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Sipping away at a cup of wine while watching the peasants and bootlickers of King's Landing frolic beneath her like as if they mattered at all, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms Cersei Lannister, and unfortunately wife to King Robert Baratheon, basked in the slight victory that she'd recently won while in the distance, the bells of the Sept of Baelor rung so that all in the city could hear. Though in truth, she had nothing to do with what'd happened, but she still counted it as a victory for herself because in the end, she truly benefited from what had happened. By some miracle, or act of the gods or whatever, Jon Arryn, the old fuck, was dead!
While her 'beloved' husband openly grieved for the loss, it was all Cersei could do to keep herself from smiling and laughing aloud. It'd taken her some time to figure out just why the man had been giving her such odd glances, far different from the ones she was used to receiving from him. But she'd learned from the few spies she had left that the old coot was starting to stick his nose where it didn't belong. Into her affairs. And into her children. One of the maids who was firmly under her control had whispered to her that the old man had recently received a certain book from the Grand Maester, one which spoke of the lines and lineages from each major House in Westeros. And while that didn't concern her, another guardsman who was under command had reported that the former Hand had recently taken to going into the city and frequenting brothels. Not to partake of the services of the whores like a younger man would, but rather to speak with some of the girls about any children they'd born.
It didn't take Cersei long to realize that the Hand was starting to have doubts about Robert being the father of her children. Which was something that she could not allow. But before she could take any meaningful action against the man, fate had done the job for her! The man had died of a fever, collapsing right in the middle of a Small Council meeting and dying the very next night!
And while some might whisper that poison had taken his life, the Court had already been informed by the Grand Maester and the King that the Hand had passed from a summer fever. One that ran rampant through the Tower of the Hand and those who owed their loyalty to House Arryn. Not even Lysa Arryn, the cold fish that she was, was spared from the fever's touch. For over a sennight, all those that resided in the Tower of the Hand were locked in there to try and prevent whatever fever it was that'd taken hold from spreading throughout the rest of the Red Keep. Nearly a fortnight after his death, the fever had seemingly broken, killing perhaps a dozen though she didn't really care to count. Unfortunately, the cold fish wasn't among the dead. And after the Grand Maester declared the fever had passed, an official funeral was held for the old fuck in the Sept of Baelor. And then a second funeral. The first she'd attended because it was expected of her. But for this second…she barely even cared for the first. So, for this funeral she had developed a…illness which conveniently kept her to bed for the day.
"If you gloat much longer, dear sister, people will start to whisper that you truly did have something to do with the fever in the Tower of the Hand."
Glancing behind her, she saw her twin brother with his back turned towards her, lacing up his pants and looking from the scattered pieces of his clothes and armor. As she always did, she couldn't help being drawn to the crisscross of scars that marred his back, a present from her 'beloved' husband simply because Jamie hadn't spoken about the Mad King's last plot to burn down the city. She hated those scars. Hated how they marred her perfect brother. Yet still, no matter what she did, her father refused to seek retribution for what was done to him. And as it was Robert who delivered the punishment, she was powerless to seek any type of meaningful retribution against the one who harmed her brother. Well, in the end she would get her revenge against the fat bastard she was forced to call her husband. When her son ascended to the throne and Robert's line dies with him…that would be her revenge against the humiliation she'd suffered.
"Arryn knew something," she said, turning her gaze back to the Sept of Baelor and the blasted ringing of the bells.
"If he truly knew 'something', as you put it dear sister, then we would not be talking right now as our heads would be decorating the walls of the Red Keep and father would be bringing the might of the Westerlands to sack King's Landing…again."
"He was looking into the lines and lineages of the Seven Kingdoms," Cersei continued as if her brother hadn't spoken. She loved her brother, but unfortunately, he had no true head for the Game. Not like herself at least. "And with the looks he'd been sending towards Joffrey as of late, he at least suspected something."
