A possible one-shot, or idea for a fanfic. (Patreon)

"He is dying," he whispered.

"What can we do? It'll take even me moons to travel. We should focus on her," the child of the forest, whose name was Leaf, said.

"We can't. Her destiny has curves. His is straight; he will bring salvation, an end to the long night forever," Brynden Rivers gritted out.

"We can't help him, Bloodraven. It's impossible," she said sadly.

Bloodraven, Brynden Rivers, or the Three-Eyed Raven. His name had always struck fear. He had been the Hand of the King, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and Master of Whispers for three kings.

"I can do it, for we need him alive. I'll give away my part of the soul; I'll be integrated into the tree," he said determinedly.

"That's forbidden, Bloodraven. That's dark sorcery; he will be cursed." Leaf said, her face ashen.

"Not if he integrates my soul as his. He has the wolf half strong. The Targaryen half needs to be strong for him to fulfill the pact, 'A Song of Ice and Fire,' indeed." He said, closing his eyes.

"Who will lead him if not you? The Three-Eyed Raven can't die; a successor is needed," Leaf said.

"Only until he becomes what he needs to. It'll change his destiny, his appearance, and his personality. I can only hope for the best." He said, grimacing as the magic flowed from him two ways.

One connected to the newborn Aemon Targaryen, and another to the old Aemon Targaryen. The blind man got his vision, while the child got his life.

"Ned...I want you to keep him safe." She said, rasping between breaths.

"Lya, I will love him like a son, Robert..." He tried to comfort his dying sister.

"Must never find about him, He killed Princess and her children... He's not good on inside, Ned, please promise me." She said, the blood loss making her desperate.

"I will, Lya. Sleep for now, you'll feel better when you wake up." He said, well-knowing that the chances were slim she would ever wake up.

"Aemon Targaryen, that's his name. He's no bastard, Ned. He is mine..." She never finished her sentence as the life left her eyes.

"No, Lya." The man screamed, closing his eyes.

"She's no more, Ned. We need to leave, bring her to Winterfell, Robert has won." Howland Reed said from beside him, his arm on his shoulder.

The packing and preservation of her body took two days. In those two days, he had concocted a plan. He would bring the boy as his bastard, his own son. He gazed down at the sleeping baby as the horse moved on. Fortunately, he had black hairs, and the raven-like birthmark on his face hid the chin that was a copy of Rhaegar Targaryen.

He sighed; his family had been cut short. Out of his three siblings, only one remained, if he didn't count Elisa. His half-sister had rarely returned to Winterfell after her marriage; her life had been a bit tragic.

Losing her husband at the age of 25, with only a son as her comfort. Their relationship had never been strained; he and Benjen loved her as much as Lyanna, and so did his mother. It was his father who treated her wrong, and Brandon.

Old good Brandon, his father's heir, had been a true copy of his father, except he was nowhere near as smart. Rickard Stark had been an astute politician; even his bastard daughter was from the Boltons.

He had been engaged and set to marry, but his wife had died of a cruel case of measles. The child had been hers; he hadn't legitimized her as he should have, and the Boltons took that as an insult.

"I don't think you should hail him as your bastard, maybe Brandon's. He's been known to do so. Rodrick is still in Winterfell, isn't he?" Howland cut through his musing.

"And put this on his head, where's the honor in that?" Ned said.

"Ned, listen to me. Nobody in their right mind would think you could father a bastard; you wear your honor like a shield." Howland tried to reason with him.

"I can't put this on Brandon. I don't need a struggle for succession." He said.

"Bastards don't have a right to their father's name. And your wife would never accept; she can tolerate another bastard of your brother, but not yours." Howland said.

Ned frowned; it wasn't like he disagreed with Howland. Catelyn was a Tully, and the Tullys were known to be zealous advocates of the Faith. Hell, she had even demanded a septon and a small sept for herself. And the Faith didn't tolerate bastards; they were a creature of lust and trickery according to the new religion.

Ned sighed, "Elisa wouldn't believe this,"

"Then tell her the truth, to Benjen too. They deserve that, deserve to know about him, and about them." Howland replied. "He'll have a kinship with Rod, they'll grow up as brothers." He pleaded.

Howland owed that much to Lyanna, and while his lord was honorable to a fault, he wasn't shrewd. Someone needed to talk some sense into him.

Ned nodded, looking down at the dark purple eyes of the boy.

