[POV Arthur Snow]
When the towers of Winterfell appeared through the steam of the hot springs, the stories already claimed I had killed a hundred and fifty men, toppled a tower with Truth, and summoned a storm to hide the army's approach. Fenrir had grown to the size of a warhorse, and Hela possessed wings in two different versions of the tale.
The bells rang as the vanguard reached the Winter Town. People emerged from their homes, workshops, and stables to line the edges of the road. Some raised their fists to my father. Others shouted the Stark name while trying to recognize kin among the soldiers.
The crowd's movement slowed when the former members of the Brotherhood appeared behind the first wagons. Simon, Harwyn, Wenda, Fletcher, Ulmer, and Big Belly Ben remained covered by their new hoods and the demonic masks worn during the taking of the Dreadfort. No one outside our circle was to connect those figures to the men supposedly dead in the ashes of the South.
Perseus rode near Morghaz, keeping an eye on the arm bound to his chest. Kevin followed a few horses behind me, his face uncovered, enjoying every time someone repeated the kill count he had invented. Eldric, Belzakar, and Razdhan also traveled unmasked, blending in with the men who were already known in Winterfell as part of my group.
Fenrir loped beside my mount, indifferent to the stares and the children who shrank back as he approached. Hela had abandoned the wagon and traveled along the low walls, leaping between rooftops, woodpiles, and empty barrels.
The gates of Winterfell were open.
Brandon waited in the inner yard, wearing a thick cloak over his training clothes. Benjen was beside him, trying to see over the shoulders of the guards, while Lyarra kept one hand on her youngest son's shoulder. Servants, stableboys, and guardsmen occupied the galleries around them.
Lyanna was not with them.
I noticed her absence before dismounting.
I handed the reins to a stableboy and undid the straps of the mask still covering my face. The iron was cold on the outside and damp on the inside. I hooked it to my belt before crossing the yard, letting the people of Winterfell see who had returned beneath the fangs and horns.
My father walked past me toward Lyarra. She touched his face first, then his chest and arms, feeling for wounds hidden by his clothes. Rickard let her continue without interrupting, though he kept his eyes on the movement of the column.
Brandon reached me before the others. His eyes swept over Truth, the dried stains on my armor, and the mask hanging by my thigh. Then he grabbed my forearm and broke into a wide smile.
"They say you killed a hundred men," he commented, squeezing my arm hard enough to test for any hidden fractures. "I said fifty sounded more reasonable. A hundred and fifty would turn the story into a lie."
"Kevin started with fifty before we even left Bolton lands," I replied, returning the grip while pointing my chin at the culprit. "The soldiers added the rest on the journey. By the last village, I had also brought down a tower using nothing but my sword."
Kevin heard his name and raised a hand in our direction. A smile appeared on his face before he went back to talking with Perseus.
Brandon followed the gesture and then looked at the six masked figures gathered near the wagons. Wenda remained mounted, her injured leg resting in a strap attached to the saddle. Big Ben kept his horse close to hers, ready to stop any attempt to dismount without help.
"A messenger arrived yesterday saying six demons crawled out of the Dreadfort's walls," Brandon recounted, running a hand through his hair as he observed the black masks. "Benjen believed it right up to the part where one of them walked through a closed door without breaking the wood."
Benjen pushed his brother's arm away and stepped between us. His eyes were fixed on the mask at my belt.
"I said there might be a hidden passage," he protested, pointing at Brandon before reaching out toward one of the horns. "Can I wear it for a moment? I'll stay in the yard and I won't scare anyone."
I shifted my hip away before his fingers reached the iron. "The inside still has dried blood and several days' sweat," I warned, turning the mask just enough for him to see the stains near the edges.
Benjen pulled his hand back, but leaned in to keep examining it. "Is the blood yours?" he asked, wrinkling his nose when he caught the smell clinging to the leather.
"Some of it might be," I answered, hooking the mask back onto my belt. "The rest belongs to men who got too close."
Brandon placed a hand on Benjen's head and pulled him back. "That means you'll have to wait until someone cleans it. It also means you shouldn't stick your tongue on it to find out whose it is."
Benjen batted his brother's hand away with an offended look. "I wouldn't do that."
"You tried to taste boar's blood when you were seven," Brandon reminded him, keeping his palm on his forehead to stop him from stepping forward again.
"You said it was wine."
"You should have known by the smell."
Lyarra reached us before Benjen could find a comeback. She held my face between her hands and turned my head to one side, then the other. Her thumb brushed the black and white strands from my forehead as her eyes searched for cuts beneath the dried blood.