Hearing her brother's steps, she didn't react as she felt his hand on her shoulder. "Whatever he knew, or didn't know, died with him," Jamie said, "we have nothing to worry about dear sister. The fool is dead. And our illustrious King is still none the wiser."
"Yet Stannis has fled the city and taken all of his own with him," Cersei commented. "Why would he do that?"
"Some issues that needed his attention on Dragonstone sister, you know this as well as I. Though I have no idea what type of 'issues' could arise on that pile of rocks that would require him to leave his post. But if Stannis knew anything, well you know what that dour man is like, and his feelings towards our family. If Jon Arryn told him anything, Stannis would be 'law-bound' to speak of it immediately. And Robert, being the thinking sort, would immediately call for our heads to be decorating the walls of the Red Keep. And in return, our father would raze Westeros to the ground to avenge us."
Her twin had a point, but it still did not set her mind at ease. Baratheon, Stark, Nox, Tully, Arryn, Tyrell, Martell…they were not Lannisters nor under the Lannister banner. And therefore, they were their enemies. And she knew that every single one of those sycophants would not shed a single tear to see House Lannister fall from their proper place as rulers of Westeros. A concept which her brother, and even her father, seemed to be unable or unwilling to comprehend as of late. But she knew. And even if her family was unable or unwilling to do what needed to be done, she would! She would do what was needed to ensure that she remained on the throne where she belonged. And she didn't care whose corpses she had to step over to do it.
Standing upon the covered walkway connecting the main keep of Winterfell to the adjacent buildings, Lord Eddard Stark watched with a slight smile on his face as in the yard below his children interacted with one another and their guests as they taught the youngest amongst them how to properly shoot a bow. Or rather, the former wildling Ygritte scolded and lectured Joy Lannister, Shireen Baratheon, his own son Bran and his daughter Sansa how to use the bow while his eldest children and Arya watched on, chuckling and throwing out words of encouragement or teases to the others as they tried to hit the target that'd been set up on the far side of the training yard.
Robb was standing with one of his arms wrapped around the shoulders of his wife Talisa, the two still acting like anxious newlyweds eager for their bedding even though they'd been wedded and bedded for nearly two moons now. And strangely enough, Theon and Jon were conversing calmly with each other, and even trading the occasional jab at one another. Or rather Theon was primarily leading the conversation, seeing as how his son Jon seemed to have difficulty taking his eyes off his wildling lover, or rather her backside at least. The scene was…perfect. And it brought a smile to his face as he watched his children who had already been forced to face so much laugh and play as if they were still just that. Children.
But just as he thought the scene couldn't get any more perfect, his peace was disturbed by a loud thunderous boom coming from across Winterfell. A boom that was so loud that he could feel the impact in his chest, even if he couldn't see where it came from. Despite not seeing it, everyone in Winterfell knew the source. Near the base of the Sorcerer's Tower, a small plume of black smoke was billowing upwards, just barely managing to crest the top of a nearby building before a second thunderous boom joined sounded. 'Black powder' was what Nox had called the creation. A mixture of different substances from charred remains to brimstone and saltpeter. Combined, they formed a stone-dust like substance that was stable enough to move, spill or do manipulate in just about any way imaginable. But expose the powder to even the slightest bit of flame…and the stone-dust turned to fire in a manner that eerily reminded him of wildfire with how explosive it was.
Nox had first demonstrated these new substances capabilities shortly after Talisa's family had departed. Using some mining hand tools, Nox had notched a hole into a stone the size of a man, poured some of the black powder into said hole, and lit it aflame. The resulting flame had split the stone into pieces. And knocked more than a few people back a few steps. Nox had then taken his 'new' discovery a step further and created two additional aspects to aid in the usage of the black powder. The first was a striker stick. Which was coated in a combination of brimstone and several other things which Ned could not remember, but that didn't really matter. What did matter was that this 'striker stick' could create a small flame when one end was struck against a rough surface. If, and when, Nox was able to expand the creation of the strikers, it would almost eliminate the need for flint and steel to start a fire. Which meant that these strikers would be worth almost more than gold during the winter years.