The trip to the Riverlands was uneventful. Jon, as he had named him, was a quiet child. It was a boon that the wet nurse had accepted to travel with them; she was loyal to her lord to a fault. And so was Trysten, a guard that Rhaegar had placed for Lyanna.

Trysten Sand was an enigma; he was tall, around six and a half feet, well-built, and carried twin swords. If he hadn't killed Arthur Dayne by his own hand, Ned would have mistaken the man for him.

Allegedly, he was the bastard brother of Ashara Dayne, who had pledged his sword to Lyanna, and now to Jon. He had sworn on old gods to never talk about the boy's true parentage and to work as a tutor to him. Ned had been hesitant, but Howland had talked him out of leaving the man.

The castle of the Tullys came into his view, the carriage with Lyanna's body rumbling on the uneven ground. In a few hours, he was at the castle gates. There, standing in all her glory, with red flowing hair, a curvaceous body, and a fair face, was his paramour, Catelyn Tully. And in her arms was a bundle that halted his breath.

He climbed down his horse, handing Jon to Howland. "Cat," he whispered, hugging her and kissing her cheeks. "And this little one is..." he asked, gazing down. The child had the familiar red hair of his wife and dark blue eyes.

"Robb Stark, your son," she said happily. She glanced toward the child in Howland's arms and back at Ned, surely not.

Ned noticed her gaze and looked back, beckoning Howland closer. "Ned, this is..." she started, but he cut her off.

"This is Jon, Jon Snow. He's Brandon's..." he said hastily.

"I get it. So, you're still eager to collect pieces of your brother's misdeeds," she said with a sniff.

"He is my blood. No matter what the circumstances of his birth are, Starks belong in Winterfell," he said stiffly.

Catelyn gazed up at him for a second before sighing and relaxing. "Fair enough, but he's the last of him, right?"

"As much as I know, him and Rod," he said.

Catelyn, in a rare show of open affection, raised on her tiptoes and kissed him. "I am lucky then, I got married to you."

Ned stiffened at the word before relaxing in the embrace. Howland's advice seemed very good right now; he would have put Jon in harm's way with his foolhardy plan. He nodded to Trysten, who carried the cart in. He couldn't wait; they would have to disembark this evening only. Lyanna was preserved on salt alone, he recounted as such to Catelyn, who nodded with a sad look.

They left the castle that evening, a new cart readied for Catelyn and Robb.

The guilt of his deed was still lingering when the snow gave way to the familiar castle of Winterfell, his home, their home.

The gates opened, and standing there were Benjen and Elisa, her hand on his shoulder and a bundle in her arms. Little Frederick Flint, or Fred as Elisa called him in their letters. The death of her husband had hit her hard, and it showed in the dark circles and gaunt face.

Benjen seemed to look for someone before his head hung down, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Ned knew whom he desired to see; it was futile.

Their group halted at the gates, and Ned climbed down. Benjen straightened his shoulders before speaking. "Welcome to Winterfell, My Lord. The castle is yours again." He bowed.

Ned eyed him; for a brief moment, his eyes were kind, but he nodded, and the moment disappeared. "Prepare the crypts," he said to the guard, who nodded and rushed off to follow his orders. He glanced toward Elisa. "Prepare her body, Eli. I don't think anybody else could."

His eldest sister nodded before walking off as the coffin was carried by the guards. Benjen looked at it as it was passed with sad eyes.

"Ben, this is Jon. He is Benjen's son, place a new crib in nursery with Robb." Benjen eyed the babe with apprehension before taking him, barking orders to household guards.

"It's hotter than outside," Catelyn said, breaking the silence that had fallen.

"We've got springs here; the pipes along the wall run with hot water, warming the keep," he replied as he led her to the room they would share.

The funeral was a sad affair; even Elisa looked heartbroken as their favorite sibling was laid to rest in the crypt. A stoneworker was given the job to build a statue of hers, though he did a crude job.

It was after the funeral when Ned was looking through the solar, papers strewn around him. He had never been groomed as his father's heir; that was Brandon's position. But his stay in Vale had its benefit; he delegated a lot of non-urgent work to Maester Luwin, who had worked for his father and grandfather and knew much about the administration of the keep.

It was as he was discussing the cost of firewood that a knock sounded at his door. "Enter," he ordered.

His younger brother entered, eyeing the solar with a sad smile before looking at Ned sardonically. "Ned, I want to join the Night's Watch." His brother said as direct as ever.

