Chapter Text
Ned rolled his head, grinning to himself when he heard the satisfying click of bones.
Moat Cailin had come far in the three moons he'd been stationed there. Three of the four towers were now complete and housing families, soldiers, artisans and others from the surrounidng towns and villages. When the word had spread that the Warden of the North was rebuidling the stronghouse, they'd flocked to the region.
The bannermen's ranks had swelled and Ned had even managed to convince two healers to stay and make Cailin their base. Children were being educated in the Children's Tower, much to Ned's amsuement and he'd watched one morning as a crannogman taught the children to weave fishing nets.
Ned couldn't believe how much progress had been made on a cause he and a hundred Wardens before him had deemed a lost one. In his previous life, he'd sent a hundred bow men to fortify the Moat but that was as far as he'd ever gone to boost the North's protection.
Howland appeared at Ned's elbow, a three-pointed spear in his hand which he leant on heavily.
"All is well?" he enquired, his eyes scanning the busy surroundings of cranngomen and Stark bannermen going about their business, intermingling with those who now called the Moat their home.
"I was getting lost in memories and what-ifs," Ned said good naturedly, turnign to his friend with a smile. "Foolish, I know."
Howland shook his head. "Nonsence. I find myself lost thinking about the past all of the time. For example, what would have happened if Lyanna had never chased those bastards away? We would never have crossed paths."
Ned titled his head. Before, in his previous life before it had all gone to shit, he'd met Howland Reed by accident. Lyanna had stumbled upon crannogman being attacked and set about with a tourney sword.
The ghost of his sister wrapped a heavy arm around his shoulders and Ned sagged under the weight of the memories. "I miss her. She was the best of us."
Howland nodded but gave no reply.
"When do you plan to return North?" Howland said after a moment of so of quiet grief.
"As soon as the stonemasons have decided how much stone is needed for the final tower. I trust leaving Moat Cailin in your capable hands now that the Frey's have been quelled."
Howland blinked. "Pardon?"
"Well, who did you think was going to run this place when I was back at Winterfell?"
"Do you think the other Lords of the North will be pleased with this decision?"
"They have to be. I have already sent word tenday ago with the ravens and none have marched down here to demand a change of heart. I trust you and the rest of the North trusts you. You can help teach the next generation," Ned said, turning and clapping his friend on the shoulder.
"Was this one of the Red Wolf's little plans?"
Ned's thick eyebrows rose in suprise. "Who?"
Howland scoffed. "Do not try to fool me, my Lord. My Jojen saw something. He dreamt of a Red wolf talking to me. I take it to assume that whoever they are is the one pulling the strings."
Ned sighed. "I take it you are also blessed with someone closer to the children of the forest than to us?"
Howland dipped his chin. "Aye."
"My Bran is... different."
"It is as you said, a blessing," Howland said simply, linking his fingerd around the spear's handle. "Come, join us frogging this morning. As you said, your time here is limited now."
Ned nodded once. "Of course. You will have to be patient with me. I am not as stealthy as I once was."
Howland's dark eyes shone. "I don't believe that for one moment," he said as he allowed Ned to lead them back through the Moat.
Tyrion set himself down at the table closest to the Stark's table. He glanced around, taking catalgoue of how many others had decided to break their fast so early after dawn. He'd already seen the Lady of the Keep wandering with one of her sons at her elbow but he'd kept out of her way.
He did not come to Winterfell to get trapped in one-sided conversations with bored high society wives. He'd not heard much about Catelyn Stark beyond the usual empty whispers about her beauty and her supposed happy union.
He knew that the Stark brood was large and the children were loved it seemed but Tyrion couldn't give two shits about them if he was being honest. He did not care for children, not even his own nephews and neice - especially his nephew - and so being around so many strangers unnerved him slightly.
He was so used to the Captial and how that ran that sitting in the Great Hall of Winterfell felt novel and unusual. Tyrion found himself enjoying the bracing cold. He liked seeing the servants rush around in thick furs and he subconsciously rubbing his nose into the collar of his own cloak.
It was one solid skin of a large fox-like creature. He'd paid too much in a market town a days ride into the North but it fit him perfectly.
Tyrion helped himself to a full bowl of warming oats as he watched the others in the room. Sat alone on the oposite side of the hall was a young man, uncaring about being caught staring at the King's brother-in-law.
Tyrion groaned and averted his eyes. The boy had the same curly hair he'd been told ran in the Stark family but he didn't look like Eddard. He was handsome, with dark hair and darker eyes. He sat back, watching Tyrion with an easy look on his face. A movement at the man's elbow made Tryion glance back. A huge black direwolf with mossy green eyes was also looking at him and it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
Danger, his mind screamed.
Tyrion felt his appetite leave him. He set down his spoon and smoothed the front of his cloak, looking around for the closest exit.
"He won't bite," the boy said, realising that Tyrion was trying to leave. "He's wary around stangers."
"Forgive me, but I am too," Tyrion snipped, sliding off of the bench and retreating back towards the main doors.
The man nodded, pursing his lips in thought.
