Though it was nearing midnight, Winterfell Castle was still bustling with servants rushing about, preparing to welcome a most extraordinary guest. "The God of Flame" — that was the title they had given him. A mysterious being riding a horse wreathed in fire, personally greeted by Lord Stark and King Robert Baratheon.
Inside the castle, War was being escorted to the chamber where his sword was kept. His heavy steps echoed through the hallways, each thud resounding like a drumbeat. Lady Catelyn stared in awe at the massive figure before her. Could this truly be what her son had meant by "a strange god"?
In the courtyard, she had seen it with her own eyes — the stranger riding a burning steed, untouched by the flames. Though Catelyn followed the Faith of the Seven, she respected her husband's worship of the old gods. They often prayed together in the godswood. Falling from the sky with eyes like twin stars… she wondered if this was truly one of the Old Gods her husband revered, descended to protect House Stark.
Lord Stark led the group into a grand chamber — the vault where War's greatsword had been stored. Inside, the massive weapon lay on a pedestal. It was the same room where Ned kept his family's Valyrian steel blade.
"This is the sword that fell before the gates of Winterfell, O Mighty one," Lord Stark said. "It took great effort to bring it here. I hope it has not been damaged."
"It is indeed my sword," War replied, stepping closer.
Relief washed over him as he reclaimed his beloved weapon. With one hand, he lifted and inspected it before sheathing it upon his back.
The sight renewed everyone's faith that War must truly be a god — or at least something beyond mortal. That sword had required eight strong men and a horse-drawn cart to move it, yet this being wielded it effortlessly with one hand. No man could possess such strength.
"I thank you for keeping it safe," he said.
"It was our honor," Ned replied. "You must be weary from your journey through the heavens. We have prepared a feast to honor you. Please, grant us the honor of your company."
War sighed. From what he had observed, this world shared similarities with others he had known — rank, hierarchy, and tedious ceremony.
"There's no need for that. You have already done more than enough," he said.
"Please, do not say so," Lady Catelyn interjected gently. "It is Winterfell's honor."
War could no longer refuse. The group proceeded to the great hall, where freshly cooked dishes were being served. Everyone acted with extreme care, bowing their heads and making signs of prayer as War passed by.
He noticed several figures already waiting — children, knights in golden armor, a small man of curious stature, and a woman dressed in gaudy finery. "How tiresome," he thought.
Lord Stark began the introductions.
"O Mighty one, this is Queen Cersei, wife of King Robert. And these are my children."
Ned had ordered his children awakened to meet the honored guest. Robert had done the same, though Cersei protested that her children should be left to sleep. The queen looked uneasy, glancing now and then toward Ser Jaime, who seemed just as lost as she was. Arya, Bran, and Sansa stared open-mouthed at the towering figure. Arya looked as if she were about to speak, but Sansa quickly motioned her to stay quiet.
"Hmm," War grunted. "Do not call me by that foolish name. And stop acting like zealots."
"My name is War."
A silence fell over the hall. They began to grasp, faintly, the nature of the being before them. War. Could he be a god of war? Or was his rejection of worship proof that he was no god at all?
The feast that followed was quieter than most. Everyone behaved cautiously, without a trace of Robert's usual rowdiness. Though the stranger claimed not to be divine, the miracles he had displayed were difficult to deny — summoning a fiery steed, falling from the heavens unscathed, and possessing an aura of terrifying power.
"Then, my lord War," Lady Catelyn began softly, "I hope that calling you so will not offend. Why have you crossed the skies to come here?"
"Aye," Robert chimed in. "Whatever brought you here, you should at least try our wine. It's the finest in the Seven Kingdoms!"
All eyes turned toward War, awaiting his answer.
"For reasons unknown… that is something I must discover. Tell me more about this world," he said.
An old man named Maester Luwin stepped forward and began recounting the history of Westeros — Aegon's Conquest three hundred years ago, dragons, and the Seven Kingdoms. Everything confirmed that this was a world unknown to War.
He wondered why he had come to this land. Was it fate's design? He thought of his three siblings and wondered if they had been cast here as well. He could sense traces of magic in this world, though faint — primitive, undeveloped. A primitive world, he thought. Its so-called gods are likely hiding, watching from the shadows.
War had seen countless false deities in his eons of existence — and slain many. Yet not knowing whether he was part of another's scheme unsettled him.
"You said you are not a god," came a child's voice. "Then why did you fall from the sky? You're not a bird — you have no wings."
War turned. It was the Stark girl. Children are the same everywhere, he thought.
"Not only birds can fly, little one," he replied.
"Then what are you?" she asked.
"This world of yours is primitive and strange — perhaps unknown to Heaven, Hell, or the Charred Council. I doubt you've ever heard of us," War said.
"Then may I ask… what are you, truly?" Lord Stark inquired.
After a pause, War answered,
"I am War — one of the Four Horsemen of the Charred Council."
The hall fell silent. None could grasp what he meant — the Four Horsemen? the Charred Council?
"So you're truly not a god?" asked the dwarf. "Ah, pardon me — I'm Tyrion Lannister. Most call me the Imp. You can call me whatever you like."
"Tell me, are you human?" War asked.
"Even gods mock dwarfs, it seems. I do wonder if I look that grotesque." Tyrion smirked.
"You seem talkative," War replied. "There are other races your size where I come from."
"Now that is something new," Tyrion said, raising his cup.
"What is the Four Horsemen?" Arya asked, her curiosity insatiable.
"Those who serve Balance," War replied. "Sounds poetic, doesn't it, little one?"
She nodded eagerly, and for a moment, War allowed a faint smile.
"And what is this 'Balance,' exactly?" King Robert asked.
"Too complex for your kind," War said flatly. "You may think of us as executioners."
"Then there are three more like you?" Arya asked.
"Yes."
"By the gods, you're a warrior indeed! That greatsword of yours is as tall as a man and heavy as a horse! You'd make quite the champion in a tourney!" Robert laughed heartily.
The feast went on until midnight. Little Arya kept asking War endless questions until her father finally ordered the children to bed. War was given a luxurious guest chamber by Winterfell's standards.
As the night ended, each person left with thoughts and suspicions of their own. From what the Horseman had said, his purpose was to destroy beings worshiped as gods. Whether his words were true, none could tell — and none dared to call them blasphemy. This powerful stranger was an enigma — salvation or doom, none could yet say.
....
In their chambers, Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn lay together. Though their marriage had not begun with love, years of shared life had forged true affection.
"I was terrified something had happened to you," Catelyn whispered.
"I'm sorry I frightened you," Ned said softly.
"Do you truly believe he's a messenger of the gods?" she asked.
"I don't know, Cat. I'm just a man. But it's hard not to believe — if you'd seen him fall from the sky and live, you'd think the same. Any mortal would've burned to ash."
"I'm frightened, Ned. And the King — he wants you to go to that viper's nest, King's Landing."
"Don't worry, Cat. Everything will be fine," Ned reassured.
"Winter is coming… isn't it?" she smiled weakly.
"Ha, you—"
A sudden knock interrupted them.
"Lord Stark, Lady Catelyn," came Maester Luwin's voice. "A rider has just delivered a letter for you."
.....
Outside, snow had begun to fall again. The North was known for its bone-deep chill; even in summer, snow merely came less often. Seasons in this world were strange — each lasting for years before yielding to the next. As this long summer neared its end, the air grew colder. Perched on a tree branch, a strange raven watched the guest chamber intently.It had three eyes. Its gaze seemed to pierce through the walls themselves. How peculiar.