Chapter 2
"I want two sentries posted outside the boy's door at all hours. If he awakens, alert me at once. No one is to let him out."
"Yes, my lord."
Ned and Jorey Cassel were seated in the solar, where they always went to discuss important matters. It was a sparsely decorated, but still charming in its own way room with granite walls, a large tapestry of a direwolf hanging behind a black ironwood desk, a dining table for when his family joined him at meals, and a bearskin rug by the hearth.
Not only did the fire blackening the hearthstone fill the room with warmth, but the hot springs beneath the castle made him feel like he was sitting in a furnace. Sweat trickled down the back of his doublet as he rolled out a map of Westeros across his desk; Jory leaned closer so he could see.
"The boy has a tattoo on his arm, a skull with a snake running through its mouth. I thought he might be from Dorne," Ned said, pointing to the southernmost part of the continent. "The Manwoody's in Kingsgrave have a sigil of a skull too—only theirs is white and has a gold crown."
"What about House Lynderly? Their sigil is a snake I believe."
"Yes, eleven green snakes on a field of black."
Jory shrugged, "It could be a personal sigil, one he made for sentimental value."
"That is possible. I shall send a letter to Lord Lynderly to confirm this," Ned was quiet for a few moments as memories from long ago flitted through his mind. "Jon never cared for tattoos, said only men with something to hide decorated their skin." That was Jon; blunt, righteous to the root, and always seeking truth.
Jory looked contrite. "My lord...I haven't had a chance to tell you how sorry I was when I heard about Lord Arryn's death. He was a very honorable man."
"That he was." Ned wished he could have seen the man just one last time before he'd passed. It seemed almost cruel how fast he was taken, leaving behind a misery wife and a sickly son. At least Lysa had the good sense to leave King's Landing; it couldn't have been healthy living around so many Lannisters.
A sharp knock on the door heralded Maester Luwin; he was carrying the queer leather bag they'd found on the boy's person. It was empty when Ned looked inside, but the old maester wanted to check to see if there were any poisons or weapons sewn into the material. Catelyn thought they were being too overly cautious, but it wasn't everyday a stranger just happened across Winterfell with nothing but the clothes on his back and a empty bag. The Starks had enemies just like any other great house, and with the King on his way, they needed to staunch all threats before they became a problem.
"Did you find anything?"
Maester Luwin shook his head. "Whatever reason the boy came here for, he traveled alone and unarmed. It's safe to say that he is not a danger to anyone here."
"Maybe he's just a beggar and nothing more," Jory said.
"I hope so..." Sighing wearily, Ned rose from his chair and strolled over to the tall, narrow window that faced the courtyard below; a light snow had begun to fall, flooding life back into the bleak maze that was Winterfell. He could see everything from here; the library across the bailey, the guards hall, the kitchens, even the glass garden beyond the godswood. It was times like these where he was very aware of his fortunate upbringing. Who was he to call himself warden of the North if he couldn't protect the people, or help them when they were in need?
"When the boy awakens I shall let him rest here for a fortnight, but nothing more."
----
Draco remembered racing down the Hogwarts corridors, he remembered how his heart pounded, the dryness of his mouth as he struggled to breathe. Someone was chasing him...
Then, just when he thought he might get caught, he woke up in a strange room he had no memory of falling asleep in. He looked around, taking in the medieval style furnishings; brass chambers pots stacked beside an ornate, wooden hearth, bleak stone walls, an oil lantern on his night table, and a featherbed that smelt faintly like wet dog. Through the frost covered tower windows, he could hear horses galloping, wheels creaking slowly along pavement, birds nestling in the rooftops...voices and footfalls. Suddenly the door swung open, and two girls wearing ratty roughspun gowns entered the room; one was carrying a chamber pot, the other a stack of clean bedsheets. They both froze when they saw him sitting up in bed.
"Where am I?" He demanded, peering down his nose at them. The skinny girl blinked owlishly and turned to her squat companion. He could tell they were both muggles, and judging by the way they were dressed probably lowborn too.
The squat girl hurried to his bedside and pressed a cool hand to his head. She had curly copper hair and freckles all over her round face.
"How dare you put your hand on me," he said, slapping her hand away as if it were a Cornish Pixie. The girl jumped back.
"Bah hing you to Wintfell, voy?" She said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Dow you have ba nasba?"
"Huh?" Now he was the one blinking owlishly. He never heard this language before, it sounded like gibberish.
"You hont speeknah kommonz tong?"
"I have no fucking clue what you're saying." Draco looked over at her skinny friend. She was tall and gangly with stringy blonde hair. "Girl, bring me my bag."
"Hazmeh we shull trell Lor Stark zat tha voy bes awake?" She said, glancing nervously at the red head.
"Ughh, you're both useless," Draco said, tearing his covers away and stomping angrily to the door.
