"Draw! Loose!"
The master-at-arms at Winterfell called out as Bran nocked another arrow. The second son of House Stark lifted his bow and let fly, but the shaft landed just off the center of the target.
Laughter rippled through the yard. Robb, Eddard's heir. Theon, his foster son. Jon, the bastard. And others besides. Across the yard, on the gallery opposite, Great Lord Eddard and his lady watched in silence.
Among the boys, Theon Greyjoy was the eldest. When he was ten, King Balon's rebellion had been crushed, and his two elder brothers slain. That made him heir to House Greyjoy and the Iron Islands. Afterward, Great Lord Eddard had taken him to Winterfell as both hostage and ward. Nine years had passed since then.
"Steady your aim. Calm your mind," Jon murmured to Bran.
Bran shot him a quick look, steadied himself, and loosed again. This time the arrow traced a clean arc through the air and struck the bullseye.
Jon began to clap, pride clear on his face. Lean and long-faced, with brown hair and grey eyes, he looked more like a Stark than any of Catelyn's children.
"Well done, our fine knight!" Theon laughed loudly.
Theon was known for his swagger and his easy, mocking smile. Nineteen now, slender and handsome, with dark brown hair, he carried himself like a prince in exile.
"Very good, Bran," Robb said, coming over to him. "An archer who keeps his courage will always shoot true."
Robb was growing taller and broader by the day, but his looks favored the Tully side. Fair skin, auburn hair, and the clear blue eyes of House Tully.
Knight. What a proud word, Jon thought quietly.
Robb's longspear carried more raw power than his own blows, yet Jon's swordsmanship and riding were among the best in the castle. And still, within the vast walls of Winterfell, there seemed little space that truly belonged to him.
"Have you heard?" Theon said in a conspiratorial tone. "The king's bastard has become a sellsword king Across the Narrow Sea. He commands great armies now. Unsullied. Screamer warriors. Freed slaves."
Jon's ears pricked at once. He had heard the stories as well. They said the sellsword king had never tasted defeat, that he excelled with longspear, warhammer, and in the saddle alike.
A flicker of envy stirred in Jon's chest. Both of them were bastards. Yet the other had already broken free of his past and carved out a realm of his own.
"If the king were to face his own son in battle, that would be…" Robb trailed off.
To him, it felt like a stain upon blood and honor. Kinslaying was a crime cursed by every god. And with the king's age and the rumors of how fat he had grown, Robb could not help but fear he might be struck down.
"It's only talk," the master-at-arms scoffed, twisting his mouth. "Boasts from those cowards Across the Narrow Sea. When it comes to courage and strength, who can match the North?"
Jon's gaze drifted toward the gallery opposite, where Eddard and his lady stood speaking in low voices. Bastards learned early to read faces and silences. Jon could tell that something had been weighing on them these past days.
"When Robb inherits Winterfell, Bran and Rickon will serve him well as his bannermen," Eddard said.
Lady Catelyn felt pride at the sight of her sons standing together. Yet even in this warm moment, the sight of the bastard, with features so strongly Stark, stirred a trace of unease within her.
She had never been able to love the bastard. It was the one thing she could never forgive Eddard for.
Jon was always there, always visible, always difficult to ignore. Worse still, his face resembled his father's more than any of her own children did. He carried the look of the direwolf's blood.
"Robert would not come north in person without reason. I have a feeling he means to summon me south," Eddard said quietly.
"South?" Catelyn considered it. "The realm is in turmoil. Old Jon is dead. Robert's bastard stands with the last of House Targaryen. By every measure, he will need his brother's help."
"I have thought the same. I may refuse him. My duty lies in the North. I have no wish to go south," Eddard said after a moment.
Catelyn fell silent. She had grown up in the warmth of Riverrun. The North was different, stark and cold. Its people followed the Old Gods. House Stark had been born to snow and ice, made to endure long winters.
"That may be so, but he is king now. A king is not as other men. To defy him would bring danger upon us."
"He loves me more than his own brothers," Eddard insisted. "Even if he curses me today, in a week we would be brothers again."
"That was before. It is not the same now." Catelyn did not wish to quarrel further. Whatever was to come would be decided when the king arrived.
"Even so, I only said I might refuse. If Robert truly asks me to ride to war, I think I would go. The last time I rode south was during King Balon's rebellion. This rising may prove no weaker than that one," Eddard said firmly.
"That was only Robert's… indulgence," Catelyn replied, keeping her tone even and carefully avoiding certain words.
"I warned him long ago. But when it came to wine and women, he never listened. Now we see the result." Eddard's mouth twitched. There was bitter irony in it. The king's excess had brought him a rival.
"Is it truly so grave?" Catelyn felt a chill creep over her, like the old tales of the Others. She knew how long and bloody the struggle between the Triarchy and House Targaryen had been.
"Myr, Lys, the Stepstones, the Disputed Lands. That is three quarters of the old Triarchy's strength," Eddard said. "And there are Targaryens besides, those two orphans. If Robert's son is as eager as they say, he may follow the Triarchy's example and blockade King's Landing's coast. If that happens, we will have no choice but to fight."
"That is the strength of two Free Cities combined," Catelyn said slowly. She knew little of the Free Cities, but she knew they were wealthy beyond measure. Two of them together meant coin, ships, and men in numbers not to be dismissed.
"It is easier to rise against a brother than against a father. If Robert means to leave the Iron Throne to Prince Joffrey, then he must face the danger Across the Narrow Sea."
"So you will have to ride south after all," Catelyn thought. Better that other lords strike the blow than that Robert be branded a kinslayer.
"Riding south may not be all ill," she added aloud. "The children are growing. Sansa, Arya. It would not be amiss to seek good matches for them in the south."
In truth, her hopes reached higher still. If one spoke of honor and glory, none stood above the royal house. Robert and Eddard had once been close as brothers, and the king would need Eddard's support. Yet the thought felt almost too bold to voice.
"Jon."
"He may go where he likes, but I do not think it wise for him to remain at Winterfell."
Eddard looked at Catelyn helplessly and said nothing more.