Ned felt his jaw shift. "Why? Is it because of Catelyn?"

"No, goodsister is not the reason. It's for Lyanna. I-I can't stay here. I will not be able—" Benjen began explaining.

"We all feel her loss, Benjen, but it's not for that you should leave this behind," he said.

"See, Brandon and father are gone. Lyanna is no more, your friend has won the rebellion and is the King. I have no need here, let me go." Benjen pleaded.

"No," Ned replied.

"What 'no'? I have every right. I want to go serve the Watch. You don't have any need of me. Little Robb is your heir, and you're back here." Benjen said angrily.

"That's where you are wrong, I need you here, Ben," Ned said, sighing.

"How?" Benjen snapped.

Ned looked up before calling for a guard, who was sent with the order to bring Elisa to the solar. The guard nodded and went on, bringing his sister to his solar.

"Ned," She said as a way of greeting.

"Elisa, please come and sit. I need to discuss something with you and Benjen." He instructed.

As soon as she was seated, he spoke again. "Father never trained me to be a lord; Brandon was secure in his position so he saw no need."

"But that's not what I need to discuss. It's about what happened to Lya," he said.

Benjen stiffened. "What about her? We all know what happened."

Ned looked at him before sighing. "No, you don't. Lyanna was never in love with Robert. She didn't know him, and when she came to know him, she despised him."

"But the betrothal—" Elisa said but was interrupted.

"Was set by father. She pleaded to marry anyone but him, but father was adamant as always," he said.

"Like he always had been, him and Brandon," Benjen said.

"Yeah, so Lyanna planned to get out of this. The person she chose instead of Robert was—" He said but was interrupted by Elisa.

"Rhaegar Targaryen," She whispered.

"But it cannot be! We know he kidnapped and—"

"No, he didn't." Ned said firmly. He rummaged through the desk he was sat behind. A small red diary was placed on the desk. He opened the page that was to be read and handed it over to Elisa.

His sister read it through with varying emotions: curiosity, shock, anger, and then finally acceptance. "She ran away and married him," She whispered, her eyes still on the book.

"What?! It can't be!" Benjen stood up.

"Sit down, Ben. It's her diary; you can recognize her writing, can't you?" Elisa said, handing him the diary.

He read through it, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. "Oh, Lya. Why did you—" placing the diary on the desk.

Elisa picked it up again, reading through the pages. "It's quite clear she chose it for herself, but what about it? She is dead ultimately," Elisa said out loud.

"Yes, she died, but what she left behind needs attention." The diary fell out of Elisa's hand.

"What or who?" She asked.

Benjen looked between them before his eyes widened. "No." He whispered.

"Yes, Lyanna was pregnant. And when I reached her, birthing fever had taken over. There was no Maester, only a maid, a nursemaid, a sworn sword, and three Kingsguard." Ned said.

"Jon," Benjen said, his voice naught but whispers.

Elisa looked up sharply, "Brandon's bastard?"

Ned shook his head, "No."

"Jon is Lyanna's. Of course, how can I not see it?" Elisa said, a bit stricken, her gaze fixed on the implications of Ned's revelation.

"Robert—" Benjen started, his voice edged with panic, but Ned cut him off, his tone resolute.

"Doesn't know anything. And he will never know."

"Are you sure? It's treason, Ned," Benjen pressed, his eyes wide.

"And I will do it. For Lyanna, I gave her my word. Besides, he is family, I can't see him harmed," Ned said, guilt shining through his words, a clear burden on his honorable soul.

"You will betray Robert for Lyanna? That's not like you, Ned. You love your king, brother," Elisa said, and there was no hiding the bitterness in her voice. She remembered the king's harsh justice, his eagerness to see Targaryen blood spilled.

He looked up sharply at her, but she didn't back down; she never would. She was as much Rickard Stark's daughter as him, legitimized or not. "Family is above all, when the cold wind blows..."

"The lone wolf dies," Benjen continued, the old Stark words a somber echo in the solar.

Elisa sighed, completing the familiar adage. "But the pack survives."

"So, what is your plan regarding him?" Benjen asked, the question laced with a newfound gravity.

Ned sighed, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his thoughts. "I was thinking about handing a keep to Rodrick already. He will start a branch family of his own. Jon would accompany him."

Elisa nodded slowly. "Sounds fine for Rodrick, Ned. But Jon has a claim, the Iron Throne is his by birthright."

