"That is not lady Like," Sansa said; the girl had bright auburn hair, a trait from her mother mixed with stark blood. And she had taken much more than just that, even her mother's Attitude, "Sansa did not much like Rumi, she had a queer name for a girl of the north, her mother was of black skin and hailed from the summer isles, perhaps that is where the name came from.
"Everything is not lady-like to you? Why does it matter anyway? My papa says that it does not matter if you are a lady or a man; only strength matters." Instead of wearing dresses like Sansa's, Rumi had opted for the occasional leather trouser and linen shirts. She felt much comfortable with boots under her feet. Arya, who was at the corner, laughed and stabbed herself with the needle. "Ow," she said, blood prickled at the center of her thumb. She did not lick it. Instead, she wiped it at the side of her thigh. "If you do not act like a lady, no man will marry you," came the voice of the septa. "And the gods are cruel to those who are not married," she said, wanting to strike fear into the small child.
"Please, the gods don't care who worships them as long as you do, and who is to say they exist, what are we to believe the words of a bald fat man who loves children on his lap and calls himself High Septon" The septa, without thinking, went to slap the small child, but her hand was caught midway. "You should know septa, here in the north we worship the old gods, and it is because I worship the old gods that I am my father's daughter, strained and trained in the arts of which you know nothing of. If you had truly struck me, I would have killed you," said the child. Rumi stood up, let go of the woman's hand, and walked out, asking Arya to come with her. Arya stark ran out following Rumi, seeing the chance to leave the sowing room. She was eleven years of age by now.
The both of them laughed as they were alone in the halls of the keep. Arya wore a blue dress gown and wanted to have some fun, so they headed to the courtyard. It was there they found Robb and Jon, and between the two was Bran, who was practicing his archery. Lady Stark and lord stark were at the parapet, looking at Bran as he practiced. So far, he has had only two in the dummy. Looking over to Rumi, Arya grabbed for a bow and an arrow. She took aim before bran and loosed the arrow, and it hit dead center.
Robb turned to see that it was Arya who had shot the arrow, and a bright gleaming smile came from the girl. Robb had that one look in his eye, the one that spoke of chase. The two girls turned around and ran, but Rumi was picked up by her father. It was around that time when Ser Rodrick came with news. Climbing the brown wooden stairs that were wet with rain, he came to lord stark. And spoke. "My lord news from patrol, a deserter of the watch. They caught him some time ago. I just got the news," looking to his lady wife and Bran, who down below practicing his shot. He spoke. "Prepare the men." Turning around, Serge Rodrick climbed down the stairs. In the distance, you could hear laughter as Rickard tickled his daughter; all the while, he was watching his father and the interaction with Ser Rodrick.
There were no words that needed to be said. Rickard placed her down. And walked with her back inside the main keep. Opening the door to his chamber, his armor set in display was in the corner of it. It was a coated black chain male with a light tunic above it to cover the steel under it. At the neck was the fur of a mountain goat. The shoulder guard was covered and sown in with bear hide. His boots were also Bear hide. At the head was a headband with the symbol of his house, a fan with the upper part red, and the lower part where the handle was a wolf with its maw open. Some said that was—his dire wolf.
Rickard had only one light tunic and sleeves with black trousers. On the back of the armor was his cloak, which was made of black material, and the Banner of his house was displayed. He took it and placed it on himself. "But I want to go?" Rumi said, complaining to her father. "No, Rumi, there is no need for you to be there. It is best that no one knows what we do in the forest; if you go with the band, they will figure it out. Now go to your mother."
His wife had a small shop at the center of Winterfell, and she sold his work, swords, and blades that were of good quality and were much in quantity. Mikken was second to him when it came to making blades. Grabbing his two blades at the door, he walked out, heading to the stables. With his scent in the air and his hurriedness, his dire wolf felt him come close and bolt out of the stables. Opening one of the stalls, his black mare walked out; she was well-brushed and well-taken care of. Hodor had taken good care of her. "Come on, girl," he said as he mounted her and rode to the gates. Bran was already on top of his horse and his head down. Rickard slapped his head. "Brighten up, Bran; it will be quick," he said as he smiled at the boy to assure him, and Bran saw some semblance of hope that it would be as he imagined it to see a man die. But those
Around him, in their serious mood, thought differently. The gates were opened at once. Rickard rode before all the men and stopped by lord Stark and Jory, the captain of the guards opposite of him. "He is not ready for this," Rickard whispered to his father. Eddard looked at him, and there was a semblance of shared opinion. "Aye, but winter is coming, and I would rather have him prepared. Besides, if my granddaughter can handle it, so can my son."
