Chapter 45: The Stag's Declining Sun, and Winterfell's Unknowing Heirs
The reign of King Robert I Baratheon, born of righteous fury and triumphant rebellion, had settled into a long, somewhat listless summer. The King himself, once a renowned warrior, had grown heavy in both body and spirit, his appetites for wine, women, and hunting far exceeding his interest in the governance of the Seven Kingdoms. This governance fell largely to his capable Hand, Lord Jon Arryn, a man increasingly troubled by the Crown's mounting debts – primarily to House Lannister – and the whispers of secrets festering within the Red Keep concerning Queen Cersei's golden-haired children. From their ancient, hidden vantage in the North, the immortal Starks observed this slow decay of royal authority with a mixture of concern and grim validation of their own long-held policies of self-reliance.
Warden Willam Stark, his public persona that of a Northman well into his seventh decade (his true age now rapidly approaching a century), continued to rule with the quiet strength and wisdom expected of his line. His interactions with King's Landing were minimal, his primary conduit being his mortal kinsman, Lord Eddard "Ned" Stark of Winterfell, who, despite his aversion to southern politics, remained bound by loyalty and friendship to King Robert and Lord Arryn. Jon Stark and the hidden council viewed Ned as an honorable, if sometimes dangerously naive, man, a vital, if unknowing, piece in their complex game of shielding the North.
Ben Stark, Rodrik's son and the thirteenth immortal of their line, now a man whose true age was nearing fifty though he retained the Elixir's gift of unaging prime, had fully embraced his responsibilities. His bond with the storm-dragon Nimbus was formidable, their mastery of aerial reconnaissance and weather manipulation (subtly augmenting Nimbus's natural storm affinities with Ben's own developing elemental magic) providing the council with unparalleled intelligence capabilities across vast swathes of the North and even, on rare, deeply cloaked occasions, into the bordering lands. Ben himself had recently married a distant Stark cousin, a woman chosen for her strong Northern spirit and latent magical sensitivity, and their first child, a son they named Torrhen after his revered ancestor, was now a babe in arms, the next potential link in their unending chain.
The "Winterquell" project, Jon Stark's audacious endeavor to create a magical counter-resonance to the "Heart of Winter," continued its slow, painstaking progress. The great Resonance Dampeners along the northern frontiers hummed with contained power, their harmonized frequencies subtly altering the magical climate of the far North. The Ice Watchers in their hidden posts reported that the incursions of wights and shadow creatures, while still occurring, were less frequent, their forms less cohesive, their animating energies seemingly disrupted by the Dampeners' influence. Jon knew this was not a final solution, but a vital suppression, a weakening of the Great Other's ambient power that bought them precious time. He now focused on weaving this counter-resonance into the "Great Weave of Winter's Fire," the vast, kingdom-wide enchantment designed to make the North itself inherently inimical to the Others.
Arya Stark, her existence now spanning more than three centuries, her spirit a living conduit to the ancient magic of Westeros, led the Stark nature wardens – Lyanna Sr., Serena, Lyra Sr., Arsa, and now Lyarra the Younger (Willam's sister, a formidable Greenspeaker in her own right) – in further unlocking the secrets of First Men runic magic. They had moved beyond merely reawakening existing wards. Now, guided by knowledge gleaned from the Children's spirits in the Isle of Faces' Dreaming Chamber, they began to inscribe new, incredibly potent "Runes of True Naming" onto the very bedrock of the North at key ley line convergences and around their most sacred weirwood groves. These runes, drawing upon the fundamental essence of earth, ice, stone, and sky, created permanent zones of immense magical stability and protection, capable of repelling dark sorcery, healing blighted land, and even, it was theorized, disrupting the Others' ability to raise the dead within their sphere of influence. Winterfell itself, its foundations now a tapestry of awakened ancient runes, pulsed with a quiet, almost imperceptible power that made it arguably the most magically fortified castle in the world.
At Winterfell proper, Lord Eddard Stark's young family grew, unaware of the ageless guardians who watched over their line. Robb, his eldest, was a sturdy lad, already showing his father's sense of responsibility. Sansa was a picture of southern courtesy, Arya a wild, untamable spirit. Bran, a thoughtful boy, often spoke of strange dreams, whispers that the immortal Arya and her kin recognized as the faint, early stirrings of Greensight, a talent they would monitor with keen interest. Rickon was still a babe. And then there was Jon Snow, Ned's bastard son, a quiet, observant boy who carried a shadow of melancholy and an unknown destiny.
The immortal Starks, particularly Jon himself and Edwyle (whose psychic dragon Umbra could sense the complex emotional and magical signatures around the boy), knew the truth of Jon Snow's parentage. They had pieced it together from Noctua's fragmented visions, from their vast intelligence network's whispers about Rhaegar's obsession with prophecy, Lyanna's fiery spirit, and the events at the Tower of Joy. They saw in Jon Snow not just the son of a dragon prince and a wolf maid, but a confluence of potent magical bloodlines, a child of both ice and fire.
