[POV Arthur Snow]
When we left the room, Brandon walked beside me to the stairs. He waited for the guards to fall behind before touching my arm.
"You were silent when you read the name," he commented, descending the first step. The torchlight cast his shadow against the stone wall. "For a moment, I thought you were going to refuse."
"Refusing would be wasting an advantage granted without an immediate demand," I replied, following him down the stairs. "It would also be a public insult to the king, the prince, and our father."
Brandon let out a short breath through his nose. "That's the answer you'd give before a council."
I stopped on the landing and looked at him.
My brother kept one hand on the banister. The amusement had vanished from his face, leaving only the curiosity of someone who knew me well enough to tell when an answer had been carefully chosen.
I ran my fingers over the relief of the wolf carved into the wall. "I never needed the Stark name to know who my family is," I said, keeping my voice low. "Still, seeing my name written that way carried some weight."
Brandon held my gaze for a few seconds. Then he squeezed my shoulder again and resumed the descent.
"Save that weight for tomorrow," he replied, pulling his cloak away from the steps. "The Greatjon will probably try to crush your ribs when he hears."
The next morning, the Great Hall was full before the second bell.
The lords who had marched against Roose occupied the seats closest to the high table. Jeor Mormont sat beside the Greatjon, whose voice reached halfway across the hall even when speaking only to the man on his right. Wyman Manderly kept two scribes behind his chair. Rickard Karstark watched every person who entered, while Ryswell, Dustin, Hornwood, and Cerwyn gathered along the same table.
News of a royal proclamation had swept through Winterfell during the night. No one knew the contents, though that had produced more rumors than the decree itself could support.
Lyarra sat to the left of my father's chair. Lyanna stood beside her, wearing a gray wool dress that failed to hide the impatience in her posture. Benjen occupied a bench near Brandon and craned his neck whenever the royal scribe touched the documents.
Perseus, Kevin, Morghaz, Belzakar, Razdhan, and Eldric were among the men of my retinue, all barefaced. The six former members of the Brotherhood stood behind them, wearing black hoods and the demonic masks used during the taking of the Dreadfort. To the assembled lords, they were merely the unknown warriors who had helped open the keep.
Fenrir lay near the steps of the high table. Hela occupied a side beam, almost invisible among the shadows of the ceiling.
Beside Rickard's chair stood an unpainted wooden shield. The white surface had been prepared to receive a coat of arms, though no symbol occupied the center. A stand held the shield upright before everyone.
I watched it as I walked to my place.
My father had summoned the lords to discuss the Bolton lands. The shield could belong to the new lord chosen by the council, or it could serve to temporarily record Winterfell's authority over the Dreadfort. Neither reason explained why it had been placed beside Rickard's chair before any discussion.
Ser Willem Darry stood before the high table, wearing a black cloak fastened by a red dragon brooch. The royal scribe was beside him, holding the open decree across his arms. The chest brought from the South remained closed by the wall, protected by two Targaryen guards and two Winterfell men.
Rickard stood up as the doors were closed.
The movement silenced the conversations. The Greatjon rested his forearms on the table. Wyman Manderly handed his cup to a servant. Karstark looked away from the empty shield and watched my father.
"Ser Willem Darry has arrived at Winterfell bearing a decree authenticated by the Crown," Rickard announced, keeping both hands on the table. "The seals have been examined by Luwin, and the text has been verified before my heir and the witnesses sent by the king."
My father indicated the scribe with a nod of his chin.
The man took two steps forward, fully unrolled the parchment, and waited for the hall to go completely still.
"By the order of Aerys of House Targaryen, the Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm," he began, his trained voice carrying firmly to the farthest corners of the hall, "Arthur Snow is recognized as the natural son of Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell, born of his blood and publicly accepted by his House."
The first reactions were small. A tilt of the head among the Ryswells. Karstark's fingers tapping once on the table. Wyman Manderly leaning in to hear better.
The scribe ran his thumb down the margin of the decree and continued.
"By the authority of the Crown, the aforementioned Arthur is legitimized, freed from the restrictions imposed upon birth out of wedlock, and recognized before the laws of the realm as the trueborn son of Rickard Stark. To him is granted the right to bear the name Stark, to receive lands, titles, and oaths, to pass hereditary rights to his descendants, and to hold the honors fitting of his blood."
The silence gained weight.
Lyarra kept her eyes on me. One hand gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white against the wood. Lyanna's impatience had vanished; her lips were parted, and she looked from me to the scribe as if afraid of missing a single word. Benjen turned to Brandon, looking for confirmation. My brother placed a hand on the back of his neck and kept him facing the reading.
"It is further granted to Arthur Stark the prerogative to found a House derived from his blood, choosing his own name, arms, and words, with hereditary rights recognized by the Crown and protection equal to that granted to the legally established Houses of the realm."
The scribe finished with the names of the witnesses, the dates, the confirmations of the Hand, and the royal seals. When he rolled up the bottom of the parchment, the sound of skin against wood seemed too loud in the hall.
Ser Willem stepped forward and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, keeping it sheathed.
"Arthur Snow," he declared, turning to me. "Step forward to receive the recognition of the Crown."
