The King of Winters

Chapter-137

Ashara

They had laid her husband out on a trestle table, clad in shining silver armor, plate-and-mail. His cloak was spread beneath him, white as the snows of Winterfell and grey as Ned's eyes had been. His surcoat was divided white and grey as well. A direwolf, picked out in cloth of silver, was emblazoned on the breast; and his wool cloak was fastened at the collar by a silver pin fashioned in the likeness of a wolf's head. White and silver and grey, all the shades of truth and light. Ashara had loved the colours once and her wardrobes were dominated by them. She remembered the day she had met Ned for the first time in Harrenhal. He had been in his black leathers, dull and dark while she had shone like a star in silver. The men referred to her as the Lady in Silver then, a title that made her gag now.

This time though as she looked upon him for the last time, Ashara wore a high-collared black silk gown slashed with silver and a veil of black diamonds in her hair. Her long and thick black hair was brushed to the highest sheen and the great fall cascaded to her waist in soft ringlets. She had brushed her long locks for hours to style them in the way her husband had loved to see. Ned loved her hair, especially when she let it fall free from her elaborate braids and buns.

On his chest they had placed a sword made of fine blue steel fresh from the forges of King's Landing, a sword made from the fires of his greatest foe and one that had not been used by anyone before him. His fingers curled about its hilt. Mail gauntlets hid his white bones, and made him look almost strong again. But Ashara had seen them, lived with them for several years. When she slipped her fingers beneath to clasp his fingers one last time she felt the warmth more so than she did the cold of the mail. She placed a massive oak-and-iron shield by his left side, his crown that Rhaegar had kept away hidden in his treasury was kept just above his head so that he was crowned in his death like a King. The rest of the wagon was filled with flowers and gemstones and scraps of parchment, and other gifts left to the King by his closest friends and his vassals.

Ned was brought here as a traitor and an outlaw and now he left it like a King in a tall wagon draped with white banners, with six silent sisters riding attendance on his bones. His banner flew from the top of the wagon, the racing direwolf of Winterfell.

Seven of her husband's most loyal lords were chosen to ride with their King to his final resting place in Winterfell. Lord Willem Dustin was one. Then there was Theo Wull Ned's oldest friend. With them were Robett Glover, Harrion Karstark, Ser Wendel Manderly, Roger Ryswell, and Kyle Condon. Almost all of them had fought and bled with Ned in his struggle to win freedom for the North. And everyone of the had families who had died alongside their King in Starfall. A hundred horsemen rode as escort for the wagon, commanded by Rodrik Forrester, the eldest of Lord Gregor Forrester's children, a stern, brown-haired man who'd won a fine reputation as a warrior in her son's war. Behind them were a hundred archers and three hundred men-at-arms, and grey cloaks flowed from their shoulders as well.

Ashara placed a kiss on her husband's bare cheek one last time and covered him with the white banner of House Stark with its grey direwolf sigil. She was the last to leave the wagon, staying by her husband's side as their son and Ned's foster father and brother said their final farewell.

“Make haste on your way,” Ashara said to Lord Dustin as she stepped down from the wagon by the stairs. “I have sent a raven to Winterfell, to Maester Walys. Everything will be ready for you when you reach there.”

Lord Willem gave a nod.

Ashara turned to the silent sisters. “I am grateful for your service, sisters,” she said. “Thank you for accompanying our men in this long journey. My husband was a Stark, and his bones must be laid to rest beneath Winterfell.” They will make a statue of him, a stone likeness that will sit in the dark with a direwolf at his feet and a sword across his knees. “Make certain the sisters have fresh horses, and aught else they need for the journey,” she told Robett Glover. “I expect you to escort them back to King's Landing as well, Rodrik.” She gazed down at the casket that bore all that remained of her lord and love with a tear slipping out of the corner of her eyes. “You can leave now and keep him safe.”