Andrew
He found Ghost atop the hill, as he thought he might. The white wolf never howled, yet something drew him to the heights all the same, and he would squat there on his hindquarters, hot breath rising in a white mist as his red eyes drank the stars.
"Are you watching the stars again?" Andrew asked, as he went to one knee beside the direwolf and scratched the thick white fur on his neck. He pointed to his family looking down upon them from the night sky. "You see that? There's father and mother and we both are there." Ghost licked his face, his rough wet tongue rasping against the his cheeks where Joy had once kissed everyday. What would've she said if he'd shown her Ghost? he wondered. She would've loved him, he thought. It was not in Joy to hate anyone, even those who hate her. "Ghost," he said quietly, "It's time. It's time to get our justice for mother and father and Joy. There's no steps here, no cage-and-crane, no way for me to get you to the other side. We have to part. Do you understand?"
In the dark, the direwolf's red eyes looked black. He nuzzled at Andrew's neck, silent as ever, his breath a hot mist. Old Nan might've called Andrew Stark a warg, but if so he was a poor one. He did not know how to put on a wolf skin, the way men in her stories had with the birds of the sky and creatures of the deep. Once Andrew had dreamed that he was Ghost, looking down upon the Wolfswood and hunting alone, and that dream had turned out to be true. But he was not dreaming now, and that left him only words.
"You cannot come with me," Andrew said, cupping the wolf's head in his hands and looking deep into those eyes. "Stay close to Winterfell. Do you understand? Winterfell. Once I'm inside and had my chance I'll open the gates for you. I will meet you again at Winterfell, but you have to get there by yourself. We must each hunt alone for a time. Alone."
The direwolf twisted free of Andrew's grasp, his ears pricked up. And suddenly he was bounding away. He loped through a tangle of brush, leapt a deadfall, and raced down the hillside, a pale streak among the trees. Off to Winterfell? Andrew wondered. Or off after a hare? He wished he knew. He feared he might prove just as poor a warg as a son and a lover.
A wind sighed through the trees, rich with the smell of pine needles, tugging at his white jacket. Andrew could see the grey walls of Winterfell looming high and dark to the south, a great shadow blocking out the stars. The rough hilly ground made him think he must be somewhere between the Great keep and armoury, and likely closer to the fight. For days they had been wending their way around Winterfell, hiding between trees and fresh fallen snows that covered the forest floors, while flint ridges and pine-clad hills jostled against one another to either side. Such ground made for slow riding, but offered easy concealment for those wishing to approach Winterfell unseen.
Beyond those grey walls lay Winterfell, and everything he had held dear once. He had been born the firstborn and only son of King Eddard Stark and Queen Ashara Dayne, had grown up as their son until Rhaegar Targaryen took them away from him, and by rights he should be up there fighting for it against those who sullied his home. He should be raising the banners of the north to rouse his people to arms. He might go to them, castle after castle, to the Umbers, the Karstarks, the Manderlys calling them to fight, but what would that accomplish? No one would hear him. They might laugh straight to his face at that. His father had once said that every road in the north will lead to home. That had been true once, when his father and mother was still alive. Then every place they went there had been people to offer their homes and hospitality. It had felt home. But without father and mother even the familiar Wolfswood did not feel so familiar now. He felt as if he did not belong here even in the north where his father once ruled, as if he did not belong anywhere.
I should have killed Rhaegar Targaryen in Braavos, even if it meant my life. That was what father would have done. But Andrew had ran for his life that day, and the chance passed. And what did you get for such a bold act? The death of Joy, the woman you loved. He told himself that he was only biding his time, that when the moment came he would raise the north in his father's name. The moment never came.
The mouth of the cave where he camped for the night was a cleft in the rock barely wide enough for a horse, half concealed behind a soldier pine. It opened to the north, so the glows of the fires within would not be visible from the walls of Winterfell. Even if by some mischance a patrol should happen to pass atop the outer wall tonight, they would see nothing but hills and pines and the icy sheen of starlight on a half-frozen brook. Andrew had planned the entire thing in a careful way. He did not come all the way to Westeros only to see Winterfell.
Andrew collected Frost and his blades from the cave. The night's cookfire burned amongst the column, the smoke rising to blacken the stony ceiling. He put out the fire and walked back to his horse.
It was about the hour of wolf. There will be patrols on the high walls of Winterfell. There must be and the men in those patrols will be able men as well not sickly or spare ones. He knew that better than anyone. "No wall can keep you safe," his father had told him once, as they walked the walls of Winterfell. Andrew could not have been older than five that his father had to hold his hand as they walked, but he had been very eager to learn new things. "A wall is only as strong as the men who defend it."