The second was what he'd called a 'fuse', though to Ned and many others it looked like nothing more than a cord. But the cord, when one end was lit aflame, did not simply burn. No, it created a small flame that traveled quickly down the length of itself. At first Ned was confused at its purpose, but then Nox explained how this 'fuse' would allow them to control the timing of detonating the black powder. Which would allow them to put a cache of the powder in a location, lit a fuse, and give them time to retreat to a safe distance before the powder was ignited. It was a simplistic and genius device that once explained to him he couldn't help but marvel at. And now his friend and closest advisor was working with his students at the Winterfell College to combine all three into a single thing that greatly resembled a stick of sorts. And while Ned couldn't, and wouldn't, deny the benefits these gifts could grant them, he did wish that the 'testing' of these new inventions did not have to be so loud…or frequent for that matter.
Hearing another loud boom, one that startled even his children below and sent more than a few servants ducking behind whatever was near to them, Ned decided that it was far past time that Nox took his little experiment outside of Winterfell. No matter how controlled Nox insisted the tests were being conducted, Ned could not take his staff being consistently interrupted in their daily duties.
But as he went to leave the covered bridge, he found that he was not the only occupant. Standing at the far end near the great keep and making her way towards him was his Stewardess and wife to his advisor, Lady Nyra Nox. He was more than willing to admit that he was not sure what Nox had seen in the girl when he'd first taken her under his tutelage all those years ago when he'd first arrived. But he was just glad now that Nox had seen something as he was sure that he would've been floundering in the dark trying to keep the North to rights while also expanding their trade and influence throughout the Seven Kingdoms and Essos without the aid of a Steward of her caliber.
"Lord Stark," Lady Nox called out to him as she approached, a raven's scroll held in her hand. "A raven from King's Landing, my lord."
Ned was slightly confused. They'd already received a raven from Robert not too long ago asking for House Stark, and Robert's bastard son in particular, to forge a sword, a spear, and a shield using this new Northern steel. Each of which would be given away during the tournament of Harrenhal that was to be held soon. They would be compensated by the crown of course. But still, the request did not leave Gendry much time to do anything besides stay isolated in his forge as he worked day and night to create the three items that would be given away as part of the champion's purse.
Taking the still sealed scroll, Ned broke the wax and unfurled it, immediately recognizing Robert's lazy hand in the writing. But despite being written by Robert, the raven was not what Ned thought. "My lord?" Lady Nox called out to him, making him start and realize that he'd been staring down at the page blankly for some time. "Is…Is everything alright, my lord?"
"No," Ned sighed, handing the letter off to Nyra so that she could read it over. "Jon Arryn passed due to a sickness that struck the Red Keep."
The news took a moment to take hold within her mind, but once it did, Nyra immediately read over the message several times. "By the gods…you…have my condolences, Lord Stark. I know you and his grace were fostered by the Lord Hand for many years."
"Aye, we were…Some of the better years of my life," Ned replied morosely as the weight of Jon Arryn's death settled in on him. He knew that it was only a matter of time before the man he thought of as a second father would pass from this world. But still, knowing that it would one day happen and having it happen were two very different things.
"The King, he has not announced who will be the new Hand of the King."
"No, Robert wouldn't," Ned sighed.
He already had a good idea of what was coming and was trying to find any excuse he could to not be drawn into the cesspool that was King's Landing. But in truth, there was little excuse for him to hold onto should Robert name him. Ned was a man without a wife, and his eldest son was now married and bedded and had a decent head on his shoulders for ruling. Knowing his brother in all but blood as he did, he knew that Robert would be waiting until they were both at Harrenhal before making his offer. And once made, Ned knew he would be unable to do anything but accept. But there was still time, not much, but some. Time to give some last instructions to Robb and Jon, the latter of whom had agreed to remain as the Stark in Winterfell while everyone else went south to the tourney at Harrenhal.