"Is this stain near your ear yours?" she asked, carefully pressing the skin around it.
"I didn't find any deep cuts," I replied, keeping my face still as she examined my neck. "Some of the blood dried before I could figure out where it came from."
Lyarra's eyes narrowed. She moved her fingers to a bruise near my jaw and pressed just enough to test my reaction.
"You always talk about deep cuts when you want to avoid the maester," she observed, letting go of my face only to examine my hands. "Luwin will look at every injury before you change your clothes."
"Qyburn already examined me during the journey," I explained, watching her fingers stop on one of the gauntlet's buckles.
Lyarra slowly raised her face. "The man expelled from the Citadel that you brought North?"
"He's still a competent healer."
She pressed her lips together, pulled my head down, and kissed my forehead. When she let me go, she kept one hand on my shoulder.
"Luwin will examine you anyway," she decided, using the same tone she would have used to order a servant to close a window during a storm.
"Yes, mother," I replied, acknowledging that any argument would only delay the moment I ended up in the maester's quarters.
Brandon opened his mouth, probably to comment on my obedience, but rapid footsteps echoed through the side gallery.
Lyanna appeared under the archway leading to the stables.
She wore a dark wool tunic, riding leathers, and mud-covered boots. Her brown hair was tied back haphazardly. She stopped a few paces from me, breathing quickly, as if she had run all the way from the fields outside the walls.
Relief showed first. Anger covered her face right after.
"You left without talking to me," she accused, holding her arms stiffly by her sides. "You told Rhoslyn to keep me busy with maps and lists while you slipped out of Winterfell to sneak into the Dreadfort."
Brandon slowly let go of Benjen's shoulder and began to back away. Benjen noticed the shift and followed his brother, though he kept looking between me and Lyanna. Lyarra stayed close, watching her daughter without interfering.
I undid the buckles of my gauntlets and pulled off the first one, tucking the leather piece under my arm. "I needed to keep you busy until the column left Winterfell. If you had found out beforehand, you would have tried to ride after us."
Lyanna crossed the distance and slammed both hands against my chest. The armor absorbed the blow. She shoved me again and grabbed the straps of the black leather.
"I would have said goodbye," she stated, pulling me closer. "I spent days hearing stories from soldiers who didn't even know how many men had entered the castle. One said you were run through with a spear. Another swore half your companions died in the dungeons."
I caught her wrists before she could ready another strike. "I knew the rumors would reach here. I hoped they would take longer than the column."
Lyanna looked up, her eyes shining with anger and the effort of keeping her voice steady. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Probably not," I answered, loosening my grip when I felt the resistance in her arms lessen.
Lyanna stood completely still for a few seconds. Then she let go of the armor and hugged me with the same force she had used to shove me. I wrapped my arms around her as she hid her face against my chest.
Her breaths came in short, ragged bursts through the fabric. When she finally pulled away, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve before glaring at Brandon, who was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
"Next time, you talk to me," she demanded, hooking her fingers into one of my armor straps. "Even if I try to follow. Even if you have to order four guards to hold the door."
I covered her hand with mine. "Next time, I'll talk to you before I leave."
Lyanna held my gaze, looking for any hesitation. Then she let go of the armor strap and snatched the mask from my belt before I realized her intent. She turned the iron over in her hands, examining the fangs, the twisted nose, and the short horns.
"This is hideous," she commented, wrinkling her face when she saw the dark stains inside. "Benjen is going to want one."
Benjen slipped out of Brandon's grasp and stepped close enough to look over her arm. "I already asked. Arthur said I can't wear it because there's still blood inside," he explained, pointing to a stain near the edge.
Lyanna tilted the mask to catch the light in the yard. "There's plenty. It also smells like something died inside a boot."
I took the iron from her hands before her fingers reached the inside. "Neither of you is putting this on your face until the leather is cleaned. And even after it's cleaned, the answer might still be the same."
Benjen opened his mouth to protest, but Lyarra placed a hand on his head and steered him toward the main keep. "Arthur still needs to be examined, the soldiers need to be fed, and your father has spent days traveling with lords who don't know how to end an argument. The mask can wait," she declared, shooting me a look that eliminated any possibility of disappearing before visiting Luwin.
My father heard the last part as he approached. The journey had left dust on his cloak and deeper lines around his eyes, though his posture remained unyielding before the gathered servants and soldiers.
"The lords will be given food, wine, and a few hours to remember they have families," Rickard said, touching Brandon's shoulder before turning to me. "The council begins after the ledgers are organized. Today, no one discusses borders in my hall."
