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Robb Returns by The Dark Scribbler
 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: K+, English, Fantasy & Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Robb S., Theon G., Domeric B., Words: 627k+, Favs: 6k+, Follows: 6k+, Published: Jul 16, 2015 Updated: Sep 287,742Chapter 23
Domeric
He vowed that he would remember the voice that Lord Stark had spoken with until the day that he died, whenever that might be. Surely the Old Gods had been speaking though the Lord of Winterfell. He had heard it and trembled like a leaf at the words. The Others had returned. And the King of the Others was awake.
And now, a day later he and Robb and the others were still searching the main keep of Winterfell, looking for anything that might have information about the deadly enemy North of the Wall. After giving the orders to search Lord Stark had collapsed again and had been ministered to at once, first by his frantic eldest son and then by good Maester Luwin and then finally by a frantic Lady Stark. Exhaustion had been the Maester's conclusion and Domeric and Robb had helped Lord Umber to carry Lord Stark to his bed chambers to sleep.
Lord Umber had looked at him mostly strangely when he heard his name from Domeric and he had inwardly cursed his father's reputation, as well as that of the family name. He would swear it again and again – the time would come when people would hear the name 'Bolton' and not quiver with fear and dread.
And now he, Robb, Jon Snow and the Greyjoy boy (who seemed to be always thinking about something these days) were all assembling in Lord Stark's solar, where Lord Umber was pacing about like a bear with a thorn in his foot.
When they were all assembled Lord Umber raised an eyebrow at them. "Well?"
"I found an old store room at the bottom of the Broken Tower with six barrels containing a thousand old nails," Jon said quietly. "But nothing else."
"There is nowt in the First Keep that we could find," sighed Robb as he gestured at Theon. "Save dust and dead spiders."
"And I searched the Crypts," Domeric said sombrely. "I found nothing."
Jon Snow jerked his head slightly at the mention of the Crypts and then he scowled slightly. "We need to think about what we're looking for," he said musingly.
Lord Umber, who had been rubbing his hand over his beard and scowling, looked up at this. "What do you mean? Ned – I mean Lord Stark – told us to search for anything that his Lord father might have left behind for his sons about the Others, anything that would have been left behind by his ancestors."
"Yes," Jon replied, "But from what I have heard of him Grandfather would not have left any records or objects that were precious anywhere where they could have been damaged. The Broken Tower leaks when it rains. So does the First Keep. And the Crypts are below ground. Yes, the last two are old, but surely past Lords of Winterfell, not to mention the old Kings in the North would have found a safer, drier place for them?"
There was a silence whilst his words were weighed by the others. "By the Gods you speak sense boy," Lord Umber rumbled. "Then we must search in the great Keep itself."
"Is there any word of Father?" Robb asked worriedly. "He has slept for a day so far."
Lord Umber smiled through his beard. "Your lord father awoke an hour ago, apparently hungrier than a Direwolf puppy and about as strong. He will join us soon."
"I'll join you now," said a voice at the doorway and they all turned to see Lord Stark walk in. he looked tired and drawn, but there was a slight smile on his face. "GreatJon, thank you for taking charge of Winterfell whilst I slept." He sank into his chair with a sigh and then looked at the little stone box on the table with an enigmatic look. "How goes your search?"
"Badly," Lord Umber said. "Ned, your lord father must have had something passed down to him, some mention or hint or word. You said that Brandon was troubled for a day after he came of age. What could he have been told?"
"I know not," Lord Stark sighed, before frowning and then looking about. "Wait. Could it be that simple?"
"What could?" Robb asked.
"This was my father's solar before it was mine," Lord Stark said sombrely. "I replaced the rug and added that bookcase in the corner, but I have not touched the rest. Have you searched here?"
The others all looked at each other – and then rather sheepish smiles emerged. "It would seem not," Domeric said with a smile. "Lord Stark, with your permission?"
"Granted, Domeric, granted," Lord Stark replied as he stood with a groan. "You'll have to search without my help though as I feel as if every part of me is still tired."
And so they started to search. Walls were tapped on, bookcases moved, rugs rolled up and stacked in a corner, until finally they faced the tapestries that were hung on two of the walls. One, showing a Godswood with Children of the Forest peering out shyly from behind the trunks and branches, revealed nothing more than a wall.
The second was different. It showed Bran the Builder at the Wall. And behind it there was a door. A locked door. Lord Stark stared at it, deeply shocked. "Why is it that I never knew that that was ever there?"
"Why would you have, Ned? Why would you have looked for it?" Lord Umber said sombrely. "Your father never had the chance to even tell you about it. This was all supposed to have been Brandon's."
A silence fell – a sombre one. Then Lord Stark stepped up to the door. "Well – I am here now." He looked at the lock. "One thing that Father did leave was a set of keys, most of which looked as old as Winterfell. Robb – can you open the second drawer down on the left of the cupboard by the door? They should be there." He frowned slightly. "I hope that one of them opens it. If Father took the key to this door South with him then… well, the wildfire would have melted it."