Another blast rocked Ned, causing him to curse under his breath. "Tell your husband that I wish to speak with him whenever he is through blowing up parts of Winterfell," Ned told his stewardess calmly as the two began to walk side by side towards the main keep. "And inform Jon, Robb and Talisa that I wish to speak with all three of them. If Robert behaves as I fully expect him to…. then I do believe that my time in the south will be extended for far longer than I would care for."
Standing at the back of the tent, Viserys Targaryen, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, watched on in disgust as his sister stood on a raised platform in front of many cheering savages as she tore into a blood horse heart with nothing more than her teeth like she was some sort of animal. The spectacle was disgusting. Blood was running freely down from Dany's chin onto her dress and her breasts. Yet still, she feasted on the raw heart like it was the finest of meats, her eyes staring at Khal Drogo with each bite she took.
The entire scene was just…ridiculous. And proved just how savage these people truly were. A woman eating a heart to prove the gender of the child she carries. The very idea made him want to scoff in disgust. But in the end, it meant little he supposed. Drogo managed to fuck a child into his sister, which meant there was now nothing to keep Drogo from turning his horde west for the nearest port so that he could reclaim that which was rightfully his. Only Drogo wasn't doing that. Even after learning of Dany's pregnancy, the Khal refused to move his army, saying that the omens were not right yet for war. Whatever in all the hells that meant! They had made a deal! Drogo had married his sister and fucked a child into her womb! Yet he still sat on his fucking hands while the Usurper sat on the Iron Throne! A throne he had no right to even look at, let alone sit upon!
Hearing the chanting come to an abrupt stop, Viserys looked up and saw Dany down on one knee, looking more than a little sick with a piece of the heart still clutched in her hand. Looking at her, Viserys couldn't help but smirk at her clearly ill face. It served the bitch right for belting him! And why? Just because he expressed his frustration against a common fucking serving girl!
But as he watched, waiting for her womanly weakness to show through, all traces of illness vanished from Dany's face as she slowly rose back to her feet. Then, with the deliberate slowness of one putting on a show, she raised the last piece of the heart to her lips and took it down in a single bite. All the savages went up in arms, shouting and chanting, but Dany quieted them all with nothing more than just a simple raising of her hand. She then spoke in the Dothraki tongue, a tongue he had not tried to learn. And why would he? He was a King. If anything these savages should be learning the common tongue, not the other way around. At the end of her little speech, she called out a single name, "Rhaego". No doubt the name she intended to give the brat growing in her womb. But then the Dothraki began chanting the name. Circling Dany, chanting, praising her. Even Drogo got up from his spot and picked his sister up as if she were little more than a child in his arms. It was… They were… They were worshiping her! These…These savages were praising her for simply doing as a woman should! It…no…this was…
Shaking his head, Viserys purposefully turned his back on the sickening display and marched out of the tent and back to his own. Once inside, he looked around the pitiful accommodations he'd been given. Him, a King, was given a tent that would barely pass for a servant's tent! He'd seen Dany's tent: the gold, the jewels, the fine bedding. No, this was just…wrong! She'd done nothing! Nothing! And they gave her everything he deserved! He was the one who brokered the deal for his sister's hand! He was the one who would be King! He was the one who would lead them into war! He was the one who had the greatest dynasty resting on his shoulders! Not her! And yet…And yet he was given these shabby accommodations. Forced to eat at the back of tents. Forced to sit back and watch as his sister received praise and reverence for simply doing her womanly duties! No. No more. He was done waiting.
Moving over to the chest holding his belongings, he threw open the lid and roughly grabbed his sword and dagger, strapping both to his waist before grabbing a large leather bag and leaving his tent. He could still hear the savages chanting and praising his sister. And just hearing them was enough to make his blood boil even more! But he would show them. If they would not give him what was his due, then he would take it!