Brandon looked at the Karhold men who were already following the document wagons. "Karstark will need to be told that twice."
"The Greatjon will need to hear it three times," Lyanna added, picking up one of my gauntlets from the ground and shoving it against my chest.
My father watched the two of them for a few seconds. "Then you can help them understand."
Brandon lost some of his smile. Lyanna immediately handed the gauntlet back to me, as if the object were responsible for the idea.
The stableboys began leading the animals to the stalls. Morghaz accepted Perseus's help to dismount after glancing only once at the wagon carrying the wounded. Wenda remained in the saddle until Big Belly Ben pushed the onlookers back and found two servants capable of helping her down without straining her leg. Simon, Harwyn, Fletcher, and Ulmer went masked to the quarters reserved for my group, escorted by guards who did not know the faces hidden beneath the iron.
Lyarra gripped my arm and began steering me toward Luwin's quarters. "You will walk under your own power, or I will have Brandon and two guards carry you," she warned, keeping her fingers tightly closed over my sleeve.
I looked at Brandon. My brother raised both hands and took a step back, making it clear he had no intention of crossing our mother on my behalf.
"I'll walk," I replied, letting Lyarra lead me inside the keep.
Lyanna walked by my side. Benjen stayed behind, trying to convince Brandon that a smaller, custom-made mask without blood wouldn't pose any danger at all.
For several minutes, the yard remained filled with horses, wagons, and familiar voices. The sound of wheels against stone accompanied our entry into the keep, while the Stark banners rippled above the walls in the cold wind.
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[POV Arthur Snow]
Three days later
The wounded were already settled in when a retinue appeared on the southern road. Wenda occupied a ground-floor room to avoid stairs, though she was already walking short distances leaning on a cane she despised. Morghaz kept his arm bound to his chest and spent part of his mornings watching the yard drills, correcting soldiers who had never asked for his opinion.
Simon, Harwyn, Wenda, Fletcher, Ulmer, and Big Belly Ben remained masked whenever they left their private quarters. The others moved about barefaced, known in Winterfell as members of my group.
The ledgers taken from the Dreadfort occupied two rooms near the library. My father had posted guards at the doors and forbidden any page from being removed. Eldric was examining the records alongside three Winterfell scribes, separating taxes, correspondence, prisoner lists, and payments made by Roose in the months before our march.
I was in one of those rooms when the first horn blast echoed over the walls.
Eldric looked up from a page covered in names and values. His burnt hand was wrapped in clean bandages, leaving only the tips of his fingers exposed.
"The call came from the south gate," he noted, keeping his index finger on the line he was reading. "Too large for a merchant and too organized for some knight seeking shelter."
I closed the book in front of me and listened to the second blast. The rhythm used by the sentries announced visitors of importance, without indicating an immediate threat.
"Keep working on the payments," I replied, pushing my chair back. "If my father needs the ledgers, he'll send someone for them."
Eldric dropped his eyes back to the page before I reached the door. "If they bring more documents, remind your father there are still unopened crates from our arrival," he commented, pulling the inkwell away from his bandaged sleeve.
I crossed the library and went down to the yard. The captain of the guard was already coming down the wall stairs, carrying a small red and black banner handed over by the outriders. Rickard appeared at the entrance to the main keep accompanied by Brandon, Lyarra, and Maester Luwin. Lyanna stepped out onto the upper gallery and rested her hands on the balustrade to watch the commotion.
The captain stopped before my father and offered the folded fabric.
"A retinue bearing the colors of House Targaryen is approaching along the Kingsroad, my lord," he reported, keeping his breath steady despite the hurried descent. "Twelve knights accompany a messenger, a scribe, and two wagons. One of them carries a sealed chest."
Rickard unfolded the banner and examined the three-headed dragon embroidered in dark thread.
"Did a knight ride ahead?" he asked, handing the fabric to Luwin so the maester could inspect the handiwork and marks used by the retinue.
The captain clasped his hands behind his back. "The outrider met two of them less than a league away. They said they carry documents from the Crown meant for you and Arthur Snow. They asked permission to enter and are awaiting your reply."
My father turned his eyes back to the walls. The guardsmen were already taking their positions by the inner gate, keeping the passage clear for horses and wagons.
"How many armed men ride with them?" Rickard asked, pulling his gloves over his wrists.
"Four guards with the wagons, besides the twelve knights. The messenger and the scribe also carry swords."
