The evening air hung heavy in Winterfell as the Stark family and their close household members gathered in the great hall for supper. The hall was lit by the flickering glow of torches and the massive hearth at its center, where a roaring fire provided warmth against the northern chill. At the head of the table, Lord Eddard Stark sat with his wife, Catelyn, beside him. Across from them, Maester Luwin picked at his meal, occasionally stealing glances toward his lord.
The tension was palpable. It had been several days since Ned had taken in the injured man found near the Wolfswood, and now, after Luwin's ministrations, the stranger was well on his way to recovery. Catelyn had made her feelings known about keeping an unknown man under their roof, and tonight, she was determined to have him gone.
"Luwin," Catelyn spoke, setting down her goblet. "Has the man woken up yet?"
Luwin dabbed his mouth with a cloth before answering, "Not yet, my lady. But his condition has greatly improved. I suspect he will wake soon."
Catelyn nodded, though her expression remained tight. "Good. I would have him gone as soon as he is able."
Theon Greyjoy, who had been idly cutting into his meat, smirked. "You don't trust him, my lady? The man was near dead when we found him. Hardly seems a threat now."
Catelyn shot him a cool look. "I don't trust what I do not know, Theon. And neither should you."
At that moment, Ned turned his attention to Luwin. "Something the matter, Luwin?"
The old maester hesitated for a moment before setting down his knife. "It is just… the man's recovery. It's remarkable."
Ned's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I have tended to many wounded men in my time, my lord. The injuries he sustained should have kept him bedridden for weeks. And yet, he has healed at an astonishing rate. Wounds that should still be fresh are little more than scars now."
A hush fell over the table as the words settled in. Robb and Jon exchanged glances, while Bran, who had been quietly listening, looked up with wide eyes.
"That's unusual," Robb commented, breaking the silence. "You're certain of this, Maester Luwin?"
"I am." Luwin's voice was measured but firm. "It is not natural."
Theon leaned forward, grinning. "Perhaps he's part direwolf, eh? With the way those beasts of yours bounce back from wounds, I wouldn't be surprisedMaybe he's some kind of sorcerer. Or maybe he's just lucky."
Jon Snow, who had been silent until now, narrowed his eyes. "Or maybe there's something else at play. If his wounds were as bad as you say, Maester, how did he survive in the first place?"
Catelyn sighed, placing a hand on Ned's arm. "I don't like this, Ned. We know nothing about him, nothing of him. And now we hear of unnatural healing? This man could be a danger to us all."
Ned regarded his wife with his usual calm, but there was a thoughtful weight behind his eyes. "We will learn more when he wakes," he said simply. "If he is a threat, we will deal with him."
"I say we should get rid of him now," Theon suggested, leaning back in his chair. "Better safe than sorry."
Jon shot him a sharp look. "That's not how we do things in Winterfell."
"Oh?" Theon smirked. "And what do you suggest, Snow? We welcome him with open arms and invite him to staywait and see if he tries to slit our throats in the middle of the night?"
"We wait," Robb interjected, his tone carrying the weight of authority he was beginning to wield more often. "We hear what he has to say before making any decisions."
Catelyn's lips pressed together in frustration, but she did not argue.
"Very well," she said. "But I want him gone the moment he is well enough to travel."
Ned gave her a reassuring nod. "You have my word."
For a time, the table returned to eating, though the mood was subdued. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the sounds of cutlery against plates filled the silence. Then, Bran spoke up, his young voice curious. "Do you think he's magic?"
Luwin shook his head with a small smile. "Magic has been gone from the world a long time, Bran."
Bran frowned. "But Old Nan says—"
"Old Nan says a great many things," Catelyn interrupted gently. "Stories are not always truthslot of things," Arya interrupted, her voice filled with excitement. "But I bet he's some kind of warrior. Maybe a knight who fought in a great battle."
Bran looked unconvinced but said no more.
Sansa, sitting primly beside her, scoffed. "Honestly, Arya, not everything is about battles. He could be anyone. For all we know, he's a criminal or a sellsword."
Arya, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly piped up. "I think he sounds interesting. Maybe he's a warrior or an outlaw!" rolled her eyes. "You always think the worst of people."
Sansa scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, Arya, not everything is about battles and swords. He could be a criminal for all we know"I think sensibly," Sansa retorted, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "You just want him to be some great hero so you can pretend to be his squire."
