An hour prior, Eddard had made his way into the Godswood, with Benjen trailing just behind, a trace of anxiety evident in his steps. Together, they navigated through the thicket of ancient trees, their leaves whispering secrets of the old times. Deeper they went until they arrived at the clearing at the heart of the Godswood. Here stood the solemn Heart tree, its sentinel-like presence commanding the space beside the vast black pool that reflected the image of the tree.
As Ned absorbed the solemn tranquillity of their surroundings, Benjen's gaze was inexorably drawn to the carved visage of the heart tree. His heart leapt into his throat; the once-smiling face had morphed back into the sorrowful countenance of a weeping elder. The sight sent a shiver through Benjen, seeding doubt about the reality of what he had witnessed before Ned's arrival.
Noting Benjen's fixed stare and agape expression, Ned turned to follow his brother's gaze, yet he perceived no change—no trace of the anomaly that so clearly rattled Benjen. With a furrowed brow, he queried, "Benjen, what troubles you?"
Benjen stammered for a moment, the shadow of what he'd seen still lingering in his mind. "Wha—ah, it's nothing. It's just that... I remembered how we used to play here together with Bran and Lyanna. These trees and old gods are the only witnesses to those memories apart from us." The half-truth hung awkwardly in the air, a veil over his deeper concerns.
The Godswood was still as the old gods that watched from within its sacred bounds. Ned's breath misted in the chill, a visible testament to the chill that had nothing to do with the air. "Brother," he began, the word laced with the weight of a hundred unspoken apologies, "the burden of what might have been is a heavy one. If only I had been a little..." His words dwindled, swallowed by the silence of the Godswood, the regret as palpable as the whispering leaves.
Benjen's eyes remained on the heart tree, reflecting his internal turmoil. The past clung to him like the ivy to the ancient stones of Winterfell, a pang of creeping guilt over deeds undone and words unspoken. It gnawed at his insides, a hunger that no amount of time or confession could sate.
"Brother," Benjen began, the word carrying the weight of impending revelation. "I have reached a decision, one I must follow through with. I trust you'll honor it and not stand in my way." His gaze found Ned, seated upon an ancient stump beside the pond.
Ned's gaze rose from the black pool's rippling surface, the blood-red leaves' reflections stark against the dark water. He sat there, a figure of solemn contemplation, with the sheathed greatsword Ice resting across one knee, its hilt glinting dully in the dappled light that filtered through the canopy. At Benjen's words, he turned, his eyes a mirror of the steel he bore, hard and unyielding yet tempered by the fires of a harsh and unforgiving world.
"Brother," Ned's voice held the stillness of the frozen north, "speak your mind. You know I would never hinder you lightly. What decision weighs upon you?" There was a firmness in his tone, the command of the Lord of Winterfell, but also the openness of kinship and shared blood.
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with consequence. "I wish to take the black," Benjen declared, his voice steady despite the turmoil that churned within. It was a path he had pondered with great care, the thought ever-present since the day the raven's dark tidings had come, bearing the news of Lyanna's demise.
Eddard's eyes, which had seen the horrors of war and the brittle peace that followed, now fixed upon his brother with an intensity that searched the depths of his resolve. To join the Night's Watch was to forgo all claims, all family, and all lands. It was a life of perpetual cold and watchfulness, where one's own blood was surrendered for the realms. It was a noble calling, yes, but a lonely one, and the finality of it lay as cold in Ned's heart as the Wall itself was said to be.
Ned's response was tinged with the cold edge of fear for his brother, the sort that only kin could evoke. "We have been marked by grief and loss," he said, the words slow and measured as if speaking them faster might make the loss more real, more biting. "And now you would choose this path? Did you not want to be a knight? You know well the gravity of what it means to take the Black?" There was no mistaking the concern that underpinned his words, a concern that stretched beyond the borders of their lands to the very edge of the world they knew, where the Night's Watch stood eternal vigil.
Benjen met Ned's gaze steadily, an undercurrent of resolve bracing his voice. "Yes, I once dreamed of knighthood," he admitted, the youthful aspirations seeming distant now, like shadows at dusk. "But dreams change, Ned. What I desire now is a life that gives purpose beyond the titles and lands we fight so dearly for." Inside, his thoughts churned with a personal burden, a silent mantra: It's where I can do penance for my mistakes.
"Consider waiting a while longer," Ned suggested gently. "Stay until Robb and Jon are a bit older; they could greatly benefit from having their uncle around as they grow."
"Cregan will be here for them," Benjen acknowledged a hint of resolve threading his voice. "Yet, I will tarry for six moons more before I make for the Wall." His words fell between them, weighted with a silent promise, a pledge of time given not just to his nephews but also to his brother and to himself.
Ned nodded, understanding the compromise Benjen was willing to make. "Six moons then," he agreed, relief mingling with the resignation in his voice. "Your presence will mean much to Cregan, the boys, and to all of us, Benjen. The Night's Watch will still be there when you're ready."
Benjen's resolve to postpone his departure granted Ned a fleeting solace, yet it also added another layer of contemplation to his already burdened thoughts. As he stood before the Old Gods, his heart heavy with the weight of lost kin, Ned found this temporary reprieve a bittersweet addition to his meditations beneath the watchful eyes of the heart tree.
As Ned closed his eyes and leaned back against the rough bark of the Heart tree, seeking solace or perhaps guidance from the Old Gods, Benjen's gaze drifted upward. The carved face of the weirwood loomed above them, the same ancient visage of an old man etched with sorrow that he remembered.
His mind churned with unanswered questions. The inexplicable change in the tree's expression haunted him. But why was it smiling before? And how? Was it real or merely a trick of the light, a figment of my imagination? The thoughts pressed urgently upon him. I must speak with Cregan at the earliest opportunity, he resolved, feeling the weight of the mystery compel him toward answers only his other brother might provide.
Time slipped past as Benjen settled onto a wooden stump, slightly removed from where his brother found his own solace. The cool whisper of the Godswood surrounded him, deepening his introspection. Like Ned, Benjen wrestled with heavy thoughts—his impending commitment to the Night's Watch, the inexplicable alteration of the weirwood's expression earlier that day, and the lingering memories of their sister which seemed forever entwined with the ancient trees around them.
Finally, Ned opened his eyes, taking the most peaceful rest he had ever taken in the past two years. He found Benjen still sitting nearby.
As Ned's eyes fluttered open, the weight of his burdens seemed momentarily lifted, replaced by a sense of tranquility that had eluded him for too long. The dappled light filtered through the canopy above, casting a gentle glow upon the sacred grove.
To his side, Benjen remained, a silent sentinel in the shifting shadows. Ned's gaze lingered on his brother, gratitude welling within him for the steadfast presence that had offered silent companionship through moments of reflection.
"Benjen," Ned called softly, his voice a quiet ripple in the tranquil stillness of the Godswood.
Benjen stirred from his reverie, his thoughts reluctantly pulled back to the present moment. "Ah, yes, Ned," he responded, his tone carrying a hint of deference.
"Could you summon Cregan for me, please?" Ned continued, the weight of his words softened by the serene surroundings. "There are matters concerning his future that I wish to discuss.
OOO
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