Marching into his sister's tent, uncaring if anyone was watching him or not, his eyes immediately sought out the chest he knew his sister kept in here. A chest that none of the Dothraki savages would touch. Finding it quickly, he went down to his knees before it and opened the lid. The interior was partially filled with a fine grain sand. And sitting atop the sand were the three dragon eggs Illyrio had foolishly given to Dany during her wedding. 'Where's the fourth?' Looking around, he quickly found the last egg sitting upon a stand next to what he assumed passed for Dany's bed.
Turning his attention back to the three eggs, Viserys fondly ran his finger along the pattern of the scales on the black egg. Had things been different, he would've been given this egg, he was sure of it. Mayhap he could've hatched it and brought the dragons back to life. But these eggs were unfortunately little more than stone. But even as stones, they would still serve him. Picking up the eggs one at a time, Viserys placed each into the leather bag he'd brought with him before getting up and moving over to the last egg sitting upon the stand next to the bed. His sister was obsessed with this egg that'd been given to her by that Northern traitor Bolton, and for the life of him he couldn't understand why. It looked no different than the other three, if only slightly larger. 'That just means it'll be worth more,' he thought to himself as he reached out and placed his hand on the last egg, ready to put it in the bag with the others.
"You shouldn't be seen carrying steel in Vaes Dothrak, your grace. The laws here are not forgiving, even to one such as yourself."
Hand jumping to the hilt of his sword, Viserys turned around and found Ser Jorah Mormont standing just within the entrance to his sister's tent. "It's not my law. I am the King. I am the law. Not these savages," he scoffed, turning back and picking up the last egg, which surprised him slightly with its weight, before depositing it into the bag with the other three.
"They are not yours, your grace."
Viserys didn't care as he looked around the tent for anything else of value that he could use. "Whatever is hers is also mine. Therefore, they are mine to do with as I please."
"Once, perhaps that was so, your grace. But it is true no longer."
Scoffing, Viserys turned and gave the disgraced knight a hard look. "I sell one of these eggs and I'll have enough coin for several ships. Two eggs, I can have the ships and an army at my call."
Jorah tilted his head towards the bag around his shoulder. "And you have all four now."
Smirking, Viserys stepped towards the knight. "I need a large army to compensate for the time lost while Drogo fucked a child into my sister while marching the wrong way! Do you—Do you even know what is at stake here? No, of course you don't. You're just a fallen knight from the barbaric North, after all." Stepping closer, Viserys made sure he was looking directly into Jorah's eyes as he spoke. "I am the last hope for the greatest dynasty the world has ever seen! And I have been carrying this weight on my shoulders, alone, since I was five years old! And not once, in all that time, has anyone from Lord to Lady to even these savages given me even the slightest bit of respect like they just gave her out there. And why? Because she has a fucking child in her womb. It's pathetic. How am I supposed to rule without wealth, or fear, or love?"
Throughout his speech, the man from the North just kept staring at him blankly, as if his words were finding no purchase in what passed for a head of his. Scoffing, Viserys took a few more steps closer to the man. "You dare stand here before me, all righteous and noble after what you've done? After what you continuously do, hmm? Don't even think for a moment I haven't noticed the looks you give my sister. The look that passes over your face when you stand outside her tent and listen to her moan like a whore as Drogo fucks her. You want my little sister. A girl young enough to be your daughter, hmm? I don't care. You can have her for all I care. She's little more than a soiled whore at this point anyhow, laying so willingly with these savages. But I will not stay around to watch it any longer. Tell Drogo, now that he has his child, that I expect to see him at the nearest port within the next two moons."
Viserys made to step around the knight, but found his path blocked as Jorah moved with him, preventing him from leaving. "You can go," the old knight from the North said evenly. "But you cannot have the eggs."
Viserys growled in his throat as he clutched at the bag of eggs. "You swore an oath to me!" he hissed, spittle flying from his mouth and striking the knight in the face. "Does loyalty, and your honor, mean nothing to you?"
"It means everything to me," Jorah responded lowly, not bothering to wipe his face.
"Yet here you stand," Viserys growled again.
If anything, Jorah stood straighter before him. "Indeed, your grace. Here I stand."