Arya huffed. "So what if he is? Maybe he had a good reasonscowled. "Maybe he is a hero! Or at least someone interesting, which is more than I can say for your stupid singers and their love stories."
Sansa sighed dramatically. "You always think being an outlaw is romantic. Real criminals aren't like the songs, Aryawouldn't understand."
"Well, maybe if you stopped listening to those silly songs for once, you'd see that not everything is about knights and ladies And you wouldn't last a day outside the castle," Arya shot back.
"Arya," Ned said firmly, silencing the brewing argument before it could escalate. "That's enough," his voice cutting through the tension. "We will know soon enough who he is."
Sansa huffed but didn't argue further, while Arya grumbled something under her breath but wisely chose not to continue. She crossed her arms, still looking intrigued by the mystery man.
Arya had barely touched her dinner. The talk about the stranger had piqued her interest far more than the dull conversation about courtly manners and Winterfell's affairs. She needed to see him for herself.
As soon as the meal was over, she slipped away, making her way toward Maester Luwin's chambers. She kept to the shadows, moving swiftly and quietly, just as Jon had taught her. When she reached the door, a guard stepped forward, blocking her way.
"What are you doing here, little lady?" he asked, his voice gruff.
Arya hesitated only a moment before crossing her arms. "Father sent me. He wants to know if the man is awake yet."
The guard frowned, clearly skeptical. "Lord Stark sent you?" He glanced her up and down. "And not one of the maids or Maester Luwin?"
Arya jutted her chin out. "He trusts me."
The guard raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
Arya nodded quickly, trying her best to look serious. "Yes. He said it's important."
The guard sighed, clearly torn between his duty and the supposed command of Lord Stark's daughter. He muttered something under his breath before exhaling sharply. "Look, I don't know if I should be letting you in, girl. This man could be dangerous."
Arya frowned. "If he was dangerous, don't you think Father would want to know sooner rather than later? Besides, I can handle myself."
The guard let out a short, dry chuckle. "Is that right? Little lady knows how to fight, does she?"
Arya bristled. "Jon teaches me. And I practice with Needle."
At that, the guard's amusement faded slightly. "Your father would have my head if something happened to you."
"Then don't let anything happen to me," Arya countered.
The guard rubbed his forehead. "Stubborn as a damn mule, you are." He sighed again, then finally relented. "Fine. But stay behind me."
He pushed the door open and stepped inside, Arya slipping in behind him. The room smelled of herbs and parchment. The man lay on the bed, still and silent. He looked ordinary enough, though there was something about him that seemed out of place. He wasn't dressed like a northern man—he wasn't dressed much at all. His upper body was bare, revealing a lean, battle-worn frame marred with scars.
Curious, Arya edged closer. Her eyes landed on his hand, where an odd metal device was strapped around his wrist. She frowned. What was that?
She reached out, hesitating only briefly before poking at it once. Then again.
A sharp click echoed through the room.
With a swift motion, a hidden blade shot out from the device.
Arya yelped, stumbling back in surprise. Her foot caught the edge of a table, sending books and a metal tray crashing to the floor. The noise was deafening in the quiet room.
"Seven hells, girl!" the guard barked, whirling around. "What did you do?"
Arya, wide-eyed, scrambled to her feet. "I—I didn't do anything! It just—"
The man stirred, his face twisting slightly as his breathing changed. He slowly sat up and looked at his hand, where the blade had extended. Then, with deliberate ease, he turned his gaze to the weapon. Slowly, with practiced precision, he retracted the blade back into its casing.
Arya watched, fascinated. "Wow. How did you do that?"
The stranger didn't respond immediately. He merely sat there, massaging his head with one hand while the other remained clenched at his side.
Arya, undeterred, took a step closer. "Are you a knight? A sellsword? You don't look like anyone from the North."
Still, he said nothing.
She crossed her arms. "You don't talk much, do you?"
This time, the man finally reacted. He exhaled sharply, as if grounding himself, before speaking in a low, hoarse voice. "Where… am I?"
Arya tilted her head. "Winterfell," she said simply. "You're in the North. My father's castle."
The man's gaze flickered as he processed her words, his brows drawing together slightly. He looked around the room, taking in the stone walls, the dim candlelight, and the wary guard with his hand on his sword.
The guard stiffened. "Shit. You woke him."
The man's breathing was still uneven as he adjusted to his surroundings, but his posture remained strangely composed despite his evident disorientation.