I stood up and crossed the space between the tables.
The eyes of the lords followed every step. Some watched me as they had during the march, evaluating a commander and his sword. Others were already looking for consequences that hadn't yet been spoken.
I stopped before the high table.
Ser Willem took a smaller copy of the decree from the scribe and extended it with both hands. "From this moment on, the records of the Crown shall recognize the name written on this document."
I took the parchment. The red seal hung from black cords and seemed small compared to the legal weight it carried.
My father stepped away from his chair.
Rickard descended one of the steps and stopped before me. His face remained firm, though his eyes carried the same expression I had seen in the solar when he read my name for the first time.
"Arthur Stark," he called, letting the new name ring across the hall in his own voice. "Present yourself before your father."
I took the last step and stopped in front of him.
Lyarra brought a hand to her mouth. Lyanna squeezed her arm. Brandon stood, his palm resting on the table and a contained smile on his face. Benjen repeated my new name softly, moving his lips as if testing the sound.
Rickard placed his hand on my shoulder.
"I recognized you as my son before my House," he declared, keeping his fingers firm on the leather. "Today the Crown records what Winterfell already knew."
I bowed my head. The pressure of his hand remained on me as the hall absorbed the words.
My father released my shoulder and returned to his place before his chair. Then, he rested his hand on the empty shield.
"Now we shall deal with the Dreadfort."
A few conversations sparked at the tables but died when my father remained standing in the center of the hall.
Rickard rested one hand on the pommel of Ice and swept his eyes over the tables. "Roose Bolton broke his oaths, conspired against Winterfell, kept men, women, and children in torture chambers, and used the name of an ancient Northern House to shield crimes that would shame any man capable of understanding the word honor," he declared, letting his gaze stop for an instant on each lord who had marched with us. "His line ended when the sentence was carried out before the people who survived him."
Karstark stood motionless by the table. Wyman Manderly clasped his hands over his belly. Jeor Mormont leaned his body forward, while the Greatjon abandoned his cup to listen without any distraction.
Rickard turned his face to me. "Arthur entered the Dreadfort with thirteen men. He opened the gates to the Northern army, took Roose's tower, freed his prisoners, and preserved the records that will reveal his accomplices," he declared, keeping one hand on Ice's pommel. "That was merely the most recent deed of a man who has protected these lands for years."
My father walked to the empty shield and gripped the edge of the prepared wood. The white surface remained facing the lords, awaiting colors and symbols that had not yet been chosen.
"For two years, Arthur has ranged the roads, forests, and coasts of the North," Rickard continued, sweeping his eyes over the tables. "He hunted highwaymen who exacted tolls from merchants, murderers who lived between isolated villages, deserters who attacked travelers, and raiders coming from the sea. Where distance made Winterfell's justice slow, he brought men, weapons, and judgment."
Jeor Mormont leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. The Greatjon ignored the cup in front of him. Some of the younger lords exchanged glances, remembering the moons they had ridden beside the Wolfpack and slept on mud, stone, and snow.
"The routes between our holds see wagons again," my father went on, keeping his voice steady. "Merchants travel paths they had abandoned. Villages no longer pay food and silver to armed men hiding in the woods. Sons of ancient Houses chose to patrol by his side because they recognized that fight protected the entire North."
Lord Cerwyn nodded slowly. Men from his House had found our marks on roads once dominated by raiders. Karstark remained still, though his fingers had left the map. The Greatjon stroked his beard, hiding a smile that was already beginning to form.
"When the Crown needed men capable of facing the Kingswood Brotherhood, they called upon Arthur because of what he had achieved here," Rickard stated, letting his eyes pass over Ser Willem Darry. "He carried the reputation of Northern arms to the Southern roads, fulfilled the mission he was given, and returned to continue protecting his land."
Ser Willem bowed his head discreetly. The royal scribe stood by the decree, his hands motionless on the rolled parchment.
"Arthur also found the source of much of the disorder plaguing our roads," my father continued. "He gathered proof of Roose Bolton's involvement, brought that proof to Winterfell, and offered the Houses of the North the opportunity to judge the traitor before his peers."
Rickard lifted the empty shield and brought it to the center of the hall.
"Roose Bolton is dead. His line has ended, and his lands will not be carved up among lords who already possess their own rivalries, borders, and obligations," he declared, resting the base of the shield against the stone. "The Dreadfort needs a lord capable of rebuilding villages, restoring roads, judging Roose's accomplices, and protecting the eastern border."
Lyarra's hand closed tightly over the edge of the table. She looked first at Rickard, then at me, and understood the decision before my father spoke it. Her lips curved into a restrained smile, matched by the gleam forming in her eyes.
Lyanna noticed the shift in our mother's face and squeezed her arm. The impatience that had followed her throughout the ceremony vanished. She stared at me, lips parted, with a pride impossible to hide.
Brandon straightened his posture beside the Winterfell chair. A wide smile broke across his face, and he rested a hand on Benjen's shoulder before our youngest brother could stand on the bench for a better view.
My father kept one hand on the shield. "Arthur has done this work across the entire North without holding lands of his own, without collecting taxes, and without commanding the men a title would place under his authority."