"You're fortunate to have made it to Winterfell in time for Arya's nameday," the boy continued, getting up from his table and easily catching up with his long legs.
Tyrion swore in his mind. He hated being reminded about his stature with such simple cruelty. He couldn't even walk away from this boy with ease.
"It was not my intention," Tyrion said, allowing the boy to open the door and lead them into the drafty halls. "I am awaiting the next supply run to Castle Black."
The boy nodded sagely. "Yes, I had heard."
Tyrion raised and eyebrow and looked closely at the boy. "Oh?"
"My name is Theon Greyjoy, my lord," the boy, Theon, finally said, stopping to introduce himself. "This is Shaggydog," he added, head tilting to the black shadow that had been following them without a sound.
"A Kraken?"
"A ward of Lord and Lady Stark," was all Theon said in reply. "Like I said, good timing on your part to be here for a nameday. They are a true celebration," he smiled. Even his accent and the way he held himself in his furs seemed natural. Tyrion wondered in the boy could even swim, let alone sail.
"For who, did you say?"
As though she had heard her name being whispered about, Arya came barreling down a nearby staircase, her footsteps thundering around the quiet keep. Nymeria following suit. They stopped at the same time with both of their right feet raised ready for the next step. Arya and the wolf tilted their head to the right simultaneously.
Danger, Tyrion thought again at the sight.
"Theon," Arya said suspiciously, looking between the pair. "Mother is looking for you."
Theon flattened his lips and nodded. "My lord," he said before turning and disappearing down a bend in the corridor.
Tyrion watched him and his direwolf shadow leave before turning back to the young Stark girl but she was nowhere to be seen.
He turned on the spot to check she hadn't slipped past him and into the Great Hall but the doors were still drawn closed and he hadn't heard her move. Tyrion wrapped his cloak further around his shoulders and decided to head back to his rooms. He would wait for the next Castle Black shipment from inside. He could be quiet. He could be patient. He could hide away.
"I haven't seen Tyrion Lannister for a few days," Sansa commented in the safety of her parents' solar. "I had expected to run into him by now."
Catelyn carefully finshed the last word of her missive and then set the quill down, looking up at her daughter. "Pardon?"
"I haven't seen Tyrion. Has he already gone to Castle Black?"
Catefuly frowned as she carefully fanned the letter. "No. The next shipment isn't until after Arya's nameday. Forget about that, we need to make sure we are on the same page about this."
Sansa turned away from the fireplace and took a seat in front of her mother.
They had decided, much to Arya's chargrin, that they would celebrate her nameday and open the keep up to those in Wintertown and surrounding holds. It was the least they could do as Protectors of the area. They had been fortunate with their harvest and the stores were over flowing with food and produce.
"Has Lysa told you when she plans on leaving? They have been here for nearly ten days now. It is becoming impolite, even if she is your sister."
"She is grieving," Cat said simply. "Regardless, it will be nice for Sweetrobin to experience a nameday with his cousins, don't you think."
Sansa stayed quiet, mulling it over.
"How has Lord Baelish been these past few days?"
"He accompanied me to break my fast yesterday but besides that, he has been reading in the library when I have or enquiring about the smithy's production when I visit Arya. He is being very covert with his medelling," she recounted.
"Not put off by Lady?" Cat asked, a coy smile on her face.
Sansa smiled at that. "He does not approach without making a fuss and a lot of noise. She growls the entire time he is near us but I would rather he thought her an nuisance rather than an inconviencience." Sansa shuddered to think the lengths Baelish would go to to dispatch of her direwolf. "And him with you?"
Cat rolled the letter up tightly and pressed a gentle kiss to it. "He is going through partchment and quills quicker than a guest should," she said, irritated. "He asked about Ned's return twice this morning. I worry he is becoming too used to being here. He took the liberty of hiring out a bard for the nameday from the Vale. He arrived with his large entourage just after midday. It was a boon that Petyr agreed to house his gift in his quarters. Have you noticed we are hosting to a lot, as of late."
Sansa smirked. She had heard the noise and chaos of the bard and his instruments being unloaded from his carriage a few hours before. Several lean-looking, ill-dressed acrobats and someone she presumed was a fire-eater from his paraphanlia also trailed behind the loud, boasting bard. Sansa only hoped he was worth the coin Baelish had splashed.
"Arya ripped the dress that one of the handmaiden's made for her," Sansa said.
"Let her. She only needs to smile when necessary and stay for the duration. It is imperative we plant the seeds about Jon Arryn's murder. You and I will be busy hosting but let the others know. Nobody can know it started with us. It has to end here, Sansa, do you understand."
Sansa nodded and turned her eyes down. "We will make sure it's done."
"And then we can send Lysa back to the Vale and it is up to her to decide what to do. We cannot interfer beyond that. Perhaps she talks to our brother, perhaps she goes with the court of public opinion and lashes out at the Lannisters. Regardless," Catelyn said with a wave, "your father will be home soon and Tyrion will leave. The boys beyond the Wall will also be here before we know it."
Sansa heart skipped a beat and then froze. "With a wight."
Catelyn looked gravely at her daughter. "And that is when Petyr Baelish will live up to his name and reputation."