Hearing those familiar lewd jokes, Kal couldn't help but let out a laugh himself.
He glanced toward Winterfell in the distance, its towers wreathed in white mist, and gave a slow shake of his head. Then he reached out and patted Fawkes, who was snorting and flicking his tail in impatience, urging the stallion to move forward.
"Let's go, bastards. The Lord of Winterfell probably won't be throwing us any grand feasts—"
"But I'm sure the women eager to empty the coins from your purses are more than ready to welcome you... with all the warmth of home!"
Kal shouted the words with mock cheer as he pulled down his visor and resumed the ride.
Their horses plodded forward, hooves crunching into snow at least the depth of a hand. The thick blanket kicked up patches of black earth from beneath as they galloped on toward the warmth of Winterfell.
They hadn't gone far when, from up ahead, the sound of barking dogs reached their ears.
They slowed their pace, and as the two groups approached one another, Kal spotted the banner flying on the other side.
A silver-grey direwolf running across a white field of snow—Stark's sigil.
"Halt!"
The barking grew louder, and a group of Stark patrol riders who had spotted them rode up and blocked their path.
One man, clad in iron-grey chainmail and draped in a thick woolen surcoat, stepped forward after Kal and his men stopped.
He glanced up first at the banner in Kal's hands—then let out a quiet breath of relief before turning his attention to Kal, who had also moved to the front of his formation.
"Are you the king's vanguard?" the man asked, sounding like he might be the captain of the patrol.
Kal pulled down the scarf from his face again and looked him over before answering in a steady, serious tone.
"My name is Kal Stone. I lead the royal vanguard of the King's Guard. King Robert's procession is no more than 16 kilometers behind us."
"I'm here to inform you, so your lord—Lord Eddard Stark—can make the necessary preparations to receive His Grace."
The patrol captain blinked at the name for a moment, slightly taken aback.
But he didn't dwell on it. With a curt nod, he turned his horse.
"Lord Stark and his family have already prepared to welcome the king."
"I'll escort you into the city."
Seeing there were no misunderstandings and no tension between the two sides, Kal nodded in return and signaled his men to follow behind the Stark riders.
And with that, Kal prepared to go see an old acquaintance.
As they drew closer to Winterfell, the snow around them noticeably thinned.
The once biting wind that had stung their faces had now shifted—still brisk, but carrying a touch of moisture, becoming significantly milder and far more bearable.
It seemed the books hadn't lied—this really was a city built atop hot springs.
Following the lead of the patrol riders who had clearly been sent out to wait for them, Kal glanced curiously around at his surroundings.
What met his eyes now, apart from the muddy roads caused by the sudden change in temperature, were rows of houses built from uncut stone and raw timber lining the roadside.
Compared to King's Landing, the architecture here had a distinct and rugged charm all its own.
But what struck Kal as odd was that this small town outside Winterfell appeared nearly deserted—no more than a fifth of the buildings seemed occupied.
"Is this place usually uninhabited?"
"Or is it that Winterfell doesn't usually have this many people gathered at one time?"
Puzzled, Kal couldn't help but ask.
The patrol squad leader turned his head at the question, then let his gaze rest on the nearly empty street.
"We usually call this place the Winter Market."
"Just like the name implies, it's abandoned for most of the summer. Only in winter do the common folk gather here."
"When that time comes, this place will be packed. Those wooden stalls you see? They're set up for the merchants who arrive during the cold season."
"The hunters from the mountains come down before then too—carrying furs or mountain goods to trade. They barter for food and take it back with them."
The squad leader spoke in a friendly tone, not only explaining Winterfell's customs but doing so with clarity and detail.
Kal's eyes lit up as he listened.
None of this had been in the books he'd read.
But experiencing it in person gave it an entirely different feel—something deeper, more visceral.
"How fascinating."
"Sounds like a very old tradition."
Kal couldn't help but exclaim in admiration.
The squad leader chuckled in response.
"Southern boy—if you're interested, take your time exploring Winterfell while you're here."
"Thank you for the invitation!"
