[North]
A white raven flew over the Northern wilderness towards Winterfell.
[Winterfell - Dining Hall]
Jon was standing behind the high table, staring across the hall. Melisandre stood by his side.
"When we had feasts, our family would sit up here... and I'd sit down there." He pointed to the other end of the hall.
"Could have been worse, Jon Snow. You had a family. You had feasts."
Jon chuckled. "Aye, you're right. I was luckier than most."
Davos entered the hall and tossed the charred stag statuette at Melisandre who caught it.
"What is that?" Jon asked.
"Tell him. Tell him who it belonged to." Davos said, his anger rising.
"The Princess Shireen."
"Tell him what you did to her. Tell him!"
"We burned her at the stake."
"Why?" Davos asked.
"The army was trapped. The horses were dying. It was the only way."
"You burned a little girl alive!"
"I only do what my Lord commands!"
"If he commands you to burn children, your Lord is evil!"
"We are standing here because of him. Jon Snow is alive because the Lord willed it."
"I loved that girl like she was my own. She was good. She was kind. And you killed her."
"So did her father. So did her mother. Her own blood knew it was the only way." Melisandre told him.
"The only way for what? They all died anyway! You told everyone Stannis was the one. You had him believing it, all of them fooled. And you lied."
"I didn't lie. I was wrong."
"Aye, you were wrong. How many died because you were wrong?"
Davos and Melisandre stared at each other in silence.
"I ask your leave to execute this woman for murder. She admits to the crime." Davos requested.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Jon asked her.
"I've been ready to die for many years. If the Lord was done with me, so be it, but he's not. You've seen the Night King, Jon Snow. You know the great war is still to come. You know the army of the dead will be upon us soon. And you know I can help you win that war."
Jon approached her. "Ride south today. If you return to the North, I'll have you hanged as a murderer.
Melisandre put the stag statuette down on the high table and began to walk away.
Davos stepped in her way. "If you ever come back this way, I will execute you myself."
Melisandre moved past Davos and exited.
[Winterfell - Main Hall]
As the setting sun cast long, golden shadows across the flagstones of Winterfell's Great Hall, an expectant hush fell over the gathered Northern Houses. Their eyes were fixed on the dais, where Robb Stark, the once and future King in the North, now stood before them. His form was leaner, harder, but there was a new determination in his gaze that spoke of a man who had been forged in fire and emerged stronger for it. Beside him, his mother, Catelyn Tully-Stark, looked on with a mixture of pride and trepidation, her own journey back from the grave having been no less arduous.
The tension in the air was palpable as Robb began to speak, his voice strong and clear. "My lords and ladies of the North, I know that you have many questions, and I promise to answer each and every one of them. But first, I must tell you all why I have returned to Winterfell, and the truth of my survival." He paused, taking a deep breath, and then continued. "You see, following the tragic events at the Red Wedding, my mother and I were smuggled away to safety in Volantis by loyal servants. We lived there for many months, hidden among the crowds, trying to forget the life we had left behind. But my heart has always been in Winterfell, with you, my people."
Jon was sitting at high table, Sansa sitting beside him. Representatives from Northern houses, the Vale, and the wildlings were gathered in the dining hall. Tormund and Davos sat among the wildlings while Petyr stood off to the side, watching.
"You can't expect Knights of the Vale to side with wildling invaders." A Vale Knight said.
"We didn't invade. We were invited." Tormund argued.
"Not by me."
Jon stood. "The free folk, the northerners, and the Knights of the Vale fought bravely, fought together, and we won. My father used to say we find our true friends on the battlefield."
One of the houses' representatives stands. "The Boltons are defeated. The war is over. Winter has come. If the maesters are right, it'll be the coldest one in a thousand years. We should ride home and wait out the coming storms."
"The war is not over. And I promise you, friend, the true enemy won't wait out the storm. He brings the storm."
The men begin to murmur.
Lyanna Mormont stood. "Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly. But you aided the men who killed him. You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover, but in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call. And you, Lord Cerwyn, your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton. Still you refuse the call. But House Mormont remembers. The North remembers. We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark. My mother died fighting for her King, fighting for what was right."
There was a moment of silence as her words hung in the air. Robb nodded grimly. "Lyanna speaks for all of us, my lords. We are here to offer you peace, and protection. But know this: if you turn your backs on us again, if you refuse to stand with us against the coming darkness, we will not hesitate to remove you from power. The North is mine by right, and I will not let it slip through my fingers a second time."
His gaze swept over the gathered nobles, his words carrying the weight of centuries of history. There were murmurs of agreement, and even a few hesitant nods. Some of the lords and ladies looked troubled, but there was no denying the determination in Robb's eyes. He was a Stark, through and through, and he would not be moved from his path.
