Eddard was riding home from the southern frontier of Winterfell when he caught sight of the boys playing on the hilltop near the castle. He jerked the bridle on his horse and dismounted, watching the youths from the edge of the forest. They were chattering among themselves, their father could hear their merriment and laughter. Eddard smiled. He was especially pleased to see ten-year-old Jon Snow and Casta of the Outlands among them. Which meant that they wouldn't get into trouble - something the boys, unfortunately, had the greatest talent for. Eddard was anxious to get home, as it was a long drive from the southern pork market, and the last twenty miles were on a gradually ascending dirt road. His horse was tired and snorted wildly. The man patted his muzzle.
- Take it easy, buddy! When we get back, I'll put the best feed in front of you.
From there he could see the castle: it was far away from where the boys were playing. The castle was built at the forks of the stream for which the empire was named. It was a fine castle, built of hardy stone, and with a strong roof. It was cool in the summer when the wide windows were open, and warm in the winter when the gates were closed and all the fireplaces were lit. Animals moved around in the pen behind the castle. Catelyn saddled a pygmy pony and led him around the paddock while their youngest son sat in the animal's saddle. Rickon was only three years old, but he was already a reckless little boy and the pride of his family. Catelyn lifted Rickon off the pygmy pony and hugged him to her.
- Did you like it, my child?" she asked.
- 'Once more, mother,' the little boy held out his hand to the little coloured horse.
- Later - she promised. - Look, there is Badger Dog!" she pointed to the brown wolf lying in the shade.
Rickon's attention had shifted to the animal, and now he was scrambling to get free. Catelyn lowered him to the ground and the boy ran to the resting wolf. He wrapped both hands around the animal's neck and hugged it tightly. The animal licked his face, and Rickon laughed a great laugh. A black shadow flitted across the sky and a raven landed on top of the pen. The bird tilted its head to the side and fixed its gleaming coal-black eyes on the woman below. Eddard's horse neighed and pressed its head against the man's breast.
- All right, buddy. We'll be right there. - Eddard was just about to get into the saddle when the sounds of a heated argument from the boys on the hilltop struck his ears.
By the time he ran up to them, the fight had gotten pretty bad. Theon had blood coming from his nose. Eddard's twelve-year-old son Robb lay half-dazed on the grass, and one of his adopted sons, Jon Snow, was lunging like a wolf at the other two, pounding them with his fists, punching them with his head, kicking them with his feet. The Greyjoy boy also went sprawling after a terrifying blow to his left ear. Casta threw himself on top of him and also punched Robb in the nose with his fist. Eddard jumped behind Jon Snow, grabbed him by the neck by his black wolf coat and dragged him off his son. The ten-year-old boy twisted his body backwards, and his tiny fist landed with a snap on his father's face. The man let go and gave him a huge whack on the neck, causing him to fall off his feet.
- Enough of this!" he shouted. "What in the name of the gods have you done?
Silence fell on the hilltop. None of the boys spoke, and none of them dared to look him in the eye.
- 'They called us bastards,' Jon Snow finally blurted out, his blood dripping down his fur.
The boy and his injured brother turned their backs on their stepbrother. Theon sat on the ground, rubbing his face. Robb tried to sit up but slumped back. His father stepped up to him and knelt beside him.
- Where were you hurt?" he asked the struggling boy.
Robb forced a smile, but his face was grim.
- I'm not hurt, Father. I just tripped. I fell when Jon Snow knocked his knee up.
- 'That's an interesting way of putting it,' Eddard remarked, ruffling the boy's curly hair. - Stay still for a while until you regain your strength.
He stood up and walked over to Jon Snow.
- "That was a good punch," he stroked his chin. - I can still feel it.
If a conflict was settled with a joke, it usually worked for Jon. His anger was short-lived, and when his father made a joke, he calmed down and his northern features broke into a charming smile. And that solved the situation. But his other adopted son did not smile. He looked into Eddard's face, and for the first time the peaceful monarch felt uncomfortable at the glance of Casta's dark eyes. It was black, a little reddish-brown, which turned maroon in the sunshine. Eddard knew at that moment that something crucial and important had happened. He sat down on the hilltop and studied the boy's strong, hard features. A bruise was beginning to show on the right side of his face, and his lower lip was parted.
- Why did the fight break out?
Casta of the Outlands was silent for a while, then he pushed at his jet-black hair.
- Robb told us we were bastards. That our mother was a whore.
His black eyes searched Eddard's face, watching his features keenly. Eddard had lived with this fear for many years, and now it had come to him: he felt his heart overflow with despondency.
- I loved your mother, Casta. She stood by me in every battle and I was proud that she gave me two sons. Do you understand that? I never knew a nobler woman.
- Was she not a whore, then? - Casta's reddish-brown eyes locked with Eddard's.
The man sighed.
- You were just born: it was the night before the battle against the Mad King. Your mother wanted very much to see you as you grew up, to be there to guide you. She was struck by the shadow of death. It was a dagger through her heart.
He fell silent, his thoughts returning to that terrible day ten years ago when the Lannisters gathered to fight the Dragon King. Twenty-two thousand fierce-eyed knights faced eighty thousand determined warriors of the Mad King. It was a day of blood and courage, where neither side would back down. At the climax of the battle, a terrible storm erupted, lightning struck, sending the combatants flying, their bodies charred. Eddard took a deep breath.
