"Why… why should I love him?"
Lady Dustin fell silent for a moment before replying, "Regardless of everything, he was your father! You cannot deny that his blood flows in your veins!"
"I don't deny it," Arthur said, gazing at the statue.
"It is simply that… my lady, as things stand, you cannot persuade me to love a cold block of stone. I fear not even the Old Gods or the Seven could manage that feat."
Lady Dustin paused, gave a barely perceptible nod, and then pivoted back to her story.
"When news of the betrothal between Brandon and Catelyn Tully reached the Rills… he told me, with his own lips, that he didn't want her. It was during our last night together…
"But Rickard Stark was planning for future power. His ambitions lay in the South, so he refused to let his heir marry the daughter of one of his own bannermen."
"My father settled for second best, hoping to betroth me to Brandon's younger brother, Eddard. But Catelyn Tully took him as well." Her lips twisted into an ugly, bitter smile.
"I was left to marry young Lord Dustin. Until Eddard Stark separated us."
"I heard the story from Robb," Arthur said, stepping closer to Brandon's statue and resting his hand on the stone sword. "Lord Dustin died at the Tower of Joy. He fulfilled his duty as a vassal, loyal to his liege lord, and fought with courage."
"Courage?" Lady Dustin let out a cold laugh, pulling her sable cloak tighter around herself.
"He was a proud fool. When Eddard Stark returned North to call the banners, Lord Dustin and I had been married less than half a year. He could have sent a kinsman in his stead.
"But he was a man of immense pride. He insisted on leading the Barrowton levies himself, refusing to let anyone else fulfill his duty.
"On the day he left, I gave him a horse—a red stallion with a fiery mane. It was the finest beast in my father's herds. My husband swore to the heavens that when the war was over, he would ride it home."
At this point, the loathing in Lady Dustin's eyes was undisguised.
"Eddard Stark returned that horse to me on his way back to Winterfell. He told me my husband had died a hero's death and now slept beneath the red ridges of the Dornish Marches.
"Yet he brought his own sister's bones back. And now she sleeps here."
"Eddard Stark, Catelyn Tully… they appear noble, but they are hypocrites," Lady Dustin stared intently at Arthur. "You are young, Arthur, but you are sharp. Living in Winterfell all these years… do you not hate them?"
Arthur was stunned for a moment. He placed the oil lantern on a nearby stone sarcophagus. The flame flickered in the draft, casting dancing shadows across his face.
"Uncle Ned brought me from Dorne to the North. For eight years, I have grown up alongside his trueborn children, enjoying the same treatment they do. He has never mistreated me."
"He gave me an estate to manage, and even promised to raise me to lordship when I come of age."
"Why would I hate him?"
Suddenly, he realized exactly what Lady Dustin was doing.
"What he gives you is already yours by right," Lady Dustin insisted. "Your father, Brandon, took what he wanted. He never asked for permission. You should be like him."
"I am a bastard. I am a Snow," Arthur said, gripping the hilt of the sword in Brandon's stone hands. "Bastards have no rights of inheritance, my lady."
Lady Dustin abruptly began listing facts, her voice sharp and calculating.
"I am the Lady of Barrowton. My father is the Lord of the Rills. My sister is married to Roose Bolton, the Lord of the Dreadfort. My nephew, Domeric, is the heir to the Dreadfort, and in the future, he will likely marry the granddaughter of Wyman Manderly of White Harbor."
"My lady, I heard Domeric intends to marry Sansa," Arthur said, feeling a chill run down his spine as he listened to her web of connections. He recalled Sansa's words in the yard. "As far as I know, the only man in Westeros who could legally take a second wife was Aegon the Conqueror."
"Catelyn will never agree to that match. She was raised in the South; Southerners cannot endure the bitterness of the North. That girl is so like her mother… Catelyn will surely find her a southern lord."
Lady Dustin made no attempt to hide her scheme. "I am waiting for her rejection. That will give us sufficient cause to propose a different alliance. Say… a marriage with White Harbor."
"Come, be my foster son!"
"If they won't agree to that, becoming my page will suffice. When the time is right… we can help you take back what belongs to you."
Arthur remained silent for a long time. He glanced back the way they had come. The faint glow of the lanterns held by Lady Dustin's guards was visible at the far end of the corridor.
"And if I refuse?" Arthur pulled the rusty iron sword from the statue's grasp, holding it ready. "Will you have your guards outside kill me?"
"I have eaten your bread and salt, boy! Those who violate guest right are cursed by the gods, both old and new!"
Lady Dustin glared at him fiercely. She showed no fear; instead, she took a step forward, having already discerned his answer.
"Your father, Brandon Stark, loved swords—especially bloody ones—but he would never draw steel against a guest under his own roof!"
"I only wish to protect myself, my lady," Arthur said, stepping back with the sword raised.
"I have read the history of House Targaryen. There was a bastard named Daemon Blackfyre. His situation was very similar to mine.
"Daemon Blackfyre claimed the Iron Throne, egged on by the nobles who supported him. He died at the hands of his own brother—another bastard.
"His descendants lived in exile, wandering the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea. His last male heir was slain by the current Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Barristan the Bold."
"Winterfell has more than one Snow. I have no desire to force my brother to become a kinslayer, nor do I wish to become one myself."
Arthur let out a deep breath, then bowed slightly, delivering his final answer.
"My lady, I am sorry. I cannot follow you to Barrow Hall."
"Then rot in the little circle Eddard Stark has drawn for you for the rest of your life," Lady Dustin spat. Though she had anticipated his choice, hearing it aloud still angered her.
"You are not like him. You… are not him!"
"I will leave this place. Not to Barrow Hall, nor to any castle in the North. I will go South."
Hearing Lady Dustin's anger, Arthur felt a sudden sense of relief.
When he spoke of going south, he smiled—a resigned, bitter smile. In that moment, he realized that despite the North covering a third of the continent, this vast land had no place for him.
"After my tenth nameday, I will no longer stay in the North. Once I leave this crypt, I will inform Lady Stark of my decision."
"South… south again," Lady Dustin sighed.
"You are clever. You have read many books, and you know the fate of Daemon Blackfyre. And now… you have recognized your own station."
She cast one last glance at the statue of Brandon Stark.
"Give the sword back to him. My business here… is done."
Hearing this, for some reason, Arthur recalled Old Nan's story again.
The swords across their laps keep the spirits of the dead kings sealed within their tombs. If the swords rust away or are stolen, the spirits wander the darkness.
Arthur realized that taking the sword was an offense to the dead. He also realized that Lady Barbrey Dustin still loved his father, Brandon Stark.
He hurriedly placed the sword back into the statue's stone hands, whispering a silent prayer.
"Please… rest in peace."
"Lord of Winterfell."
"King in the North."
Those words—
Arthur didn't know if he was speaking to the statue, or if he was speaking to the dangerous ambitions within his own heart that had just been stirred.
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