"And it is Robert's by the right of conquest. I will not start a war again. We've just exited one," Ned said, a steel entering his voice, a hint of the lord he had become, hardened by conflict.

"Don't lie to yourself, elder brother. It was yours; it is our family that has been wronged, not his. But the southerners would never bend knees to anyone but a Targaryen," Benjen argued, his voice low and firm.

"Robert Baratheon sits on the throne because his grandmother was Targaryen. And as such, Jon has the higher claim; he's the legitimate son of Rhaegar, who was heir at the time of his death," Elisa said, nodding, her sharp mind already processing the implications of the diary.

"I will never revolt. The war we fought was to replace a mad Targaryen. I will not fight to place another dragon on the throne. Besides, Jon is a Stark too. He will remain safe here," Ned said icily, his voice laced with the unwavering stubbornness characteristic of his house.

"Accept this, Ned. Yes, the war you fought was to replace a tyrant, but Jon is not Aerys and never will be. And Robert Baratheon is no saint; he didn't punish Tywin Lannister for the butchering of small children," Elisa said, bending forward, the icy fire in her grey eyes clear to see.

"They were family if Lyanna married Rhaegar. It is said that the Princess was stabbed fifty times, the prince's head was crushed, and Elia Martell was raped and killed. All on the order of Tywin Lannister," Benjen added, anger clear in his eyes.

"And Robert Baratheon rewarded him by marrying his daughter. Is that the kind of king you wanted to sit on the throne?" Elisa pressed, her voice sharp with accusation.

"I will not revolt. There will be no war," Ned said stubbornly, his jaw set.

"Then you'll regret it. You are choosing your friend over your nephew. Jon is Lyanna's son, he is one of us. Robert isn't a wolf; stags are prey, not predators," Elisa declared, her voice filled with a chilling prophecy, before walking out of the solar.

Ned looked at Benjen, "And you?"

"I will not say she is wrong, but I will remain. For Jon, and Rodrick. I will care for them," he said, his loyalty to his blood overriding his conviction.

Ned nodded as Benjen left the solar after Elisa, leaving him alone with the silent echoes of their raw honesty and the immense weight of his decision.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into moons.

Elisa left for her keep, Fred in her arms, accompanied by three sworn shields at her behest. Fred's granduncle was adamant about being regent, but Elisa knew he wanted the seat. The title of the Lord was too inviting to refuse, so she was returning to put an end to his ambitions.

Roose Bolton, her cousin, was ready to embark to Widow's Watch for a single raven, and Ned would do the same. If he was honest, Gerold Flint was an idiot for trying to place his daughter, Lynesse, on the seat.

Frederick would have the support of both the Starks and Boltons, the Warden of the North and one of its most powerful banners.

Still, the castle felt empty without Elisa or Lyanna roaming around, and Ned felt it to his core, as did Benjen.

Ned had asked Elisa to suppress this issue and place a regent of her choosing on the seat. Fred would do well here with Rod, Robb, and Jon. The four together would bond nicely and form ties that would last their lives, just like he and Robert had.

Speaking of his friend, Robert's wedding was at the end of this week, and Ned was not going; a raven had been sent. He wanted Tywin Lannister brought to trial. If Robert couldn't do that, then he didn't need Ned.

He glanced at his wife, a baby playing in her arms. She had been a bit miserable at first, the snowy land giving her no comfort like the Riverlands' lush greenery did. But she was the lady of this keep now; it was her responsibility to manage.

The septa she had brought with herself trailed her like lost puppies. She had been barred from the nursery on account of Benjen. His brother had raised the issue that the septa was ordering the servants to ignore the needs of Rod and Jon in favor of Robb.

If they didn't, she would threaten them with the wrath of her gods. This was more effective on the servants Catelyn brought from the Riverlands and not the Northerners. For them, Jon and Rod were blood of Starks; bastard or legitimate, it mattered less.

He sighed. The Northmen were quite different from the Southerners. Their motives, their loyalty, their honor—all seemed pristine and focused.

Here's the edited text, with corrections for spelling, grammar, and sentence formation, while maintaining the word count and your original paragraph breaks:

He was content, though his life could have been worse. And with Benjen at his side, it seemed easy; his brother was a constant support.

Benjen was quite different from him and Brandon. While his elder brother had been a Stark through and through and a groomed heir that would have seen the North strengthen, he wasn't learned in that art. But Benjen was; he was shrewd but blunt and had a penchant for the sword from his younger years.

