The Wolf and the Lioness - Winter Fury. (Patreon)

Eddard Stark, Training Yard – Winterfell.

"MY LORD! MY LORD! THINK THIS THROUGH! I..." Catelyn pleaded, only to be silenced by a single look from Eddard.

The eyes of the Lord of Winterfell, cold and calculating, settled upon his wife with overwhelming fury.

"Silence," he snapped before turning his attention once again toward the small Sept he had once allowed to be built for Catelyn, watching with deep satisfaction as his men tore it down stone by stone beneath the relieved and approving gazes of Winterfell's servants, guards, and guests alike.

The damned Septa from the Seven Hells screamed and hurled curses while the soldiers carrying out the demolition never stopped laughing and mocking her to her face.

The impassive gaze of Lord Stark swept slowly across Winterfell's training yard until it rested upon his beloved children, all of whom watched their father's actions in utter shock.

Robb's expression remained solemn, yet there was understanding within his eyes. Sansa, on the other hand, stared at the scene as though she were witnessing the greatest betrayal imaginable. Arya looked positively thrilled, watching the humiliation of the rotten Faith with almost wicked satisfaction, while Bran simply observed everything with complete confusion, unable to understand what was truly happening.

Eddard remained unmoved.

This...

This had to happen.

"My Lord, please! Think of the Seven! We..." his wife tried once more, only causing Ned's fury to grow even greater.

"I couldn't give a single damn about your worthless false Gods. Tell me, would your father ever allow a Heart Tree to be planted in Riverrun? No... the filthy Andals made certain to cut every last one of them down during their bloody invasion. If you wish to pray to your Useless Seven, do it inside your chambers and in silence. This is the North, and here..." Lord Stark declared, his voice echoing throughout the courtyard just as the final stone of the cursed Sept crashed to the ground and everyone in Winterfell erupted into celebration, while the expensive statues Catelyn had purchased without his damned permission were smashed to pieces across the frozen stones of Winterfell.

"...the Old Gods rule."

His wife burst into tears.

Truthfully...

Ned could not have cared less.

Too much had changed since Jon's disappearance.

Even more so since the visit of that strange being to whom Lord Stark owed so very much.

He had been blind.

As blind as a damned child within his own castle.

Blind to the schemes of his wife.

Blind to that cursed Septa.

Blind to the threats surrounding his family.

Blind to everything his nephew had been forced to endure.

Everything...

Everything he had witnessed through the Heart Tree.

How in the Seven Hells could I have been so blind?

The question tormented him relentlessly as he remembered every vile manipulation his wife had orchestrated over the years.

Gods...

Simply remembering it made Eddard feel as though his very blood roared with fury, demanding justice and retribution.

Unfortunately...

There was little he could do for the moment.

His gifts were still immature.

He required more practice.

More control.

His abilities had to be sharpened.

That...

Could wait.

At least until he entered the Godswood.

Before that, however...

His family needed to be set in order.

Beginning...

With his wife.

Eddard turned toward Catelyn once more. She stared in horror and disbelief as the filthy Andal idols burned beneath his orders, her hands trembling uncontrollably, as though she still could not comprehend what she was witnessing.

Good.

Lord Stark allowed himself a small measure of satisfaction.

He loved his wife.

He would always be grateful for the children she had given him.

But...

He had granted her far too much freedom.

It was time for Catelyn to understand, once and for all, that she lived in the very heart of the North.

And here...

The Old Gods ruled.

"Your sword, my Lord," one of his guards said respectfully, prompting Ned to nod his thanks before calmly accepting Ice into his hands, while Ser Rodrik escorted the group of traitorous servants toward him.

Every single one of them was crying.

Begging.

Pleading for mercy.

And to absolutely no one's surprise...

Every last one of them was a filthy southerner who had accompanied Catelyn north under the insistence of the bastard Hoster Tully to "care for her."

Every last one of them had proven to be nothing more than traitorous rats, secretly reporting the movements of House Stark back to their southern masters.

That...

Ended today.

Catelyn stared at her servants with wide, horrified eyes before turning desperately toward Ned.

"My Lord! What is the meaning of this? They have faithfully served—"

Ned was in no mood whatsoever to listen to foolishness.

He cut her off immediately.