"Oh, ko ko ko! You muz stay tobell Lor Stark zeturns," The squat red head said, grabbing the sleeve of his medieval style sleeping gown. Where the hell are my clothes?
Draco narrowed his eyes as he tried to decipher what she was saying. "I...must stay?"
"Stay—" the girl nodded, "tobell Lor Stark zeturns."
The name Lor Stark sounded very distinguished to Draco, but the idolized way the girl had said it made Draco uncomfortable. Was this Lor Stark just a stupid muggle who came across Draco while he was passed out, and taken him in out of the goodness of his heart, or did he bring him here on his own volition? Draco's father used to tell him about the witch trials years ago, how greasy muggles would steal wizards from their homes and burn them at stake.
"When will this Lor Stark...zeturn?"
"Behem zit heemus bem."
Draco was at a loss again. "Err, how long do I...stay?"
The girl nodded again and patted his cheek. "Stay." Then she waved to her friend and they both headed out the door. When Draco tried to twist the knob it wouldn't budge.
----
"M'lord, the boy is awake!"
Catelyn looked up from her porridge as two of her handmaidens came rushing into the solar.
"Is he the one that snuck past the guards?" Arya asked, her face brightening with excitement. Everyone by now had heard about the 'Boy Who Snuck into Winterfell.' The castle was a terrible place to keep a secret. Guardsmen were like old maids the way they gossiped.
"Are you going to behead him, father?" Robb asked from his side of the table. Theon snickered, Jon stared with those watchful eyes of his, Sansa was feeding her new pet direwolf with a tablecloth she had soaked in milk, and Bran and Rickon were half asleep, poking at their food.
"There will be no beheadings today," Ned replied, rising calmly from his chair; his grave voice sending a chill down Catelyn's spine. She excused herself and quietly followed out the door.
“How unfortunate,” Theon said through a mouthful of black bread. “Mornings in Winterfell just aren’t the same without a good beheading.”
Catelyn and Ned hurried down the covered bridge to the sickroom; the handmaidens prattling away behind them. They were the cook's nieces; loud, chatty, and lowborn to the core.
"I tried to get the boy’s name m’lord, but he doesn't speak the common tongue," Charlotte said breathlessly, her red curls bouncing as she struggled to catch up with them.
"He seemed awfully piqued," Lilith said dreamily; she was a tall girl, almost as tall as her son Robb. "Do you think he's from Lys? He's so handsome, I thought my heart was about to fall out me chest."
"Bet he's got a wife at home!"
"Bet he's got a wife and a mistress!"
The two handmaidens cackled raucously.
"Girls, please run along and help Sansa and Arya get dressed for their embroidery lessons. I believe it begins in an hour." Catelyn said, politely slamming the door to the sickroom in their stunned faces.
When she turned around, Ned was speaking quietly to the skittish boy. He looked to be around Jon's age, but younger in the face and lankier, with sharp, angular features, and eyes that were as pale as a frozen lake; grey and hard to read underneath all that ice. The boy had little body hair except for the silky blond strands on his head; it was styled in a queer fashion, long and wavy in the front and neatly trimmed in the back.
Charlotte had been right, the boy didn't speak a word of the common tongue. He looked at Ned as if he were a great big goose with ten legs.
"My name is Lord Eddard Stark," Ned said, pointing to his chest. He was a magnificent sight to behold in his white fur-trimmed cloak with a snarling, silver direwolf sewn on the back; it’s intricate needlework glinting regally in the candlelight. Catelyn wore a similar cloak over a powdery blue, damask gown. Northerners didn’t usually dress in such fanciful raiment, but every lord and lady must look the part once in awhile if they wanted the respect of their house.
"Lord Stark," the boy said, clumsily.
"Yes, and this is my wife Lady Catelyn," He said, resting a gloved hand on her shoulder.
Catelyn smiled down at the lad, but the frost in his mien didn't melt, and neither did the cold, foreign words coming forth from his pompous mouth. He was a far cry from the boy they found sleeping peacefully in the godswood. Maybe this was a test from the Gods, she wondered.
"What do you think he's trying to tell us," Catelyn asked, watching as the blond gesticulated wildly with his hands, his face getting more flushed by the minute.
"I think he's saying he wants to go home." Ned said with a startled laugh.
Catelyn shook her head as if his words had been eons away from what she’d been thinking. “No!” She said, her Tully blue eyes widening in desperation. “No. He can't go home. I will not allow it."
The boy looked puzzled, then he looked absolutely furious. "No!?”
"Cat, if the boy wants to leave—"
"My family is under great danger," she said, kneeling at the boy’s bedside. He pulled the covers up to his chin as if he were afraid she might hurt him. "I believe the Gods have sent you here to protect my family."
"Madness," Ned mumbled, looking embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, but you must stay here and keep the shadows at bay. It is your duty as our protector, as our gift from the Seven."
"...Stay?"
"Yes, dear boy, stay."