As the hall began to quiet, Jon stepped forward, his expression grave. "My half-brother's words echo my own. We will need every man and woman who can bear arms if we are to stand against the darkness that threatens us all. We will need your wisdom, your strength, and your courage. And we will need your loyalty."
His gaze swept over the gathering, meeting the eyes of those who had once been his enemies and those who had always been his allies. There was determination in their faces, a resolve that spoke of a shared fate and the understanding that their futures were now irrevocably entwined.
Lord Glover stood. "I did not fight beside you on the field and I will regret that unti; my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong and ask forgiveness."
"There's nothing to forgive, my lord."
"There will be more fights to come. House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousands years. And I will stand behind Robb Stark... the Young Wolf." He drew his blade, then rested it point-down on the ground and kneeled. "The King In The North!"
As the words echoed through the hall, a murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Some knelt before Robb, swearing fealty anew, their hands pressed to sword hilts or clasped in prayer. Others simply stood, nodding solemnly, their faces etched with a newfound respect for the boy who had grown into a king.
Catelyn Stark felt a surge of pride well up within her as she watched her son command the room. He was everything she had ever hoped for and more. His presence was commanding, his words measured and true. He was a leader, born to rule. And beside him, Jon Snow, his half-brother, stood tall and strong, his dark eyes mirroring the determination that burned in Robb's gaze.
As Lord Glover knelt before Robb and swore fealty once more, Catelyn's heart swelled with gratitude. She had fought so hard for this moment, had sacrificed so much. And now, it seemed, all of her efforts were about to pay off. The North would rise again, united under the banner of the Starks.
"Your Grace," a Stark guard entered, seemingly flustered. "There is a young man claiming to be Lord Brandon Stark."
Robb gestured for them to follow him as he made his way through the courtyard. The air was crisp and clean, the snow crunching beneath their boots.
Jon walked beside her, his expression thoughtful. "I never thought I'd see the day when Bran would come back to us," he murmured.
There was a group crowded together.
As they approached the group, Robb's heart leapt into his throat. There, sitting in a wheelchair, was Bran. His once-lush hair was now short and brown, his face pale and gaunt. But there was a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there before, a new wisdom that belied his years. Beside him stood a young girl, perhaps a few years younger than Sansa, with dark brown hair and defiant brown eyes.
"Bran?" Catelyn breathed, tears streaming down her face. "Is it really you?"
Her son, Robb, knelt beside Bran's chair, grasping his hand tightly. "Bran, you're alive! We thought you were dead! We all did."
"It's a long story," Bran replied, his voice quiet and steady. "But I am here now." He glanced at the young girl beside him, and she nodded in agreement. "Meera Reed, daughter of Howland Reed, has been my traveling companion and protector. She has served our family well."
Catelyn felt a surge of relief and gratitude towards Meera, but her attention was still fixed on Bran. He looked so different from the boy she remembered. His once-lush hair was now short and brown, his face pale and gaunt. There was a new wisdom in his eyes, a stoicism that belied his years. She reached out to touch his cheek, feeling the stubble there. "My poor boy," she whispered. "You've been through so much."
Robb stood, his expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. "Bran, you're alive. We thought you were dead. We all did. We never would have given up, you know. We would have fought until the end." He paused, his voice thick with emotion. "But to see you like this... it's more than we could have hoped for."
Sansa, her eyes glistening with tears, threw her arms around Bran. "Oh, Bran! I can't believe it's really you! We've missed you so much." She turned to Meera, taking her hand. "Thank you. Thank you for bringing him back to us."
Bran smiled at her, his expression gentle. "It was not I who needed rescuing, Sansa. It was you." He glanced over at Jon, who looked uncomfortable. "And Jon. You have all been through so much."
"Come, Bran," Robb said, squeezing his shoulder. "Let's get you back inside. There's much to catch up on and much to be done. Winter is upon us, and we must prepare."
They guided Bran back into the keep, Meera Reed following dutifully behind. As they made their way to the great hall, Bran paused to study the portraits that lined the walls. His gaze lingered on the one of his father, the late Eddard Stark, before moving on to his mother. There was a sadness in his eyes that belied his years, but also a determination that had not been there before.
Catelyn noticed this change in her son and could not help but wonder what he had endured during his time away. She longed to ask him, to hear the tale of his adventures and his escape from certain death. But now was not the time.
As they entered the great hall, Bran's gaze drifted upwards, taking in the towering height of the chamber and the numerous portraits that adorned the walls. There was a sense of both familiarity and disconnect as he recognized the faces of his ancestors, some of whom he had only read about in scrolls and tomes.
Catelyn, her heart swelling with emotion, watched as Bran struggled to take it all in. She could see the questions in his eyes, and she knew that he wanted to share his story with them, to explain how he had survived and what he had been through. But now was not the time. Instead, they would all have to wait until Bran was ready to talk.