Rickard observed the gate for a few more seconds before making his decision.
"Open the outer gate. Their weapons will be counted before they pass the second," he ordered, pointing to the positions he wanted manned. "The knights may keep their swords while under escort. The wagons will be brought to the yard and remain closed until their credentials are verified."
The captain bowed his head and started to turn away, but my father stopped him with a gesture.
"After the inspection, bring the messenger and the scribe to the solar," Rickard added, turning to Luwin. "I want every seal examined before any document is opened."
The captain acknowledged the order and returned to the walls. Shortly after, the heavy beam of the outer gate began to be drawn back.
Brandon approached me and rested a hand on his sword belt. His eyes remained on the battlements, where the guards watched the road.
"Documents meant for you and a chest brought all the way from the South," he remarked, running his thumb over his belt buckle. "Did you manage to stir up some trouble you haven't told the family about yet?"
"Several," I replied, tracking the sentries' movements. "None of them required twelve knights and two wagons."
Luwin unfolded the small banner and inspected the embroidery in the light. "This retinue took weeks to reach Winterfell. They left before any news of the Dreadfort could have reached the South," he concluded, running his nail along the stitching that formed one of the dragon's wings.
Rickard kept his eyes on the gate. "Then the matter that brought them was already decided while we were marching."
The first trumpets sounded beyond the wall. The outer gate opened, and hooves began to clatter across the bridge at a measured pace.
The Targaryen knights entered in two columns. They wore black cloaks fastened with red dragon brooches, riding armor, and kept their swords sheathed. Between them rode a man with a short beard, draped in a dark cloak bearing no personal sigil. A thin scribe rode beside him, clutching a leather satchel to his chest.
Two wagons followed behind. The first carried travel trunks, provisions, and equipment for the horses. On the second sat a dark wooden chest reinforced with iron. Three red wax seals secured the lid, all stamped with the three-headed dragon.
The retinue halted between the two gates. The captain of Winterfell approached with six guards, counted the weapons, and received a leather case from the messenger's hands. Only after Luwin examined the first seal from a distance did my father authorize the opening of the inner gate.
The messenger dismounted when he reached the center of the yard. He handed his reins to a squire, removed his gloves, and approached Rickard, with the scribe a few steps behind.
"Lord Stark," he greeted, bowing before my father. "I am Ser Willem Darry, sent on behalf of the Crown and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. I bring documents meant for you and Arthur Snow, along with the necessary authentications to have them recorded in Winterfell."
Rickard took the case without touching the clasps.
"Your credentials will be examined by my maester," he replied, handing the object to Luwin. "You and the scribe will accompany me to the solar. Your men will be given food and quarters. The chest will remain sealed under Winterfell's guard until I know the nature of what it carries."
Ser Willem cast a brief look at the wagon guarded by the Targaryen knights. Then he turned his attention back to Rickard.
"That is in accordance with the orders I received, my lord," he declared, keeping his gloves clasped in front of him.
My father pointed two fingers at the captain. "Give him the inventory of the men, horses, weapons, and items brought. No seal will be broken in the yard."
Ser Willem summoned one of the knights and asked for a small leather-bound ledger. While the captain received the inventory, Rickard looked first at me and then at Brandon.
"You two come with me," he ordered, adjusting his cloak over his shoulders. "Luwin as well."
Brandon let his hand rest on his sword hilt and stepped closer. Lyarra watched the four men gather, understanding from my father's choice that this visit went beyond simple royal correspondence.
Lyanna came down the final steps of the gallery and stopped beside her. Her eyes flicked from the case in Luwin's hands to the chest held under guard.
"What did they bring?" she asked, keeping one hand on the balustrade.
Rickard turned his face toward his daughter as he walked toward the main keep. "I will know after the seals are examined."
The answer ended the conversation. Lyarra touched Lyanna's arm and kept her in the yard while we followed the envoys inside.
In the solar, Luwin placed the case on the table and brought a lantern closer. Ser Willem remained standing by the hearth. The scribe pulled quills, ink, and a small ledger from the satchel at his chest, arranging each item on a side table.
Brandon took the seat to our father's right. I stood on the other side, watching Luwin compare the seals with the examples kept in Winterfell's records.
"Royal dragon, Hand's seal, and the prince's personal seal," the maester reported, turning the case to check the stitching. "The wax, the cords, and the marks appear authentic. The messenger also appears in the records of men sworn to House Targaryen."
Rickard waited for Luwin to step back. Then he broke the clasps and pulled out the first parchment.
He opened it on the table and began reading in silence.
