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POV: Lord Rickard Stark
Location: Winterfell – Great Hall, Solar
The fires had long since dimmed, but the heat of the meeting still lingered. Lords leaned forward on elbows, cups drained, voices low and cautious. The scent of spiced wine and old wood hung in the air.
"Three villages saved," said Lord Glover, swirling the last of his drink. "Forty men returned. No dead."
"Quiet miracles make noisy men," muttered Roose Bolton.
Cerwyn frowned. "He didn't ask for coin or song. That should tell you something."
"It tells me he's clever," Barbrey Dustin said. "Clever men are dangerous."
"The boy saved lives," snapped Maege Mormont. "More than most of us have in a decade."
Roose didn't flinch. "And now he sits beside your sons. Are we so quick to forget how southern kings rise? Not by blood. By blade."
Rickard said nothing.
He watched them all.
Brandon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, saying little.
Benjen sat near the hearth, legs swinging, listening carefully but wide-eyed.
And Arthur—Arthur was gone. Vanished from the hall the moment duty allowed.
Rickard waited until the last goblet clinked against stone.
"We gave him a task. He returned with truth. And still we argue as if honesty is a weakness."
He stood.
"I'll not waste the fire on cold tongues. Let it rest for now."
The lords filtered out slowly, some with grumbles, others in silence.
Only Lyanna lingered behind.
Rickard looked at her from the head of the table.
"You stood beside him tonight."
She didn't blink. "You told the lords we needed unity."
He nodded slowly. "I did."
"But what you meant was obedience."
Rickard's jaw tightened.
"He's not like them," she said. "Not like Brandon. Or Benjen. Or me. He listens when others speak. He remembers what others forget. He doesn't need to prove anything."
Rickard walked toward the window and looked out at the godswood.
"I watched him ride through the gate. Not triumphant. Not proud. He looked like a man carrying names in his shadow."
Lyanna stepped beside him. "He is."
Rickard turned toward her. "Do you trust him?"
"Yes."
"Do you love him?"
She paused. "Not yet."
That was honest, and Rickard respected it more than any oath.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then listen well. Because what I offer next will shape the realm as much as any sword."
The next morning, Arthur was summoned to Rickard's solar.
The air was warmer than usual, fire already stoked. A map of the North lay unrolled across the table. Pins marked trade routes. Black stones for forts. Red for raids.
Rickard stood at the table with Rodrik and Maester Luwin nearby. Lyanna leaned against the wall, silent. Brandon was notably absent.
"You've done more than any retainer," Rickard said without ceremony. "And not just with steel."
Arthur said nothing. He waited.
Rickard gestured to the map.
"Times like these require more than banners. They require judgment. Instinct. And fewer mouths to please."
He looked up.
"You'll form a company."
Arthur's brow twitched. "My own?"
"Your choice of men. Forty, maybe fifty. Not knights. Not bannersworn. Riders. Scouts. Swords. Men who answer only to Winterfell. Through you."
Rodrik spoke next. "You'll act outside the court, but not outside the law. You'll protect trade lines, scout beyond the Wall if needed, answer threats before they reach our gates."
Arthur's voice was calm. "Why me?"
Rickard met his eyes. "Because I don't trust the world that's coming. But I trust the one who survived the last one."
Silence followed.
Arthur nodded once. "I'll need time."
"You'll have it," Rickard said.
He turned away, but Lyanna stepped forward.
"I have a request."
Rickard looked back.
"I want to ride with them."
Rickard's face hardened. "You are a daughter of Winterfell."
"She is also a fighter," Arthur said, surprising even himself. "And no one follows a sword they don't respect."
Rickard stared at them both.
Then, quietly: "So be it. But if anything happens to her—"
Arthur met his gaze evenly. "It won't."
Rickard exhaled. "Then go. Choose carefully. Wolves hunt best in lean packs."
As Arthur turned to leave, Benjen ran into the room, nearly slipping.
"I heard!" he said. "Is it true? You're making your own group?"
Arthur smiled slightly. "It seems so."
Benjen straightened, fists clenched at his sides. "Then I want to earn my place. One day. Promise?"
Arthur looked down at him.
"Not today," he said. "But if you're still standing when the world shakes—I'll keep a place."
Benjen grinned. "I'll train twice as hard."
Arthur ruffled his hair and walked out, cloak trailing behind him.
For the first time since he had come to Winterfell, he wasn't a guest.
He wasn't even a shadow.
He was becoming something else entirely.