"This southern filth are spies. Therefore, they have forfeited their pathetic and insignificant lives," Ned declared coldly as he stepped forward and slowly unsheathed Ice, drawing immediate terror from every traitor standing before him.

Conveniently...

Every single one of them had found some way to make his nephew's life miserable.

Through the Heart Tree, Ned had witnessed everything.

Cold meals.

Food drowned beneath excessive salt.

The countless occasions when Jon had been served nothing more than leftovers, as though he were some damned animal instead of blood of his blood.

Merely remembering it was enough to make Lord Stark's rage boil over once again.

The first traitor was forced to his knees.

The man sobbed uncontrollably.

Begging.

Crying.

Pleading for mercy.

Eddard Stark showed none.

One by one, before his wife, his children, and every inhabitant of Winterfell, Lord Stark beheaded all five traitors, his expression never changing as his heart broke at the frightened little cry that escaped Sansa when she witnessed her father's actions.

Even so...

This was important.

He had remained blind for far too long regarding the failings in his children's upbringing, and that was something he intended to correct once and for all.

His beloved Sansa needed to understand that the world was not a fairy tale.

And the sooner she learned that lesson...

The better.

When the last head rolled across the frozen stone, Eddard regarded his work with a somber expression, finding no pleasure whatsoever in what he had just done. Silence reigned throughout the courtyard of Winterfell, although the overwhelming majority present wore expressions of obvious satisfaction and approval, their hatred and contempt for every southerner more than evident.

Catelyn stared at her former servants in complete shock. Her body would not stop trembling, and although Ned found no satisfaction in what he had just done, it was important that his wife understood one simple truth.

She was in Winterfell.

And here...

The Starks ruled.

Not the Tullys.

"Rodrik, place their heads inside a crate and send them to Riverrun, accompanied by a gutted trout. It should be a clear enough message for Hoster Tully to understand," Ned ordered in an icy voice, prompting the knight to bow respectfully before replying.

"As you command, my Lord."

Rodrik immediately turned around and began carrying out Lord Stark's orders.

However...

Ned had one final reminder for the old knight.

"And... should you ever again dare suggest that some Ironborn brat is worth more than anyone carrying Stark blood within this castle..." Ned began, his cold grey eyes fixing themselves upon Rodrik's back.

"...I will cut out your tongue and send you to the Wall without a second thought."

The threat froze Rodrik where he stood.

The old knight slowly turned around, his face filled with caution and unmistakable fear, before giving a silent nod of understanding and disappearing with the bodies.

Ned inhaled deeply.

Slowly calming himself.

Preparing for what came next.

He turned around at an unhurried pace and looked directly toward his family, meeting a collection of gazes that demanded only one thing.

Answers.

"I know you all have questions... and every one of them will be answered. Rest this afternoon. Sleep if you must. After supper... we shall have a long conversation in the Godswood. All of us," he said, his voice carrying unmistakable authority as his eyes settled directly upon Catelyn.

She stared at the ground.

Her body trembled with obvious terror.

"You are Starks, children of the North and descendants of the First Men, faithful to the Old Gods. You are not Andals. You are not Tullys. And you are certainly not filthy southerners. For far too long I have neglected the education of every one of you."

Ned's voice hardened.

"That ends today."

All of his children silently nodded before leaving the courtyard one by one, leaving Lord Stark alone with his wife, who did everything within her power to avoid meeting his eyes.

She was...

Terrified of him.

"We need to talk... tonight... in the Godswood."

His voice softened.

But only slightly.

"Do not keep me waiting."

The red-haired woman silently nodded, offered him a respectful curtsy, and hurried away as quickly as she could, quite obviously fleeing from his presence.

Ned remained standing in silence for a long while.

Finally...

He released a weary sigh and began making his way toward the Godswood.

After all...

It was time for today's lesson.

Lord Stark walked slowly toward his destination.

There was no hurry.

However, his little spies spread throughout the entire castle kept telling him exactly the same thing.

Every servant was pleased to see the "Trout," as everyone called his wife behind her back, finally being put in her place, just as they celebrated the destruction of the Sept. Apparently, Catelyn had been pressuring everyone to convert to the Faith, and they were more than delighted to see her reprimanded, along with the humiliation of the damned southern Faith.