His eyes scanned the first few lines without a change in expression. When he reached the middle section, his left hand stopped moving on the edge of the document. Brandon noticed the pause and leaned slightly forward, though he stayed in his seat. Luwin clasped his hands inside his sleeves and waited.
My father finished reading, returned to the top, and went over the text a second time. Then he handed the parchment to Luwin.
"Read it and confirm every formula used in the decree," he ordered, keeping his fingers near the broken seal. "I want to know if there is any discrepancy between this text and the templates recognized by the Crown."
Luwin took the parchment and moved it closer to the lantern. His eyes tracked across the lines much slower than my father's had.
Rickard turned to Ser Willem. "Who knows the contents?"
The knight kept his hands clasped in front of him. "The king, the prince, the officers responsible for authentication, the scribe accompanying me, and the men in charge of the royal records. The escort knights know only that they protect documents and goods sent to Winterfell."
My father looked at the scribe. "Did you make any of the copies?"
The man set his quill on the table before answering. "I copied the decree that will remain in Winterfell's records and verified the versions carried by Ser Willem. The texts are identical, Lord Stark."
Luwin finished his first reading and left the parchment open on the table. "The formulas are correct. The decree bears royal authority, confirmation from the Hand, and the required witnesses. The wording grants exactly what it claims to grant."
Rickard indicated the document with a tilt of his chin.
"Read it, Brandon."
My brother took the parchment from Luwin's hands. His initial interest faded as he progressed through the lines. When he found my name and grasped the content, his fingers tightened on the edges of the document. He finished reading, went back to one of the central paragraphs, and checked the words a second time.
Brandon looked up at me. There was surprise on his face, accompanied by a satisfaction he wasn't yet trying to hide.
"Does Arthur know?" he asked, keeping the parchment open in his hands.
"Not yet," my father answered, turning his gaze to me. "You will be next."
Brandon walked around the table and placed the decree in front of me. His thumb rested on the margin for a moment before he let go of the parchment.
"Read it slowly," he advised, stepping back to let me closer. "The second half changes quite a bit."
The first line bore my name. Below it, the king's titles took up almost the entire width of the parchment. I read on until I found the words that had frozen my father's hand.
The text acknowledged my parentage, legally terminated the condition bound to the name Snow, and granted me the right to use the name Stark. It also authorized the founding of a new House, with a name and words, should I choose to do so.
I finished reading and kept my eyes on the royal seal. Brandon stood by my side, watching my reaction. My father waited until I moved my hands away from the parchment.
"The lords who marched with us are still in Winterfell to discuss the future of the Bolton lands," Rickard declared, pulling the document back to the center of the table. "Most of them would have received this news by raven within a few days. They are under my roof now and will hear the proclamation from the same mouth."
Ser Willem bowed his head, acknowledging the decision without interfering.
Rickard placed an iron weight over the top edge of the parchment. "The public reading will take place tomorrow in the Great Hall. I will summon the lords, my family, and the witnesses I deem necessary. Until then, the contents remain restricted to those present in this solar."
The scribe closed his small ledger without recording the order before looking at Ser Willem. The knight confirmed with a discreet nod.
Brandon rested his hands on the table and turned to our father. "We need to prepare the House's position before the reading. Some lords will just see a legitimation. Others will immediately start calculating inheritances, marriages, and lands."
Rickard stared at his eldest son for a few seconds, weighing the observation.
"That is why you are in this room," he replied, pulling a chair closer to the table. "Sit. Before the North hears the decree, I want to know everything my heir believes they will try to do with him."
Brandon took the seat and pulled the parchment closer. I remained standing beside him while Luwin prepared a clean sheet to record the points my father deemed important. Ser Willem and the scribe left the room to rest in their assigned quarters.
The discussion continued until the candles had burned down to almost half their height. Brandon started with the Karstarks, who might see my legitimation as an opportunity to secure the eastern border through a marriage. Luwin added the Manderlys, who could offer ships, silver, and a daughter or niece before any other House had time to draft a proposal. My father listened to every possibility, correcting them only when Brandon ignored an ancient rivalry or ascribed too much loyalty to an oath sworn decades ago.
I kept my eyes on the map of the North spread out next to the decree. Every House had its own desires, borders, and fears. The change of my name would offer a new piece for arrangements that had existed long before I was born.
Ser Willem and the scribe were dismissed after Rickard confirmed the terms of the public reading. Luwin placed the decree in a reinforced box and sealed it with the Winterfell crest. Two guards remained stationed outside the solar through the night.