A deeper, even more sombre silence, until Robb returned with the keys. And some of them did indeed look as old at Winterfell itself. But a few looked as if they had been used more recently than the others and Lord Stark fingered them thoughtfully and then tried them at the door. The first would not turn, nor would the second. But the third did, with a squeal of a protesting lock and as the door opened Robb Stark muttered about the need for a little oil in the lock.
There was a dark void behind the door, a passageway that Domeric knew that only the Stark in Winterfell should enter, but Lord Stark turned to them all. "We will need torches, no, lanterns," he said huskily. "We will need light."
Lanterns were brought and then Lord Stark stepped though the doorway, followed by Robb and Jon, then Lord Umber and then Theon and finally Domeric. There was much dust underfoot, but the air smelled dry and not damp. And after a few paces Lord Stark stopped to examine the wall. "The stones are different here," he said musingly. "As if this part of the keep was built around another, older, building. A tower perhaps?"
Domeric thought about this. "Lord Stark," he called out, "There are parts of the Dreadfort that are similarly built. Old parts build over and around. I wouldn't want to guess what might be hidden there."
"Given your family, lad, I really wouldn't want to know what might be in those walls of yours," Lord Umber rumbled and Domeric was glad of the near-dark, for he felt his cheeks grow hot with shame.
"GreatJon, go easy on the lad," Lord Stark chided and then they passed on down the passageway until they stood in front of another door. This one was wood again, Weirwood perhaps, with a direwolf carved into it. Not the usual direwolf of the Stark banner, but something older and rougher.
A total silence fell and then they all watched as Lord Stark reached out and traced the outline of the direwolf with a finger that shook slightly. And then he pushed the door, which gave with a creak of hinges. The light from the lanterns caught the dust as it billowed slowly up.
There was a great stone slab in the little room, and alcoves in the walls around it. And they were all filled with… odd... things. There was a dull mirror of beaten bronze. A small leather bag that looked dried and rotted and by the edges that were peeping out contained what looked like arrow heads made from some kind of glittering rock. There was a skeletal hand in a small iron cage, with a dusty plaque under it and he watched as Lord Stark brushed the dust away to reveal what looked like runes of some kind. A tiny figure of a fat man with his legs crossed, made from some kind of green stone. And then there were the cylinders the length of his arm, with caps in the end about the width of a man's fist, that were stacked in many places, as well as what remained of a great and very old book. It looked as if part had been burned at one point, and it lay on the stone slab, before a chest of very old and weathered wood.
By the Gods, this is old, Domeric thought with reverence. No, these are old. He looked around, seeing more things in various alcoves and as the hairs on the back of his neck rose up a feeling came over him that all of a sudden they were no longer alone, that the ghosts of past Starks had suddenly gathered to witness this discovery.
Lord Stark leaned over the bench and looked at the half-burnt book. "Even some records are better than no records at all," he muttered.
Robb had reached for one of the cylinders and opened it and suddenly he looked up. "Father, this is full of paper! No – parchment!"
"This one has hide, I think," Jon added, having opened one of his own.
"And that is no skull of anything that I have ever seen before," Theon Greyjoy said with a slight quaver as he pointed at a something that had horns growing from it. "There is dust everywhere. When was that door last opened?"
"When my father was alive," Lord Stark said with a sad smile. He held up a piece of paper that was also covered in dust. "This is a note from him. To remind him to tell Brandon about…" He squinted at the paper. "The… keys to this place. And to dust a little more often."
"Ned, look at this," Lord Umber said with excitement in his voice. Domeric looked over with the others at the alcove that Lord Umber was peering into. There was a little bowl there with a rune carved in the middle of it and a small depression at the bottom. "That's the same rune as on the Hearthstone. As if it belongs in there."
Lord Stark nodded. "Jon, will you go back to my solar and get that little stone box please? And do not, for the love of the Old Gods, touch what's inside it?"
Jon Snow nodded and walked quickly out of the room. As he did Lord Stark turned to the chest and peered at the clasp. "Unlocked," he said musingly and then opened it. The hinges on it also let out a squeal that made them all wince, before the lord of Winterfell let out a grunt of surprise. As they all watched he reached in and with a slight groant of effort picked up a huge mace, if such a word could describe the thing that he held. It was made of a dull metal of some sort that had not a touch of corrosion or rust. Old leather wrappings were wound around its handle, and its head… well it was a thing designed to crush and kill. And it had stones of some sort – almost like the arrow heads in the bag – embedded in its head. This was not a weapon of chivalry. This was a weapon of death.
"Robert would love this," Lord Stark said with a slight smile. "This is a mace with but one purpose."
Footsteps rang on stone and then Jon Snow was back with the little box, which he handed over to his father. Lord Stark took it with a word of thanks and then opened it, before taking a deep breath and pulling out a small worn stone. He weighed it in his hand for a long moment and then relaxed a little, before placing it into the little bowl. "A perfect fit," he said. "I wonder what it does?"
And then the bowl flared with light, as if the Sun had briefly been within it, and Domeric heard a great voice in his head that drove him to his knees. "The Others come. The Stark calls for aid. You are needed."
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