Alas...

Interesting though it was, Ned had far more important matters to attend to before the meeting with his family.

There was still much left for him to explore.

The Lord of Winterfell entered the Godswood while discreetly moving his hands, making certain that no one else would interrupt him.

Ned still shivered every single time he performed magic.

It was something that...

Surprisingly...

He had become rather good at.

"A gift belonging to those who carry the Blood of the Wolf."

That was what his master had called it when their lessons first began.

And speaking of his master...

"You have arrived, young Eddard. Triumphant... and resolute, from what I have seen," the masculine, ethereal voice echoed gently throughout the Godswood.

The eyes of the Heart Tree ignited with a brilliant emerald glow, while the carved runic pillars Eddard himself had raised around the clearing illuminated softly, ensuring absolute privacy.

"After everything we witnessed... I had to make a superhuman effort not to do something completely insane," Ned confessed with a weary sigh before kneeling before the Heart Tree and beginning the relaxation exercises his master had taught him.

Instantly, Eddard felt the ancient, freezing magic of House Stark flood through his body, filling every part of him with strength and vitality while a thin layer of permafrost slowly spread across the ground surrounding him.

Exactly as his unicorn master had shown him several moons ago.

With practiced precision, Ned guided the Frost Magic through his hands, concentrating it, shaping it, mastering it...

Before releasing it once again through the Heart Tree.

"Perfect technique, Eddard. Your control has become remarkable... but your speed still leaves much to be desired. I suppose you are ready for another history lesson," his master said calmly while manifesting his spectral body before the Lord of Winterfell.

He was enormous.

With the body of a horse and an unmistakable horn rising proudly from his forehead, he stood at least twice the height of an ordinary horse.

Far more majestic.

Far more intelligent.

"I am. I have decided to instruct my children in the Ancient Gifts. I have seen... what the future has in store, and I do not intend to allow a single one of my little ones to end as they did. I will freeze this entire damned continent if that is what it takes," the powerful Lord declared, losing control of his magic for a brief instant as another wave of permafrost spread violently across every tree surrounding the clearing, causing his equine master to let out an amused neigh.

"The Dragon of Dragons grows stronger, as does his Lady. Soon they shall possess everything necessary to confront the Sparrowhawk. My people watch him with hope. He stands only a small step away from obtaining enough power to cross the Threshold at will," his master warned, making it perfectly clear that he was speaking about Ned's beloved nephew.

Lord Stark frowned deeply.

He remained silent for several long seconds.

Lost within his own thoughts.

And within the ambitious and frankly suicidal plan that had begun taking shape inside his mind.

"Then I shall make certain that, when he returns, he finds a world worthy of returning to. I spoke to you about my plan... about using Green sight and... pulling upon the threads of the past. You told me it was possible," Lord Stark said with unwavering determination, causing the unicorn to fall silent for a long moment.

"Possible does not mean easy. What you ask of me... to manipulate the roots of Time itself... will carry consequences. Some shall be beneficial..."

The unicorn slowly approached Eddard.

"...and others..."

His ancient eyes settled upon the Lord of Winterfell.

"...not so much."

The magnificent creature remained silent as he judged Eddard's resolve.

But Eddard possessed that in abundance.

He had seen the future.

The damned future that awaited his family.

His beloved Robb dead.

His daughter Sansa...

Used.

Defiled.

His little Arya...

Losing herself.

And his beloved Bran...

That was without even mentioning the damned Bolton betrayal.

And what they had done to his wife...

No...

It could not end like this.

The damned Rebellion had been an absolute disaster.

The only family that had truly lost everything...

Had been his own.

A Lord.

A daughter.

An heir.

But what had the damned southerners lost?

Nothing.

They had gained a fucking throne.

Influence.

Power.

Everything they could never have possessed while the Targaryens remained in power.

"Then let us continue our training. If my only alternative is the cruel future awaiting my family, I shall not rest until the roots of Time itself have been rewritten," Eddard declared with unwavering determination, staring directly into the immense and ancient Heart Tree.

The unicorn remained silent for a very long time.

But when he finally spoke...

The fate of Westeros had already been sealed.

"So be it, Young Wolf."

And with those words...

The fate of Westeros was sealed.

Forever.