"His existence is a dangerous secret, one that could unravel Robert's entire reign if revealed," Artos Stark, now Warden Willam's designated heir, observed during a council meeting. "Does he pose a threat to us, Grandfather?"
Jon Stark's ancient eyes held a thoughtful gleam. "Not directly. He is a Stark by blood, however complex his heritage. His destiny is unwritten, but it is clearly touched by the great powers of this world. Eddard's honor protects him, and in doing so, perhaps protects us all from unforeseen consequences. We will continue to observe. We will subtly shield his secret if necessary. He may yet have a role to play in the true war to come, a role even he cannot imagine."
The relative peace of Robert's reign was punctuated by minor tremors that hinted at the instability beneath. The Crown's debts grew ever larger, primarily to Tywin Lannister, whose influence at court became almost a shadow kingship. Littlefinger's deft manipulations in the realm's finances and Varys's web of spies created an atmosphere of intrigue and mistrust. Queen Cersei's ambition, and the questions surrounding her children's parentage, were a festering wound that Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand, was beginning to probe with dangerous diligence.
The Starks, from their Northern bastion, watched these developments with growing unease. Warden Willam, his public persona that of a wise, aging lord, maintained cordial but distant relations with King's Landing, his primary concern the well-being and autonomy of the North. His son Artos, the immortal rider of Kratos, often represented him at court when absolutely necessary, his keen mind and geomantic senses alert to the shifting currents of power and deceit.
In Essos, the Targaryen exiles, Viserys and Daenerys, were still alive, their movements tracked by Finnan's network. Viserys, arrogant and delusional, plotted his return, seeking allies among the Free Cities. Daenerys, a young girl, was little more than a pawn in his schemes, though Noctua's visions sometimes showed fleeting images of her surrounded by immense, fiery power, a future queen of dragons – a prospect the Starks viewed with both caution and a strange sense of detached curiosity, given their own hidden draconic might. The Golden Company, though its Blackfyre claimants were now few and far between, remained a potent mercenary force, its loyalty to the Blackfyre cause a perennial, if currently dormant, threat.
As King Robert's reign moved towards its fifteenth year, Warden Willam Stark, his true age now well over a century, began the final, meticulous preparations for his own "passing." The North was strong, its hidden defenses unparalleled, its immortal council robust and united. His son, Artos, was ready to assume the public Wardenship, a proven leader, a powerful immortal, and rider of the formidable Kratos. Artos's own son, Rodrik (rider of the ice-dragon Glacies), was a mature and capable member of the hidden council, and Rodrik's son, young Ben Stark (rider of the storm-dragon Nimbus), was now fully integrated into their eternal vigil. Ben himself had recently married, and his wife, a young Stark cousin from a minor branch who possessed a clear, if untrained, magical sensitivity, was expecting their first child – the next generation, the future hope of their unending line.
The Great Deception, the cycle of rule and "death," was ready to turn once more. Warden Willam, after a long, public illness bravely borne (another masterpiece of Jon's glamours and alchemical preparations), would "die" peacefully in his bed at Winterfell, mourned by a North that had known only peace and prosperity under his long and wise "mortal" reign.
Jon Stark, from his timeless perspective, sensed the convergence of multiple threads of fate. The peace of Robert's reign was fraying. Jon Arryn's investigations were nearing a dangerous truth. Aerys's madness had sown seeds of chaos that were about to bloom. And far to the east, the last Targaryens were stirring. He felt the "Great Weave of Winter's Fire," his grand magical endeavor to protect the North, thrumming with increased intensity, as if sensing the approach of a new, more immediate storm, distinct from, yet a precursor to, the Long Night.
His Greendreams became more vivid, more urgent. He saw a raven with three eyes, a crippled boy falling from a high tower, a lion and a wolf locked in bloody combat, and then, overshadowing it all, the chilling advance of an endless winter, the blue eyes of the Great Other staring out from a world consumed by ice.
"The game of thrones is about to resume its deadly dance," Jon announced to the hidden council, his voice a low, cold whisper that carried the weight of ages. "And this time, our mortal kin, the Starks of Winterfell, will be at its very heart. Our policy of non-interference will be tested as never before. We must be prepared to shield the North, to preserve our strength, and perhaps, if the old gods and the new deem it so, to subtly guide the hand of fate itself. For the Long Night draws ever closer, and the squabbles of men are but dust in the face of that ultimate winter."
The immortal guardians of the North stood ready, their dragons stirring in their hidden eyrie, their ancient magic a silent, gathering storm. The world was on the precipice of change, and they, the eternal Starks, were its unseen, unyielding sentinels.