. There was a certain wisdom in that. If Domeric were unwed, he might have suggested Sansa. Bradamar Frey was Lady Bolton's little brother. Arya's hand was such a great prize he would not disdain to take her name. Such a union would bind Stark and Bolton closer together, no doubt about that.

"Is that what you wish, Arya?"

"It is!" she stated, high and clear.

There was more she wasn't saying; Eddard could tell. He had eyes and could look as well as other men. It was plain that Arya and the boy were close. Being raised together and squiring for the same man had forged a bond. With a little secret chuckle, Ned imagined what would've happened if Robert were a woman. The boy he'd been would've fallen hopelessly in love with her. There was no point in denying it.

"If that is your wish, my daughter, let us say I tentatively agree. But I remind you, you are still young enough to change your mind."

The look she gave him said, "That will never happen," which made Ned laugh again. What a thing it was to be young!