He was also well-read, and that was surprising to some, as not many saw him with books. No, even his room was bare of books, but he read. The library could attest to that; Benjen was a reader who liked silent spaces for that.

And so it was Benjen that brought forward the plan. There were quite a few keeps that needed reconstruction and a warden to look over. There was the ruined Moat Cailin, the desolated Sea Dragon Point, the barren Hand of the First Men, and another near the eastern coastline.

Rodrik could be handed one, and while Robb was his heir, his other sons could take one too.

He could hand one to Benjen too; the island keep of Etherfort was best for Benjen. It was securely placed between Bear Island and Sea Dragon Point, and wildling raids in those parts were a rare issue.

Benjen was in favor of handing a keep to Jon and one to Rodrik. To Ned and anyone else that would look into it, it seemed too much. Two bastards getting a keep each? It would be better if Rodrik was given a keep and Jon worked under him. It was still too early to tell, though, and the cost of reconstruction could be high.

Benjen refused to take Etherfort, saying it would distract him from Rod and Jon, who needed him most. Ned couldn't argue with that. So here he was, eyeing Benjen as his brother sparred against Trysten Sand.

The Dornish man was a beast on the field. Ned had only seen Sandor Clegane and Gregor Clegane fight like that, but they didn't possess Trysten's grace. He had employed him to teach the recruits; a bag of silver stags, a room to sleep in, and a full stomach were all he asked for.

Rodrik Cassel was on the grounds too, eyeing the man with clear interest, his hands clutching the whiskers on his face.

He raised his own sword and went to stand against Trysten, wanting to check the man's skill himself.

Benjen was angry. The servant had been caught again. Jon and Rodrik were shivering, while Robb was in Ned's chamber for the night due to a fever.

He had caught the septa sullying the name of Brandon, poisoning the Stark servants, as if the woman could achieve that with Northerners.

"Good sister," Benjen said. Catelyn looked startled.

"Bless the Seven, Benjen. Don't frighten me like that," she gasped, clutching her chest.

"I have caught another one of your servants. They very coincidentally forgot adding fire to the nursery when Robb wasn't there." He said, his voice tight.

Catelyn looked at him a bit stiffly, "Who?"

"Stella," he said. "Either you send her away or I will see all of your household servants become Northerners. They are already unhappy with your shuffle as it is."

Catelyn's fury rose, "They are bastards. How can you ask me to send my servants away? My father sent them."

Fury rose in Benjen's mind, "The distinction serves the South right, not the North, dear good sister. All the Northerners care about is the blood of Starks that runs through their veins; they belong here."

"You bring shame to the house. They will usurp—" She started, but Ned chose that moment to appear out of nowhere.

"They will do no such things. Rod and Jon are my nephews. Trueborn or not, they are my blood." He said tightly, and Catelyn stepped back.

He turned to Benjen, "I want all of the Riverlands servants out of the household. Give them other duties, except Cat's handmaiden and her septa."

"You're excusing my servants on account of them?" She asked, tears gathering in her eyes.

Ned turned to her, "My lady, you are of the North now. It's better that you start learning our ways. I've allowed your septa and handmaiden, but reign in the former, unless I dismiss her too."

Catelyn nodded, turning on her heels and walking quickly back to their room.

Ned looked away, his mood spoiled. He didn't want to be hard on her, but his bannermen were already unhappy that he had allowed a sept to be built in Winterfell. If the news traveled that servants from the Riverlands were mistreating his elder brother's sons, they would rise for blood.

"She is not going to like this," Benjen said, standing beside him.

"She'll have to adjust. I am already in a precarious position by allowing her a sept in the castle." He replied.

Benjen looked at him with a frown, "I have a proposal that can ensure our nephews' well-being."

"What is it?" he asked.

Benjen turned to him at last, "Announce Rodrik as lord of Sea Dragon Point. Let him have a loyal household. He and Jon will remain here while I go and look over its reconstruction."

Ned looked at him with a frown, "The cost of reconstruction?"

"I have corresponded with the Manderlys on your behalf. They have agreed to provide funds in exchange for a quarter of timber produce and seafood from the keep for the next ten years." Benjen said.

Ned looked shocked before nodding. It seemed Benjen was far more capable than he had been given credit for.

"What about Jon?" He asked.

"I think it would be better if he served as Rod's ward. I'll function as a regent until they come of age." Benjen replied.