- Listen to me, Casta! Robb, Jon, Bran, Theon and Rickon are your blood brothers. They stand by your side all day, watching your back like I watch yours. That's what matters.
- "Who was our mother?" asked Jon.
The two children clamored for hopeful truth. But Eddard could not give them that gift. Honor was more important to him than anything else. But he also knew that the young men would look upon the Northern Kingdom with a certainty born of inexperience. A Stark man is either a hero or a traitor. There were no middle paths. He made one last attempt to calm Jon and Casta's anxiety.
- Listen here! The Targaryens have been defeated, but they are making one last charge. We almost won, but they broke through. Seven of them attacked me and your mother. They killed her in Dorne, and that's enough! I lost a woman. You lost your mother. When the battle was over, I sat beside her. Her last words were of you. She wanted so much to see you grown up. And she would have been proud to have such strong sons. Come on, let's go home.
He picked up Robb, put him on his horse, and led the cattle down the hill. He thought that maybe he was telling the truth, that the boys' mother was not the same. He had to think of something sooner or later. The thought popped into his head like a shot fired from an ambush. Catelyn was furious after what had happened. She had protected Robb from them mercilessly and loved him more than any son she had conceived from Eddard. They married four years before the battle. Not out of love, but because she believed her unborn sons needed a strong father to teach them the skills of the Starks. Eddard was sure she would love him if he was kind to her. Sometimes he even thought Catelyn had a genuine affection for him. The truth was that no matter how hard he tried, there was always an unbridgeable distance between them.
One evening, on his eldest son's birthday, when Robb was thirteen, Eddard had a talk with his wife Catelyn about the problem. Eddard was sitting under the branches of the oldest tree in the God's Wood, with Catelyn beside him. Around them, the nobles of the realm drank, feasted and danced. Eddard himself was a little drunk. In his sober state he never broached the delicate subject. Catelyn, a slender and dignified woman who, despite her fiery red hair, retained her ethereal beauty, listened in silence.
- Have you ever done anything to offend me?" asked Catelyn finally.
- Never!
- Are you sure, Ned? You're as wicked a man as your father was. Did you sow your seed not only in your own whore, but in others'?
- No, I have not. I swear I didn't. I've always been faithful.
- Did you ever hit Robb?
- No, I didn't. I never even raised my voice.
- He got into a fight with Jon Snow and the other bastard.
- But it's over, and it doesn't matter.
- It matters to me, husband. Why did they fight?
Eddard shrugged.
- The boys often fight. It's their nature. They get angry pretty quickly. Robb said that Jon and Casta's mother was a whore, and that's why Jon broke his nose.
- Then I can't help you, husband. All I can tell you is that Robb has a right to be angry with you. You'd better hope his anger goes away. I think it will when his queen is pregnant with our grandson.
- And if he doesn't?
- Does he respect you?
- Of course. You know, like everyone else, that I'm not doing anything wrong.
- And do you love him?
- More than I can say.
- Then build on that respect, Ned. That's all you can do.
- I wanted to give him more than that. - He sat silent for a while, gasping wildly for breath.
Then he smiled.
- Is Sansa behaving well?
She nodded.
- How are things with Arya?
- She is a born mischief-maker.
- I tried to talk to her. She just sits there, listens, then runs off and gets herself in trouble again. I hit her with my belt, but it had no effect. She took her punishment without crying, and the next morning she stole a cake from the kitchen and in the evening she put a live toad under Bran's blanket.
- She's only nine, Ned. And kind-hearted. Don't be too hard on her.
The man laughed.
- Too hard?
- Do you love the other boys too?
- Of course I love them. Last week, when I told them about a white wolf in the godswood, Jon was there. He stole my best hunting knife, and then he disappeared. He's eleven years old, and I found him in the woods, huddled waiting for the wolf with a tin helmet on his head. He has courage. And when he laughs, you forgive him everything. Suffice it to say, I love them all.
They never spoke of it again until seven years later, when Robert Baratheon came to visit Ned Stark. By then Jon had become close
Casta. The two dark-haired, olive-eyed men had come to Stark land eighteen years ago on horseback, and had grown up in colorful clothes, embroidered shirts, comfortable couches and secure ramparts. Their father had them trained for battle by honorable swordsmen masters. Eddard spent three months among the Dornish, buying bronze and silver ornaments from Doran Martell, Lord of Sun Castle, and excellent animal hides from the Red Viper's special herd of black and white cattle. That night, when the candles were blown out, Catelyn went to sleep alone in the royal bed. Eddard took his blanket and slept in the barn. The next morning, he summoned knights and servants, who set to work at the far end of the King's Road to set up a cavalcade. Three weeks later he moved his belongings to King's Landing. The people of Winterfell were perplexed at the departure. Was not Eddard the strongest man, rich and brave? Was he not a good father and husband? Wasn't Catelyn lucky to have found such a man to take her, the young maiden, in his arms? It was well known that he adored her and raised all eight of her children as his own. But why did he have to go away? Septa Mordane, the nanny, could have told them, for she was picking herbs in the great field and saw the raven circling over the castle. But she said nothing. It is not wise for men to meddle in the affairs of the gods. Especially the gods of death and war, such as the Eternal Winter.