A strong castle like Winterfell will have strong men to defend it. The guards at the walls will be the ones to fall first before they could alert the others. Winterfell itself was a huge castle complex spanning several acres, defended by two massive walls of grey granite with a wide moat between them. The outer wall is eighty feet high and the inner wall is higher even than the outer one almost reaching one hundred feet high, with a wide moat between them. His father would have both the walls manned all time. Even at night there would be enough men at the walls to watch all sides of the castle and to hold any surprise attacks. There were guard turrets on the outer wall and more than thirty watch turrets on the crenelated inner walls all filled with archers and watchers during the time of his father.
Entering the castle through the main gates was almost impossible if he wished to stay hidden. Stealth was his primary weapon now and Andrew didn't want to throw up his cover. The great main gates had a gatehouse made of two huge crenelated bulwarks which flanked the arched gate and a drawbridge that opens into the market square of the winter town. The main gates would be heavily guarded that it was hard even for him to enter the castle through there even with the cover of night. The other three gates were his options. There was a crack once near the Hunter's Gate from where Andrew would play climbing when he was little. When his mother found about it she had father send some men and seal the crack so that no one could climb there anymore.
He might want to find a new place to climb now.
As the moon reigned supreme in the black sky, the grey walls of Winterfell appeared before him, rising above the trees and the morning mists. Moonlight glimmered against the dark towers and walls black as shadow. He led the horse to a nearby elm and tied it to a low branch. Before him Winterfell rose up, stone towers and all.
He could see the distant fires on top of the wall. From the ground he could not tell if there were sentries walking the wall eighty feet above. Climbing this wall will be a challenge. Despite the challenge, the exhaustion, Joy, his parents, justice, Rhaegar and the dragon, despite it all, Andrew smiled. It was good to be back. To see his home, where he was born and lived happily with his parents.
For years he had dreamed of taking his home back from the Targaryens. That somehow he would find the courage to get the northern people fight for him and take back Winterfell and will finally make his father and mother proud. And right now he was right at the doorstep of the castle. It would only take a few steps to do all that. He could get to see Winterfell again and the people. Ser Rodrick Cassel, the master at arms. Ser Old-knight he had called him when he was little and Ser Rodrick will always laugh at that. Jory Cassel and Desmond, Harwin who led his ponies when he had learnt to sit a horse for the first time, Ser Walys with his big chain and various little things, Old Nan with her thousand stories, happy stories, sad stories, funny stories, bad stories and scary stories, she knew them all. Lynora his mother's handmaid, Gage the Cook with his endless treats, Mikken in his forge, Farlen and his puppies, Hodor, the man in the glass gardens who gave him a blackberry whenever Andrew comes to visit, Fat Tom who would chase him through the snows after Andrew hits him with some snowball. He was big and slow which had made him an easy target and an easy escape for him. Hullen, Alyn, Porther he remembered everyone of them. Every single person in Winterfell had been so good to him and he knew them all. And his great-grandfather Rodrick who had carried him on his back even in that old age. He wondered what happened to him, what happened to all of them. His father had left the castle to his great grandfather when they had left for the south and the next time Andrew had heard about Winterfell, it had fallen to the hands of the Targaryens. He could only wish that his great-grandfather was alive even when something else in his heart said otherwise. He was only an old man and posed no threat to the Targaryens.
He pulled away the grappling claws and ropes. The outer wall rose up high before him, a large thrust of grey granite. After the bright moonlight, its shadow was so black that it felt like stepping into a cave. He tied one end of his rope around his waist, the other end around the thick branch of a sentinal near the wall. Throwing a grappling hook eighty feet above was impossible for any normal man. Andrew leapt over the lowest branch of the sentinel and pulled himself up. From there he moved higher and higher, vaulting over one branch and another.
When he reached the top of the tree, throwing the hook over the wall didn't seem so impossible then. When the hook was secure over the wall, Andrew secured the rope around him and started to climb. He had never climbed so high before and was almost afraid about it. Don't look down. Keep your weight above your feet. Don't look down. Look at the wall in front of you. There's a good handhold, yes. Don't look down. I did not come all the way here to fall to my death. Never look down.
Once his foot slipped as he put his weight on it and his heart stopped in his chest, but the gods were good and he did not fall. He could feel the cold seeping off the wall into his fingers. His burned hand was stiffening up on him, and soon it began to ache.
Up he went, and up, and up, a white shadow creeping across the moonlit wall. Anyone down on the floor could have seen him easily, but there was no one to see him there. He was close now, though. Andrew could sense it. Even so, he did not think of the foes who were waiting for him, all unknowing, but of his father and mother who loved him and saved him.