"You've thought this over," Ned said. "As I have told you before, I wanted you to take over Etherfort. You could have started a second branch."

Benjen shook his head, "Let Rod do it for now, a branch like Karstark directly under you. My loyalty to her wouldn't allow me rest until Jon is safe."

"On the throne," Ned added with a scowl.

Benjen nodded, "Only if he desires."

Wyman Manderly was the Lord of White Harbor, a fat man with a large pot belly. His family, originally from the South, had come to the North seeking opportunities, but he could proudly say that his family had adopted Northern norms and truly become of the North.

Still, his family's business mindset had led them to own White Harbor, and the trade through the port made them one of the richest, if not the richest, of the Northern houses.

Thus, when Benjen Stark put forward the proposal for developing Sea Dragon Point, he had seen the benefits it would bring to the North and his own family.

Sea Dragon Point had fine pine forests around the town, and before its desolation, it was said to be the fish basket of the North. The funds and time required weren't small by any measure, but the returns it would bring were far more extensive.

Wyman had sent his elder son with a proposal of his own: a quarter of timber produce and fish for the next ten years, free of cost. That would help build larger and more extensive ships for his fleet. Also, Benjen had proposed a future supply of sailors, as he wanted Rodrik Snow to build a fleet of his own.

His son had been a bit worried about Rodrik Snow's fleet shadowing his own, but Benjen Stark had dashed those doubts by telling them that the fleet would be used for trade with Essosi merchants, not for warfare.

So, here he was at the gates of Winterfell. The Warden of the North and his wife, Lady Stark, were welcoming him. The castle of Winterfell was one of the largest, and considering the generations of Starks that had lived there, it was no surprise that they had found a way to warm the castle.

"My Lord, I am grateful that you called on me for such a crucial job," he said, moving in, bowing as was the custom.

The lady wife of Ned Stark curtsied before welcoming him, a signal ensuring that his guards would take the horses he had brought as a gift to the stables. He had bought three from Essosi traders and two from the Reach.

"Welcome, Lord Manderly. Please take the bread and salt," Benjen Stark said, the alleged hand of the Lord Paramount of the North.

They were shown to their rooms in the guest section of the castle. Luxury was intact even if it was a bit smaller, at least according to Wyman, who was of wider girth.

It was in the evening that they met again, in the dining halls. The higher table was reserved for the Stark family, with only two chairs empty for him and his son. He eyed Benjen Stark, who was seated in a corner.

Two toddlers beside him were fed by nursemaids, and a man of rather tall stature eyed the room attentively as he stood behind them.

As his eyes met with the black-haired boy, he was shocked. The dark purple eyes that looked back could only belong to a few families, and while he looked more like Eddard Stark than his own son, he still had the eyes of a Dayne. A whisper in his mind said, or a Targaryen. Half of his right cheek and chin was covered with red marks, which, when looked at closely, resembled a raven.

Wyman shook the thought away. He looked to the other boy, Rodrik Snow, the new Lord of Sea Dragon Point and the elder bastard of Brandon Stark—not that the Northerners believed such. For the Northerners, blood was blood, trueborn or bastard; they cared not.

He looked to the main table again as he walked to it. Seated on the right of Lord Stark was his lady wife, and in her lap was the heir of the North, Robb Stark. With red Tully locks and blue eyes, the boy looked more like his uncle than his father. Although, when someone looked closely, they could see the shape of Ned's eyes and the square face of Benjen Stark in the boy. Instead of using a nursemaid, Catelyn Stark was feeding her own child.

"Come have a seat, Lord Manderly," Eddard Stark said, gesturing to his right.

He nodded and sat down. A boy in his adolescence served him. The food was tasteful, though not like the food of White Harbor; the difference was due to the spice trade and readily available fish.

He was called into the Lord's solar just after dinner. Lord Eddard Stark, Benjen Stark, and the maester of the keep were already present.

"Lord Manderly, please take a seat," Benjen said, a wooden chair provided for him.

"My lord, this is the official proposal that we've drawn. Please let your maester check it thoroughly. If you can find any inconsistency, we can address that." He said, passing the scroll to Benjen Stark.

Maester Ludwin checked it over, reading between the lines before handing it back to the young Stark brother. "It is as Lord Manderly said, My lord. The terms are as suggested, you'll have to agree, Lord Stark."

Benjen nodded, handing the paper to Eddard, who put his seal on it, confirming that the agreement was legal and official.