The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 2

Jon, Robb, Bran, and I sat on our horses in the middle of the valley, green hills rolling out around us. We watched as the deserter was brought forward, standing small and tense before Ned Stark.

"I know I broke my oath. I know I'm a deserter. I should've gone back to the Wall to warn them, but... I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know," he said, his voice cracking.

I glanced over at the boys, and our eyes met in a mix of shock and disbelief. White Walkers? We'd all heard the tales, sure, but that's all they were: stories. Spooky bedtime legends meant to thrill or scare. Nothing real.

"If you can get word to my family..." the man said, his voice faltering, "tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry."

I turned my gaze to Ned, searching his face for any sign of doubt or sympathy, but his expression was as solid and cold as stone. He gave a nod, and the guards guided the deserter to kneel, his head laid down against the block. Ned moved over to Theon, who handed him Ice, the massive ancestral greatsword of House Stark.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bran struggling, his face pale as he tried to keep his eyes on the block. I was just about to reach over, maybe offer some comforting words, when Jon leaned toward him. I couldn't hear what he whispered, but Bran's expression shifted. He straightened up, setting his shoulders as if steeling himself.

Ned took a step forward, bowing his head over Ice. "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."

With one smooth, practiced swing, Ned brought Ice down, the blade slicing through with a single, finality-filled stroke. I forced myself to watch, a strange mix of awe and dread settling over me.

I glanced at Bran and nudged my horse closer, leaning over just enough to ruffle his hair. He immediately shot me a glare. "You know I hate when you do that."

With a smirk, I shrugged. "One day, you'll be begging me to do it, and I won't be there."

Bran grinned, his eyes playful. "Highly doubt that."

I just grinned back. "We'll see." But as I spotted Ned making his way over to Bran, I pulled my horse away, trotting over to where Jon, Theon, and Robb were gathered.

"White Walkers," I said, casting a glance back toward the execution site. "Looks like we're in the end times, boys."

Robb snorted. "You actually believe the deserter's stories?"

"Not a chance," I replied, shaking my head.

Jon's expression was thoughtful, his voice low. "He looked really spooked."

Hearing Jon's voice set my heart pounding, memories of our earlier conversation flickering in my mind. "He was probably drunk—had to be."

Trying to distract myself, with a sly grin, I leaned forward and said, "Race you all back?"

They barely had time to react before I gave my horse a quick nudge, and bolted across the open valley. Behind me, I heard the boys' surprised yells and the pounding of hooves.

"You cheater!" Theon shouted, and I couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing across the green fields as we raced, wild and free, toward Winterfell.

  —————

The boys and I were still racing across the lush green valley toward Winterfell when I suddenly pulled on the reins, bringing my horse to a halt. My heart dropped as I covered my mouth, taking in the grim scene before me: a large, dead animal lay sprawled on the ground, surrounded by tiny maggots that scurried around its bloodied carcass.