Kal hadn't been the only one listening.
Kossi and the others, who had never set foot in this frigid northern land before, were also watching with interest.
But when they heard that the town only filled with people during the winter, the look on their faces turned into the perfect blend of southern bewilderment.
"You mean in winter?"
"As in, colder than this?!"
"At night I'm pretty sure my ears are going to refuse to wake up the next morning!"
Kossi, never one to keep his mouth shut—or warm—blurted out the question, wide-eyed. He already felt like he was freezing. Even when he peed, he had to cradle his little friend carefully.
One sudden gust of wind, and he'd be forced to leave the Blackstone Mercenaries and go apply at a brothel instead.
And yet, in this freezing environment, the rider still referred to it as summer.
Truly, what the hell?
Kossi's perfectly-timed question left the dozen or so mounted guards momentarily stunned. They exchanged glances—then suddenly burst into laughter, throwing their heads back in unison.
The squad leader let out a couple of chuckles himself, but then his expression shifted. His smile faded, and he sighed quietly.
"In the North, winter is far more brutal than you could ever imagine."
"We never stop fearing it."
That statement, so calmly spoken, carried a weight that chilled Kal and the others more than the northern wind ever could.
They immediately shut their mouths.
And deep down, they all began to pray they wouldn't have to stay in this godforsaken place for too long.
With Kal and the others falling silent, the patrol riders also ceased their chatter.
The group continued on, and before long, they passed through Winterfell's massive gates.
Kal and his party first crossed an outer wall about 24 meters high. They hadn't walked much farther when another wall loomed ahead—this one towering around 30 meters.
The twin walls were forged from enormous slabs of granite, with a deep moat running between them.
On the outer wall stood numerous guard towers, and Kal could vaguely see figures stationed within them.
It was probably from one of those towers that this mounted patrol had first spotted them and ridden out to intercept.
The inner wall, meanwhile, was riddled with narrow slits and viewing holes. Kal imagined that, in times of war, those gaps would offer any would-be invader a brutal lesson in why Winterfell had stood for over a thousand years.
After crossing through both layers of fortifications, Kal and the riders arrived at a small courtyard not far inside the city.
Kal didn't recognize the place, but he did notice a number of stables nearby.
"Ser Kal Stone, please come with me. I'm to escort you to our Lord."
"As for your companions, no need to worry—someone will see to their needs."
The squad leader, still as courteous as ever, offered an explanation before Kal even had the chance to ask.
Now that he was on someone else's land, Kal naturally followed their arrangements without objection.
"Take good care of my horse. Once I've spoken with your lord, I'll need to return and report back to my men."
"No problem."
Between men, aside from drinking and bragging—or those late nights spent talking politics or women when sleep won't come—there usually isn't much need for words.
So without delay, the squad leader led Kal toward the main keep of Winterfell.
"Forgive my curiosity, Ser Kal Stone," he said after a while, "but… are you a member of the Kingsguard?"
"I noticed your armor—and the white cloak…"
The man clearly couldn't hold in the question any longer.
Kal paused for a moment, as if something had just come to mind.
Then he smiled faintly and shook his head.
"No. I'm not one of the Kingsguard."
At that, the squad leader's expression shifted slightly—but he didn't press the matter.
Because what he saw on Kal's face… was a strange expression.
After a moment's hesitation, he chose to keep quiet.
"By the way," Kal said, "thank you for the escort. I don't think I ever asked your name."
"Liam Locke. And no, I'm not a knight."
Liam gave a light-hearted smile in response, and soon led Kal to a man with gray eyes and hair, dressed in a long-sleeved gray robe and a slender, almost frail frame.
"This is the maester of Winterfell—Maester Luwin."
"Maester Luwin, this is Ser Kal Stone, vanguard of King Robert's host."
After the brief introduction, Liam Locke took his leave.
Only once Liam had exited did Maester Luwin turn his gaze to Kal—and in his eyes was a subtle, thoughtful glint.
"Come with me, Ser Kal Stone. I'll take you to see Lord Eddard Stark."
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