Behind the tables reserved for the family, my companions had grasped where the words were leading.
Perseus rested his closed fist over his heart and bowed his head. Morghaz remained with his arm bound to his chest, but his posture grew straighter. Belzakar and Razdhan exchanged a short glance before turning their attention back to me.
Kevin broke into a smile he tried to hide by passing a hand over his mouth. Eldric kept his expression controlled, though the fingers of his bandaged hand paused on the book he carried.
Rhoslyn stood among them.
She had remained still during the speech, her hands clasped before her. When my father's eyes returned to me, her shoulders dropped in a long breath. Rhoslyn brought a hand to her chest and smiled. Her eyes shone, and the pride on her face carried the memory of the years before the songs, the masks, and the name Demon Wolf.
Further back, the six masked men reacted in ways only we would recognize. Simon tilted his head. Harwyn crossed his arms and let his weight rest on one leg. Wenda tightened her grip on her cane. Ulmer and Fletcher exchanged a brief look through the slits of the iron. Big Belly Ben rested the head of his hammer on the floor and tapped it once against the stone.
The sound rang through the hall like a confirmation.
Rickard raised his face to the lords. "By my authority as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I declare that the Dreadfort, its lands, villages, incomes, lesser holds, and oaths pass, from this day forth, into the domain of Arthur Stark."
For a moment, no one moved.
Lyarra closed her eyes and released the breath she had been holding. Lyanna squeezed her mother's hand between both of hers, then turned a smile toward me that almost broke into a laugh.
Brandon was the first of the family to abandon any attempt at restraint. He slammed his open hand on the table and leaned toward Benjen.
"Our brother just got a castle," he declared, keeping his eyes on me as Benjen tried to keep up with every word.
Benjen broke into a smile and stood taller on the bench. "Lord Arthur," he repeated, testing the title with clear satisfaction before Brandon pulled him back to keep him from falling.
Rhoslyn covered her mouth for a second, holding back a short laugh born of emotion and relief. Kevin leaned toward her and muttered something that made her smile widen, though they both quickly composed themselves when the Greatjon stood up.
The Umber slammed his fist onto the table. Cups jumped, wine spilled on the wood, and two servants flinched away.
"I've seen Arthur fight, and I've seen men follow his orders when blood covered the yard," the Greatjon declared, a wide grin spreading beneath his beard. "The Dreadfort needs a wolf capable of tearing the rats out of the walls. House Umber recognizes his grant."
Jeor Mormont stood up next. He rested one hand on the table and looked at the empty shield before speaking.
"The eastern lands need stability, and the men who live on them need to know who will answer for the coming winters," he stated, his voice steady. "Arthur has already shown he can keep men united during a campaign and that he knows the roads he must protect. House Mormont recognizes Arthur Stark as Lord of the Dreadfort."
Wyman Manderly had to use both hands on the armrests of his chair to stand. When he was on his feet, he adjusted his tunic over his belly and looked at my father.
"Those lands hold abandoned fields, lost revenues, and trade routes weakened by years of mismanagement," he declared, tapping his fingers on the cover of one of the Bolton ledgers. "Arthur protected merchants when he had only his companions and his horses. With the resources of a fortress, he can do much more. House Manderly recognizes the grant and will offer scribes and men experienced in accounts whenever he requests."
Rickard Karstark remained seated for a few seconds. His eyes went to the map of the eastern borders, then returned to me. He stood slowly and rested his palm on the table.
"My interests on those roads were clear before we entered this hall," he stated, making no effort to hide the calculation he had made. "A weak lord in the Dreadfort would harm Karhold. A lord tied only to another House would upset the balance of the region. Arthur belongs to Winterfell and has already spilled blood to protect the paths leading to my lands. House Karstark recognizes his authority."
Rodrik Ryswell exchanged a few quiet words with Lord Dustin. The two stood up almost together.
"Keeping the Bolton lands whole avoids disputes between Houses that would spend years measuring borders," Ryswell declared, smoothing his sleeve before placing a hand over his heart. "House Ryswell recognizes Arthur Stark as its new lord."
Lord Dustin confirmed with a nod. "One strong hand will cause fewer problems than five hands fighting over every village. House Dustin also recognizes the grant."
Lord Hornwood stood after them and swept his eyes over the tables before speaking. "Our lands know the cost of unstable neighbors. Arthur showed enough strength to take the castle and enough sense to understand the territory he receives. Hornwood recognizes his authority."
Lord Cerwyn rested his fist over his heart and bowed his head. "Men of my House rode on the roads the Wolfpack cleared. They returned speaking of his discipline and his ability to lead soldiers. Cerwyn recognizes Arthur Stark as Lord of the Dreadfort."
Other voices rose around the tables. Some firm, some more careful, all offering recognition. Not a single House voiced opposition.
My father let the pronouncements finish. Then he returned the shield to its stand and extended his hand toward me.
"Arthur Stark, kneel and receive before the North the lands your deeds have proven you are capable of protecting."
I crossed the space between us and rested one knee on the stone.
The Great Hall fell silent as Rickard drew Ice from its scabbard.