"The difference lies in the method," Rickard said. Eddard knew what he meant by it. Rumi was a child stained with blood now; she was the very thing her father had become at a young age: a killer of unparalleled potential. Long before the rest of the castle figured it, they rode out of the hunting gates and into the Wolfswood. There was a shortcut in the forest that led to the stump; this is where men who deserted were beheaded.
"Do you know who deserted?" he asked. "Some kid named Will." That's all I know." Soon enough, they came out of the clearing to an open field of grass, and in the distance, by the stump, was a man on his knees, with his hands tied behind his back. His hair is disheveled; his hair is dark golden brown. His face paled from the cold and hunger as the group needed him, and he began to squill by backing away on his knees. "No, no," he whispered. Death gripped his soul, and it would not let go.
Rickard Dismounted from his mare. His dire wolf had gone off into the woods looking for a scent; in the sky above them, a raven flew circles over the men. Rickard looked the boy eye to eye, man to man. And his cold, dark red eyes with three tomoes in them were akin to death itself looking at you. As he neared Will, Rickard could hear the faint whispers of him claiming he saw something. "I saw them, I saw them, I saw them, m'lord," he claimed. Rickard went on his knees. "Saw what will?" he asked. His head snapped to the side, looking at Rickard. "I saw them, the white walkers. I saw them; they killed everyone," he said. With the Sharingan eye, Rickard could tell when a man was lying; that is why so many spies in Winterfell were easy to spot. The first thing a Sharingan teaches you is deception. And how to become a master at it.
"His gone mad, M'lord," said Jory to lord stark. However, Eddard looked to Rickard for his opinion. "Whatever he saw was something horrifying enough to shake him to this level, but all signs claim he speaks the truth, but then again, he could have taken something that made him see his fears. I remember I did that to a man once." Will looked to Lord Uchiha with the hope of coming out of this alive. "However, that does not mean it gave you any right to run from the watch. You are bound by oath to it, and if there is one thing I know about the watch, it is that you swear an oath of brotherhood. Who was in your group beyond the wall?"
"It was me, geared, and lord waymark," Will said nervously, though no one could tell if it was the cold or the nerves that made his teeth clatter. "A lord?" Rickard said bitterly as he stood upright, turning around. "Okay, will let me give you two options? You can take your chances out there in the cold lands of the north, but I am sure your brothers will find you, and it will end the same, and the northern folk do not take kindly to men who break their oaths. They will kill you as it is their right. However, I can end it here and now, quickly and straightforwardly, to spare you the pain. And most of all, I will tell your mother that you died fighting wildlings beyond the wall, that you were brave." He crumpled to the ground in sobs. His heart quickened with unease and fear. "I will take my chances," he said. However, the men did not untie their ropes or stand aside for him. "Untie me," he ordered. But no one moved. "You disappointed me, will," Rickard said as he turned aside to look at Bran.
Jon came close to him and whispered in his ear, "Don't look away; if you do, both Father and Rickard will know." Jon Snow looked at his elder brother and nodded. "Set him up." He ordered, and the men began to move. Jory was the captain of the guards; however, that was due to him following Rickard's training and being the second sword and Rickard having no interest in the position. Rickard was the left hand of the warden of the north. the man who made deals in his stead and did a thing for the benefit of the stark lands.
Will did not cry; he took the chance because it presented itself; either way, he knew he was going to die, "Lord Uchiha." He called out. Looking at the young lord with red eyes. "Please tell my mother that story," he said and then placed his neck on the stump. The cold bit his skin as he reeled back a bit, but he placed it there once more. His breaths had become easy and slow. Lord Stark had brought his house Sword of Valyrian steel. Ice is a large, broad sword, yet light as a stick that could be wielded with one hand. It had a long, large handle. That was brown and varnished. Lord Stark asked for the blade, and it was given. Ice was more of a ceremonial sword than a battle sword. Walking up the small hill. Lord Stark unsheathed the blade from its scabbard. The blade made a song as it slid from its sheath. There was a slight shock and a tear that came free from his eye, and then came the words, those Icey words with the sharp blade that came with it.
"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." and in one swing like sigh, his head came off, falling and rolling down to the ground like a ball. His eyes closed. Bran shook back with bated breath. He wanted to look away, but he was too shaken to look anywhere else. But then came the words of his bastard brother Jon: "Good job." However, he did not look to Jon for comfort; he looked to his father, but the man was ordering the caring of Will's body to be buried. He looked to the next person close by, and that was Rickard, who was looking at him the whole time. There was no smile on his face. However, there was a sense of pride.