The great hall of Winterfell was calm, the morning sunlight spilling across the long wooden table and the cold stone floor. The only sounds were the soft shuffle of Maester Luwin's robes, the distant clang of the blacksmith at work, and the occasional murmur of a servant carrying trays.
Rickard Stark sat at the head of the table, the letter from Jon Arryn held carefully in his hands. His brow is slightly up, a mix of concern and thoughtfulness clouding his expression.
"This letter," Rickard began, "comes from Jon Arryn, the Warden of the Vale. He proposes fostering Ned with him and Robert Baratheon."
Brandon leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly. "Robert Baratheon? He is only eleven, Father, the same age as Ned. Are you certain it is wise to send Ned so far from Winterfell?"
Rickard exhaled slowly. "It is not a decision I take lightly. Jon Arryn is a wise man, and Robert is… strong, yes, but still a boy. Sending Ned to the Vale will be a challenge for him, but it is also an opportunity to learn, to grow, and to form bonds with other noble houses."
Ned shifted in his seat, his young face showing a flicker of unease. "Father… if it is what is best for House Stark, I will go."
Brandon placed a hand on Ned's shoulder. "It will be hard for us, little brother. You are the heart of this family in some ways, and to see you leave… it is strange."
Rickard nodded. "Indeed. And Robert Baratheon, though the same age as Ned, is a boy with a strong spirit. Jon Arryn will guide them both. Ned will learn from Robert's energy and from Jon's wisdom, and he will be tested in ways he cannot be here in Winterfell."
Maester Luwin, standing quietly nearby, adjusted the chain around his neck. "Lord Stark, fostering children at noble houses is common. It teaches them manners, loyalty, and political skill. The Vale is honorable, disciplined, and safe. Jon Arryn will ensure Ned is cared for."
Rickard folded his hands over the letter. "Yes, but we must also think of Lyanna. She is strong-willed and will not easily accept the absence of her brothers. Benjen and Kaelor… they will manage, but all will feel Ned's absence."
Brandon frowned. "How soon might this happen, Father?"
Rickard gazed out of the tall windows, watching the morning light glint across the courtyard where warriors practiced. "Soon. Perhaps a few weeks. I will write to Jon Arryn to finalize arrangements. We must ensure it is done with care."
Ned's eyes widened slightly. "Then I go to the Vale?"
"Yes, Ned," Rickard replied. "If you foster in the Vale with Robert Baratheon, we can ensure a strong relationship with the Stormlands and the Vale."
Brandon shook his head, a slight frown on his face. "It will be hard for all of us. Ned leaving, even for a noble purpose… it is a heavy burden."
Rickard gave a faint, reassuring smile. "That is why we must be careful, but firm. Winterfell will remain strong, as always. You, Brandon, as the heir of the North, will help maintain the household while Ned is away. Lyanna must understand, and Benjen… he will have to find his place."
Ned looked at his father. "I will honor House Stark, Father. I will do my best to learn, to grow, and to return ready to serve Winterfell."
Rickard's eyes softened. "I know you will, Ned. That is why this choice, difficult as it may be, is necessary. You will face challenges and make decisions that test you. And Robert Baratheon, though your age, will be… energetic and bold. He may be a handful, but it is a chance to form a strong bond."
Maester Luwin stepped closer. "I will prepare the necessary letters and arrangements, Lord Stark. All will be ready, and the households of the North will be informed."
Brandon nodded. "Good. Then we prepare for Ned's departure carefully. It is an opportunity for him, and for House Stark, if done correctly."
Rickard placed the letter down. "The plans will proceed with care. Ned must be ready, and we must be ready for him to leave. Jon Arryn will provide guidance, and Robert Baratheon, though a boy, will be a companion and a challenge, both necessary for Ned's growth."
Ned's lips pressed into a thin line, determination in his young eyes. "I understand, Father." Rickard inclined his head. And Brandon… guide the household as you should, with patience and strength. Lyanna, Benjen, and Kaelor will rely on your guidance."
Brandon exhaled slowly, his hand coming to rest on Ned's shoulder. "We will be ready," he said. "Do not worry, little brother. Winterfell will not fall apart while you are gone."
He turned then, his expression hardening as he faced his father. "Father, you know how cunning the southerners are. What if something happens to Ned?"
Rickard Stark's gaze swept the great hall. The sunlight had shifted, casting long shadows that clung to the ancient carvings and the hanging banners of House Stark. His jaw tightened.
"If harm comes to my blood," Rickard said quietly, iron beneath every word, "the South will remember what it means when winter comes."
Brandon grinned, his blood boiling at the thought of any threat to his brother.
Ned's eyes flickered with worry, but determination held firm in his jaw and stance.
Maester Luwin shifted uneasily, his hands clasped tightly, concern etched across his face.
Maester Luwin nodded, bowing slightly. "I will ensure all is in order. Winterfell's honor and the safety of its children are my priority."
As the discussion concluded, Rickard's eyes drifted toward the courtyard. Kaelor was training with Ser Rodrik and the warriors, moving swiftly and striking with precision, unaware of the decisions being made in the hall. His dual swords flashed in the sunlight, a blur of gray and black hair and steel.
Brandon smirked. "Even Kaelor grows strong, though he remains young. He will surprise us all one day."
Rickard shook his head, a faint smile crossing his face. "Yes. But for now, our concern is Ned and the choices ahead. Kaelor will have time to grow in his own way. Focus, patience, and care, these are what we must give to each child, in turn."
The hall grew quiet again, the weight of the decision settling over them. Outside, the courtyard remained alive with training, the sounds of swords clashing and the Northern wind rustling through the trees. The Stark household was preparing for change, even as life continued around it, steady and relentless.