He could fight him. The man was unarmed, and he was sure that he could run the knight through quickly. But…was it truly worth the risk? The bastard would undoubtedly call out before he breathed his last, and then Viserys would be caught, not only with the eggs, but with blood on his blade in this wretched city. 'I will have them…but not today apparently.' Shaking his head, Viserys unslung the bag from around his shoulder and pushed into Jorah's chest. "Here…Enjoy standing outside this tent and listening to my sister moan like a whore then."
Brushing past Jorah, Viserys made his way back to his tent and unbuckled his sword and dagger and let them drop. Picking up a random bottle that was in his tent, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and proceeded to drink deeply from the wine within. He would get those eggs. He swore it. And he would make everyone pay for the disrespect they'd shown him over the years!
Walking through the halls of Winterfell, Nox couldn't help the slight grin that'd been a permanent fixture on his face for some days now. Things had been progressing far better than he could've hoped in his research and with his Acolytes and Apprentices. Jon and Robb were progressing faster than he'd ever thought possible, and as for his Acolytes, they were all more than ready to partake in their Trials. And as for his research, things were progressing far faster than he'd thought possible. It'd taken him some time to find the correct formula for the creation of blasting powder. But now that he had it figured out, they could start harnessing it's power in different forms. Firearms were still a long way off, until he could cultivate the necessary manufacturing process to create the parts needed. But at the very least the blasting powder would allow for quicker mining once they could concentrate the blasts.
'It is unfortunate, but I don't think I'll be able to produce a single firearm before the White Walkers make their move… Let alone mass produce them.' Nox thought sourly, as despite their advancements they were still on a rapidly shrinking timetable. 'While all the visions I experienced upon first arriving in Winterfell were different in substance, they all had a similar focal point. The death of Jon Arryn. His death was the only constant I could find in the visions. And it marked the start of the dark times to come.'
A not so small part of him, the part that was still very much the Dark Sith Lord whose very name caused his enemies to tremble, reveled in the idea of the wars to come. He wanted war. He wanted the rush of the fight, the fear, the crushing of his enemies. But there was another part of him that was…terrified of the wars to come. A part that had thrived during the time of peace and didn't want it to end. The part that wanted to stay with Nyra, his light. It was…odd. This warring within himself was…unusual and unsettling…and new to him. Even when he was with Ashara he didn't have these conflicting emotions when it came to battle. And while he was certain that there were none amongst the living that could even hope to challenge him…these White Walkers and their ilk had injected a grain of doubt, of fear within him.
Feeling the sudden rush of cold air, Nox was pulled from his thoughts of the future as his feet continued to move on autopilot as he made his way out of the great keep and into the godswood. The two guards at the entrance both snapped to attention as he passed them by without even a wave, making his way into the thick woods within the great walls of Winterfell. After spending so much time on this world, and within the godswood particularly, Nox was beginning to understand why the Jedi were as obsessed with forests. The Force was very much alive in this place, and there was a peace, a tranquility, within the woods that he was hard pressed to find elsewhere.
Reaching the heart tree in the center of the woods, Nox wasn't surprised to find that he was the last to arrive of those that'd been summoned. Standing in a close grouping with one another at the base of the ancient tree were Ned, Robb, Talisa and Jon. "Nox," Ned called out to him the moment he cleared the trees and began walking around the small hot spring before the heart tree. "I assume that you already know why I've asked you all here."
"Of course," Nox nodded, "I felt his death the moment it happened."
"Death?" Robb questioned, looking back and forth between Nox and his father. "Wha – Who died, father?"
"Lord Jon Arryn passed of a fever that took spread through the Red Keep over a sennight ago," Ned explained, drawing looks of sympathy from both Robb and Jon as both boys knew how important Jon Arryn was to their father.
"May he find peace in the Force and with his gods," Jon said lowly with respect. "Are you alright, father?"
Ned nodded. "I will be. The pain is still fresh…but I will manage. But his death is not the only reason I called you out to speak with you. But rather to speak of the King's letter that brought the news, and what it didn't contain. Namely the name of the next Hand of the King."
