The sound of crackling wood and the murmur of the cold wind were the only noises in Rickard Stark's study. The Lord of Winterfell was standing, back turned to the door, gazing out of the narrow window that overlooked the heart tree. When Arthur entered, Rickard didn't turn immediately. He lingered there, absorbing the silence for a few moments.
"You've arrived at the right time, Arthur," Rickard began, finally turning to face him. His face was marked by lines of concern, something rarely seen. "We have a problem at our borders."
Arthur crossed his arms, attentive. "What kind of problem, my lord?"
Rickard sighed and pointed to the open map spread across his desk. "Raiding groups have been attacking villages at the borders of Stark lands. Small bands, but organized enough to cause damage. Villagers have been killed, crops burned, and women taken."
Arthur furrowed his brow. "You want me to go with Brandon to deal with them?"
Rickard nodded slowly. "Yes, precisely. I know my son. Brandon is a natural leader, but his impulsiveness can be dangerous. I need you there to ensure he doesn't make a costly mistake."
Arthur gave a wry smile, tinged with irony. "So, I'm to be the voice of reason for the heir of Winterfell?"
Rickard let out a short laugh, his expression softening momentarily. "Something like that. You've earned my respect, Arthur, and I believe you can earn Brandon's as well. More importantly, I trust your skills to keep him safe."
Arthur nodded, setting aside the jest. "If that is your will, my lord, I accept."
Rickard approached and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder, a rare gesture from him. "It's not just my will, Arthur. It's a necessity. And I thank you for this."
...
The group departed Winterfell at dawn. Brandon led the way, mounted on his horse, his expression one of determination befitting his role as the heir. Benjen, ever insistent, had convinced his father to let him join the party, and Arthur kept a close eye on him. Despite his youth and eagerness, there was a vulnerability in the boy. Arthur knew Benjen wanted to prove himself, but he feared the boy was seeking validation in all the wrong places.
As they rode, Brandon turned to Arthur, a teasing smile on his lips. "Let's see if you can keep up, man of distant lands. I won't go easy just because my father sent you to protect me."
Arthur laughed, urging his horse closer. "Oh, so you think you need protection? I'd say it's the other way around."
Benjen burst out laughing, clearly enjoying the exchange of banter. "I'm betting on Arthur this time, Brandon!"
Brandon narrowed his eyes, still smiling. "We'll see, Benjen. We'll see."
...
They rode through dense forests and snow-covered fields, following the tracks left by the raiders. The air was cold and biting, but the group's mood remained light.
It was only when they encountered the first band of raiders that the tone shifted. There were eight men, poorly armed and disorganized, standing guard along a stretch of the road.
"Let's finish this quickly," said Brandon, his eyes alight with the thrill of battle. Drawing his sword, he spurred his horse forward, the rest of the soldiers following closely behind.
The raiders were outnumbered and tried to flee, but they were no match for the Stark party. Arthur moved with his usual agility, dodging blows and swiftly taking down two men. Brandon fought beside him, fierce and relentless, cutting through the enemies like a whirlwind. Benjen, though hesitant at first, managed to handle his opponent, landing a blow with his sword that felled the man into the snow.
When it was over, Arthur glanced around, assessing the scene. "These weren't the main group," he said, sheathing his swords. "Far too disorganized."
Brandon nodded, still catching his breath, but with a triumphant smile. "You're right. But they can't be far."
...
The sun was already setting when they spotted smoke on the horizon. It was thick and black, rising in spirals. Brandon's face darkened, and he sped up, riding toward the village.
Arthur followed closely, keeping an eye on Benjen to ensure he stayed near.
They arrived at the village, and the scene before them was utter chaos. Houses were ablaze, the stench of burning flesh mingling with the cold air, and screams of pain and despair echoed through the streets. Arthur halted for a moment, a deep discomfort swelling inside him.
He had fought before, faced wildlings and dangers beyond the Wall, killed men, but this... this was different. This wasn't a fair fight. It was slaughter. One man was dragging a woman by the arm while another raider held a child by the hair, a blade pressed against the child's neck. Villagers lay sprawled on the ground, some still trying to crawl away, others already lifeless, the snow stained red with their blood.
Arthur felt something rising within him, a profound rage he hadn't known he was capable of feeling. His fists clenched, and he could almost hear the sound of his blood boiling. This was not the kind of brutality he had expected to encounter. In that moment, he realized just how little he truly understood the world he had been thrust into.
Brandon charged forward, shouting orders to the soldiers. Benjen was pale, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. "Arthur, what do we do?" he asked, his voice trembling, laden with fear.
But Arthur didn't respond immediately. He stood there, trying to process the carnage before him. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, as if releasing something trapped within him. He looked at Benjen, his eyes colder and more calculating than ever before. "We end this," he said, his voice low but filled with fury.
And then he charged, his swords glinting in the reflection of the flames. Until now, he had always fought because others had struck at him first. But not this time. This time, he would kill because he would not allow such vermin to remain in this world.