The guard snapped into action. "You—go inform Lord Stark. Now."
The second guard, stationed outside, nodded quickly before rushing off down the corridor.
The first guard kept his hand on his sword, watching the man carefully. "Don't try anything."
The man remained silent, his gaze focused on the floor. Arya scowled but wasn't ready to give up. "You don't look scared. Most people would be—waking up in a strange place with weapons pointed at them. But you… you look like you expected this."
The stranger exhaled through his nose, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "I've woken up in worse places."
Arya's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Really? Where?"
He didn't answer, but there was a flicker of amusement in his gaze. Arya took another step closer, ignoring the guard's warning glance. "That blade—how does it work? I've never seen anything like it."
The man glanced at her, his fingers flexing slightly. "It's not for show."
"Neither am I," Arya shot back, grinning. "I can fight too, you know."
Before the man could reply, the door swung open with urgency, and Lord Stark stepped inside, his gaze immediately locking onto the stranger.
Lord Eddard Stark strode into the room, his expression severe, followed closely by Maester Luwin and another guard. His eyes immediately landed on Arya.
"Arya," Ned's voice was firm. "Why are you here?"
Arya straightened. "I—uh—I just wanted to see—"
The guard standing nearby interrupted. "She told me she was here on your order, my lord."
Ned's brows rose as he turned his attention back to his daughter. Arya shot a glare at the guard before giving her father an innocent look. "I wanted to help."
Ned sighed but said nothing, instead shifting his focus to the man in the bed as Maester Luwin stepped forward, assessing the stranger.
"How is he?" Ned asked.
Awake, but clearly still recovering from some trauma. His wounds were not fresh, but his body was exhausted," Maester Luwin noted as he checked the stranger's pulse.
Ned stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Who are you? And how did you end up near the forest outside Winterfell?"
The man finally looked up, his piercing gaze meeting Ned's. After a long moment, he spoke in a rough, measured tone. "Edward."
Ned waited for more, but nothing else came.
"Edward… and?" he pressed.
The stranger remained silent.
Ned studied him for a moment before glancing at Maester Luwin. "Take Arya back to her chamber while I speak with him."
Maester Luwin nodded. "Of course, my lord."
Arya opened her mouth to protest but quickly shut it at the look in her father's eyes. With a final glance at Edward, she sighed and trudged toward the door.
Upon reaching her chamber, her maid turned toward her with a questioning look. "Where have you been, my lady?"
Before Arya could respond, Maester Luwin answered for her. "She was with Lord Stark. Ensure she stays here and gets some rest."
The maid nodded, ushering Arya inside before quietly closing the door. Arya moved to the window, resting her arms on the ledge as she gazed outside. Her mind buzzed with thoughts of the stranger—Edward. More specifically, the strange mechanism on his hand. The way a blade had sprung from it—it was unlike anything she had seen before. It was… cool.
She sat there, lost in thought, wondering what kind of person carried such a thing, how it worked, and where he had come from.
Then, movement caught her eye.
A shadow. It flickered against the castle walls, shifting with unnatural grace. Arya narrowed her eyes, pressing closer to the window. The figure climbed swiftly, moving with purpose, before slipping over the battlements and darting toward the forest.
She blinked. "What in the—?" she murmured to herself.
No one climbed walls that fast. No one she had ever seen, at least. She had spent enough time watching the guards, the men-at-arms, even her brothers during their climbing misadventures, and none of them moved like that. This figure had scaled the wall in mere seconds, their silhouette barely making a sound as they vanished into the trees.
She rubbed her eyes and looked again, but the figure was gone. Had she imagined it? No… she had seen it, clear as day. But it didn't make sense.
"What did I just see?" she whispered.
A knock on her door startled her. Her maid peeked inside. "My lady, is everything all right?"
"I—yes," Arya said quickly, tearing her gaze from the window. "I just thought I saw something outside."
The maid gave her a puzzled look but said nothing.
Arya hesitated before speaking again. "Has anyone ever climbed the walls like that very fast?"
The maid frowned. "The castle walls? No, my lady. Only trained men climb them, and even they need ropes and time. Why do you ask?"
Arya shook her head. "No reason. Just curious."
The maid regarded her for a moment before nodding. "Try to get some rest, my lady. Your father would want you well-rested."
Arya barely heard her. As the door closed, she turned back to the window, eyes fixed on the darkened forest.