As the group drew closer to Winterfell, Karl immediately noticed the change in the air.
The heavy snowfall that had followed them along the Kingsroad gradually thinned, and the biting northern winds that once stung like knives softened into a damp warmth. Thin wisps of steam curled upward from cracks in the ground, merging with the fog that lingered low over the earth. It felt strange—almost magical—after days of relentless cold.
"So the book wasn't exaggerating…" Karl murmured under his breath. "Winterfell really is built atop hot springs."
The thought filled him with curiosity. He nudged his horse forward, following the patrolling cavalry who had intercepted them earlier. His breath rose in pale clouds as he stared around with a childlike wonder.
The world before him looked nothing like King's Landing.
On either side of the muddy road, houses made of rough-hewn logs and unpolished stone stood clustered together, dark and sturdy like silent sentinels. Smoke drifted lazily from a few chimneys. The smell of pine, cold earth, and distant hearthfire mixed with the faint scent of minerals rising from the heated ground beneath Winterfell.
Compared to the capital, everything here felt ancient… and enduring. Rugged, perhaps even austere, yet undeniably alive.
But something felt odd.
Karl noticed it the moment they entered the outer town—Winter Town.
The streets were nearly empty.
The houses looked lived in, but only sparsely. The stalls stood abandoned, their wooden planks darkened by frost. A few stray dogs wandered, but no bustling crowds, no merchants shouting, no children playing.
It looked like a village waiting for something, or someone.
"Is this normal?" Karl finally asked aloud. "Doesn't anyone live out here?"
Liam—the patrol's squad leader—glanced back at him. He was a broad-shouldered man with windburned cheeks and the calm, steady eyes of a seasoned northerner.
"Oh, they do," Liam replied. "Just not now."
Karl blinked. "Meaning?"
"We call this place Winter Town," Liam explained, nodding toward the empty lanes. "Like the name suggests, it's mostly abandoned during the warmer seasons. Only in winter does it fill to the brim."
He lifted his hand, pointing at the vacant stalls.
"Those? In winter, they're rented to merchants. Hawkers from White Harbor, peddlers from Bear Island, even traders from the mountains. Hunters bring down furs, pelts, bone crafts, and mountain herbs. They trade them for grain, salt, or tools before heading back to their homes."
His voice took on a warm and almost nostalgic tone.
"By the first true snowfall, these streets will be so crowded you won't even see the mud."
Karl's eyes widened. "So that's how it is… Fascinating."
He genuinely meant it.
This wasn't in the books—not like this. Experiencing the North with all its peculiar traditions and rhythms gave him a strange thrill, like stepping into a living version of the stories he'd once only read.
"It sounds like an ancient tradition," Karl admitted. "Something uniquely northern."
Liam laughed heartily. "Southern boy, if it interests you, wander around here more often. There's plenty to see—especially for someone not raised in the snow."
Behind Karl, Kexi and the other men of the Blackrock Mercenary Group listened with wide-eyed curiosity. None of them had ever ventured this deep into the frozen North.
But then Liam mentioned winter.
Not cold. Winter.
And suddenly, their expressions shifted from curiosity… to horror.
"Winter?" Kexi nearly choked on his own breath. "Isn't this cold enough?!"
He rubbed his gloved hands together frantically.
"Last night I wrapped myself so tight I thought my ears would fall off and stay in bed come morning! And I had to hold my little buddy with both hands just to pee! One gust of wind and I swear I'd have to give up mercenary life and work in a brothel!"
The northerners around them paused.
Then exchanged glances.
Then burst into laughter—loud, booming, genuine laughter that echoed beautifully across the frosty air.
Even Liam doubled over slightly.
It lasted several seconds before he shook his head and sighed.
"No, southern boy," he said, voice suddenly solemn. "This isn't cold. Not yet."
His gaze drifted toward the looming silhouette of Winterfell.
"Winter in the North is harsher than you can imagine. It is a force you never take lightly."
His voice dropped low.
"We always keep Him in awe."
A chill ran down Karl's spine—not from the cold, but from the weight of those words. Even Kexi fell silent, swallowing hard.
The mere mention of winter shifted the atmosphere.
No one spoke after that.
The cavalrymen resumed their duties, Karl and his group fell in line behind them, and together they rode through the last stretch of Winter Town toward the fortress that had stood for nearly eight thousand years.
Winterfell.
The closer they approached, the larger it grew—massive, ancient, unyielding.
Karl first passed under the shadow of the outer walls: grey granite rising more than eighty feet high. Arrow slits dotted the structure, and figures moved behind them—guards watching, judging, deciding who was friend or foe.
Just ahead, another wall—taller, thicker, sterner. Nearly a hundred feet high, shaped from enormous blocks of ancient granite that seemed fused to the very earth. Between the two walls ran a deep stone-lined moat, steaming faintly from the heat that seeped through the ground.
Karl felt the weight of history pressing down on him.
No wonder Winterfell had never fallen.
"These walls look like they've seen centuries of battle," Karl remarked quietly.
Liam's voice carried pride. "More than centuries. Winterfell has stood for thousands of years—and it'll stand for thousands more."
Past the second gate, they entered the inner ward. Courtyards, training grounds, smoke drifting from chimneys, the clang of metal from afar, the smell of heated stone and warm water rising from hidden springs beneath the earth.
Winterfell wasn't beautiful in the traditional sense.
It was strong.
And strength could be beautiful in its own right.
The cavalry led Karl toward a smaller courtyard lined with stables. Men rushed to take hold of the horses, offering polite bows. Karl dismounted and patted his steed gently.
"Sir Karl Stone," Liam said, stepping forward, "I'll take you to meet Lord Eddard Stark. Your men will be tended to and will be provided warm lodging."
Karl nodded gratefully. "Take care of my horse. Once I meet your lord, I'll need to return to my men."
"No trouble at all."
Liam led him toward the main castle. Their footsteps echoed softly against the stone pathway as they climbed the steps leading to the keep.
Halfway there, Liam broke the silence.
"Forgive me for asking, but…" He hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully. "Sir Karl, are you a member of the Kingsguard? I noticed the white cloak you're wearing…"
Karl paused, startled.
Ah. That.
He had forgotten—his armor, recently polished, gleamed bright, and the cloak he wore was indeed white… but not that white. Not the pure, symbol-laden white of the Kingsguard.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"No," Karl replied softly. "I'm not part of the Kingsguard."
Liam blinked, surprised. He opened his mouth as if to ask more, but something in Karl's expression made him stop. The young knight's eyes held a flicker of mixed emotions—nostalgia, regret, perhaps even hope.
Liam chose silence.
Karl exhaled lightly. "Thank you for guiding me, by the way. I don't think I've asked your name."
"Liam Locke," he replied with a friendly smile. "But don't call me a knight. I'm no such thing."
With that, he led Karl toward a slender, grey-robed figure waiting by the entrance of the keep.
A man of thin build, with grey hair, grey eyes, and the unmistakable chain of maester links around his neck.
"Maester Luwin," Liam introduced politely, "this is Sir Karl Stone, the vanguard of King Robert."
Luwin bowed slightly, studying Karl with calm, thoughtful eyes that seemed to read more than they let on.
"Welcome to Winterfell, Ser Karl," he said warmly.
Liam excused himself and departed.
Karl now stood alone before the maester.
"Come," Luwin said, turning toward the corridor that led deeper into the castle. "Lord Eddard Stark is expecting you. Let me take you to him."
Karl inhaled deeply.
Winter had a shadow.
And today, he was about to meet the man who ruled it.
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