Confusion settled over the three younger ones in the woods. "This Hand…He is the King's second, is he not?" Talisa questioned, getting a nod from Ned in response. "Should such an important position not be filled as soon as it is vacated?"
"Ordinarily, yes. But Robert is far from an ordinary King. And if I know Robert as well as I do, then he has already made his choice for Hand but is keeping it close to his chest until he can make a show of naming him. More than likely at this upcoming Tourney while all the realm is in attendance."
Robb caught on quicker than the others at what his father was leading towards. "You think that the King will name you as his Hand at the tournament?"
Ned nodded slowly. "Aye…Knowing Robert as I do, I believe that this is the course he intends to take. He always said that he wanted me by his side while he ruled. And now with my eldest sons of age, betrothed, married, and more than ready to take on the task of ruling…I have no reason to deny his request. "
"You…Can you not turn him down, father?" Jon asked.
"No," Ned replied, shaking his head. "If the King asks this of me, I must obey. And I have no excuse to give that might delay my appointment. Robb and Talisa, with your aid Jon, are more than ready to begin their ruling of the North in my absence."
"And if, no, when Robert names you his Hand, he will insist that I take up this position as Master of the Arcane on his Small Council as well." Nox added, frowning as he began working through all that he would need to bring with him to King's Landing should Robert insist on him taking up his position. It would be a hassle…but truthfully, he could perhaps do more from King's Landing in the heart of the Seven Kingdoms than he could here in the North. "And if I go south, Nyra comes with me."
"Aye, to both your points, Nox," Ned agreed. "The King will not let you deny your place on the Small Council any longer. And I would not seek to separate you from your wife…I know that pain of loss far too well."
"Who…Who will take up the position of Steward then?" Jon asked slowly. "With yourself, Lord Nox and Lady Nox all in King's Landing…Winterfell will need a steward as well as a Lord and Lady."
Ned kept his sight focused on Jon. The look confused Jon for a moment, but slowly the young man realized what his father was saying without even saying it. "Wait…me?"
"Who else?" Ned asked rhetorically. "Your brother trusts you implicitly, and you know the workings of the North as well as Robb and Talisa. And while you are betrothed to Princess Arianne and will one day reside in Dorne, until that time I can think of no one better to help your brother as Steward of Winterfell than yourself."
Robb slapped at Jon's shoulder with the back on his hand. "I can't think of anyone else I would want to have my back, brother. Theon only has a year or so left till his time with us will come to an end. Talisa and I, without father here? We'll need both of you to help us."
Jon looked thoughtfully at his brother for a time before lowering his head. "It would be my greatest honor to serve you, brother, until such time that I am called away from the North. But there are other things we need to consider, father, Master. Without either of you in Winterfell and the North, what of the Acolytes and the Winterfell College?"
Nox waved off his concern. "Between the Tarly boy and Talisa here, the students will be in good hands. As for the Acolytes, we will be moving to King's Landing. You and Robb are more than ready to start out on your own without my guidance. You both still have much to learn, but it's been my experience that one can often learn more without a Master peering over their shoulder and critiquing them every other moment. And besides, I'm anxious to begin overseeing the construction on this new 'Temple' that Robert has promised me. There are certain…peculiarities that must be in place to make it a true Force Temple."
"Then our path is laid before us," Ned stated. "Provided that Robert names me his Hand—"
"Which will more than likely happen."
"—Robb, you and Talisa will take over as rulers of the North not in my name, but in your own with Jon aiding you where he can till he is called to his betrothed's side in Dorne." Pausing, Ned stepped up to his sons and placed a hand on their shoulders. "You two are ready. But no matter what the future may bring, remember that you are both of the North, of the First Men. Trust in yourselves. Trust in the gods and trust in the Force. You are wolves. And when the snows fall and the white winds blow—"
"The lone wolf dies. But the pack survives." Both boys finished in unison with their father.