A/N: Just a simple prologue, nothing much. This story has been on my mind for quite some time now, and as such, I am bringing it to you all. It will have 8 Volumes/Arcs, with the last 2 being the longest of them all, with around 70-80 chapters each, while the other ones might be 10-40. Hope you guys enjoy.
«298 AC»
~Bran Stark Pov~
The morning had arrived clean and cold, with a harshness that suggested the end of summer. We had left at sunrise, my brothers, my father, and our guards. We were all riding horses to see a man be beheaded... well, minus me, as i was riding my pony. We were 20 men in total.
I rode my pony, nervous and excited, this being the first time I would go with my father, to exercise the king's justice, now that I was old enough. I am now 7 years old.
The man, who was captured in a small village around the hills, to the dissapointment of my brother Robb, was only a deserter from the wall.
My older brother Robb, would have expected to finally witness for himself the so-called "savages", cruel, slavers, murderers and thieves, but it seems that this time it would still not be his so long-awaited experience.
As we approached the place where the defector was trapped, it was possible to observe the steam coming out of our mouths and nostrils, due to the cold that was snuggling in the last few days, especially here in the mountains. 'Winter was coming', I thought.
Without delay, the focus of the 'Stark delegation' was positioned on our Lord, Eddard Stark, my father, who ordered the ropes that tied the man to a wall to be cut and dragged to join the group. I didn't even realize we had arrived.
A thin wind was blowing through the streets of the village where we were now, above our heads waving was the Stark banner of Winterfell: a gray wolf on a white background of ice.
Eddard Stark, my father, stood solemnly on his horse, his long brown hair waving in the wind. His neatly trimmed beard was flecked with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. Today he had a stern shadow over grey eyes, and he looked quite different from the man who sat by the fire at night, talking softly about the heroes and children of the forest. He'd taken the father's face off, and put on the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell.
There were questions that were asked and answers given, in the cold of the morning, but later, few men would remember what had been said. Finally, my father gave the order, and two of his guards dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump that stood in the middle of the village square. He had been pushed, the man, against the hard black wood, making him kneel. Lord Stark dismounted his horse, and his protege, Theon Greyjoy, presented him with the sword. That sword was called Ice, and it was as wide as a man's hand and taller than Robb. Of Valyrian steel, the blade forged with spells and dark in color.
Lord Stark took off his gloves and handed them to Jory Cassel, the captain of my house's Guard. Then, picked up ice with both hands and said:
"In the name of Rhaegar of House Targaryen, First of his name, King of the Andals and Ronyars and of the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I Eddard of house Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Keeper of the North, condemn you to death." And he raised the sword high above his head.
Jon Snow, my brother approached me.
"Keep a short lead over the pony," He whispered, "and don't look away. Father will certainly know if you do."
I did what my brother said and didn't take my eyes away. Father then cut the man's head off with a single, but sure blow. Blood, coloured red, splattered the snow, one of the horses reared and had to be held by some guards to keep it from running away.
"You did fine." Said Jon solemnly.
The weather seemed cooler on the return trip to Winterfell, though the wind had dropped and the sun was higher in the sky.
"The deserter died bravely." Said Robb Stark. "No," Corrected Jon Snow clearly, "it wasn't courage. He was scared to death. You could see it in his eyes, Robb."
Robb wasn't impressed.
"Let the 'others' take your eyes." Swore Robb.
And so, the brothers and father, escorted by Stark soldiers and guards, making small talk here and there, were finally on their way back home.
...
"Father, what led to the deserter's escape?" I asked curiously, as I rode slowly beside my father.
We had found little direwolves a few moments ago, one for each Stark son, in the woods, and were now heading home. Almost there.
"Tell me Bran, have you heard of the 'others'?" asked Eddard Stark, my father. "Certainly so, father, but they are just stories, aren't they?" I answered. "Yes son, but that's exactly what matters... the men of the wall often succumb to the terror of winter and end up fleeing the north, thus inventing strange and impossible excuses, exactly like this one." He replied with a calculating look. Robb and Jon slowly approached us and whispered "But that's not what really bothered you, is it father?" Asked Robb.
"No, it was not... tell me something my children, what do you know about "The Sword Of God"?"
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»297 BC«
~Ser Wayman Royce Pov~
'... I was dying, I could feel it easily. I could never survive against that thing.' I thought solemnly.
"So you are telling me... you don't know if 'The Sword Of God' has awakened already?" A cold, murderous voice whispered in my own mind.
"Aurghhh... I-...I don't k-know what you are r-refering to..." I tried to say between breaths, lots of blood was coming out of my mouth between the words i tried to form.
"Hmm, well, what a pity... then I guess there is no need for you to keep on living any longer."
*Slash* With a clean slash, the creature had taken the head of the human with little to none difficulty, leaving only a headless body in the snow, alongside a enourmous pool of blood and a single head a few metters from it.
'Interesting.' The thing thought, before dissapearing in the fog that was around the place where it stood before.
...
Strangely, a little to the left of where this scene just happened, a blur of black colour was seen, running towards the direction of the wall. Certainly, someone who had heard what was said.
Why the 'thing' didn't kill it though, no one knows, amusement perhaps?...
A/N: Yes, the little blur was indeed the man that got killed later by Eddard Stark, in the beginning of the chapter.
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»Back to 298 AC«
In the dark tunnels beneath the Red Keep, it was possible to observe two human forms in the dark. One of large stature, an adult, and one of small stature, a child. "So what you're saying is that you think the son of Lyanna Stark is alive, in Winterfell, is that it?" asked the adult, better known as Varys the spider with a little disbelief but intense interest.
"Yes sir, we believe the Targaryen son is alive in Winterfell, under the protection and watchful eyes of Eddard Stark, and is currently known as Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell." Said the child, recognizable as one of Varys' little birds.
Varys eyes widened slightly, "How sure is the information? I will not tolerate mistakes, especially in this matter." Whispered Varys.
"Almost completly sure sir, we found the supposed 'bastard boy' one day near a campfire in the wolfswood, alone, with a hand over the fire. It didn't burn, and the boy was stunned, suspicious. We have enough reasons to think that he does not know who he is... but is starting to think and doubt about it." Recalled the child.
Varys eyes shot open, showing intrigue.
"Go little bird, and pray tell no-one knows about this." Varys said after a few seconds. "Yes, sir." said the child, disappearing into the dark tunnels soon after.
*Sigh*
"I should be carefull on what I do with this from now on... or I could put the entire realm at risk with yet another war." Said Varys, after sighing tiredly.
-End Of The Prologue-