When he reached to the top of the outer wall, Andrew saw that there was no light in half of the guard turrets. Those towers always held men during the time of his father. But he was relieved that was not the case now. Less men meant less kills or less chance of being seen. His first kill came out of nowhere. Silent and swift as a shadowcat Andrew moved over to his enemy and buried his hidden blade right to the back of his neck. When he threw the body over the wall into the moat, three of his companions nearby came to look out for the reason for the splash of water. Andrew cracked the skull of one with Frost from behind him and cut down the other while simultaneously killing the last one by driving his left hidden blade through his eye. One of the deads had lowered the drawbridge which connected the inner wall and the outer wall over the moat. He saw three more men in the inner wall, all huddled up in their cloaks and furs, fast asleep. For a moment he thought to quiet them in their sleep but they might prove helpful if they are alive. He climbed to the nearest watch turret and looked down at his home.
From where he stood, Winterfell was a grey stone labyrinth of walls and towers and courtyards and tunnels spreading out in all directions. In the older parts of the castle, the halls slanted up and down so that you couldn't even be sure what floor you were on. The place had grown over the centuries like some monstrous stone tree, Maester Walys told him once, and its branches were gnarled and thick and twisted, its roots sunk deep into the earth.
When he got up from under the turret and scrambled up near the sky, Andrew could see all of Winterfell in a glance. He liked the way it looked, spread out beneath him. Watching the castle from up top, he could only think of how much he had missed it.
He could see almost everything around him in the starlight. It had not changed much from the last time he'd seen it. He could see the Great Keep and the Godswood, the Broken Tower and the First Keep, the Glass Gardens and Maester Walys' turret, the Bell Tower and even the bridge connecting the Great Keep and the armory.
He even remembered some of the secrets about Winterfell. The builders had not even leveled the earth; there were hills and valleys behind the walls of Winterfell. There was a covered bridge that went from the fourth floor of the bell tower across to the second floor of the rookery. Andrew knew about that. And he knew you could get inside the inner wall by the south gate, climb three floors and run all the way around Winterfell through a narrow tunnel in the stone, and then come out on ground level at the north gate, with a hundred feet of wall looming over you. Most of them didn't know that, Andrew was convinced, and certainly not these new southerners.
He might stay there for a while until he could reach the dragon unseen. He looked everywhere for that thing but it could be seen nowhere. Andrew had wanted to eliminate the dragon before he could liberate the castle because killing that beast was the only way to liberate the castle.
He was searching for the dragon when he saw a man pushing and wrestling with a woman near the armory. She seemed to be trying to get away from his grasp but was failing in it. Andrew watched it from the top. His plan would have him stay hidden and leave it be and for a heartbeat he thought of doing so. But then he remembered the wrongings done to the people and what good he is than the Targaryens if he let them happen.
Andrew climbed down the turret and entered the inner tunnel of the inner wall and moved swiftly always searching for any guards. He came out to the ground by the north gate and crossed the yard to the armory in the cover of night.
The man was pushing the woman against the wall of the armory. He had a dark cloak hanging from his shoulders, another one of the Targaryen men.
"Hey," Andrew called, walking over to him. "Showing the strength to a woman now, are we?"
The man took a look at him and then turned again to the woman. "Mind yer business."
Andrew put his hand at the guard's shoulder to turn him back to him. Irritated, the guard swung his hand to hit his head. Andrew ducked under his hand and punched at his ribs with his left hand, connected his right fist at his jaw and then again punched his left jaw with his left. He grasped the guard's head and smashed it against the wall, once, twice, thrice and then pushed his limp body to the ground.
"Are you alright?" he asked the woman on the ground. Her clothes were torn, lips broken and bleeding. There was a deep purple bruise on her cheek where the guard had hit her.
She looked up at him from the ground, holding her torn clothes over her breast. "Yes," she said looking at him and Andrew saw her eyes growing wide in shock and surprise. She got up at once and Andrew could see her face now.
"Your grace," Lynora said going to one knee.
Andrew lifted her back up. "Get up. Do you still remember me?"
His mother's handmaid threw her arms around him and hugged him. "Of course, I do," she said. "How could I not? It's just there in the face but your hair, it's your-"
"My mother's," Andrew finished for her with a smile.
"But how did you... We thought you were dead."
"Long story," Andrew told her. "Now is not the right time."
"Right," Lynora nodded.
"I need your help," he told Lynora.
"Whatever you want, your grace."
"Wake maester Walys and our men, tell them what happened here. I will need all the help I could get to do this."
"At once, your grace." His mother's handmaid bowed and left him there in the dark.
It felt strange to hear her call him 'Your Grace.' He had heard her call Queen Ashara and King Eddard as 'Your Graces' when he was a prince. Everyone in the north had called his mother and father as 'Your Grace' but it was new to him.
He was waiting by the armory when Lynora brought a handful of men. He had thought to see them all groggy from sleep but none of them had a hint of sleep in their face. They seemed so eager to meet this self-proclaimed son of King Eddard and Queen Ashara but Andrew was hesitant to show himself out to them. He did not know how they would react to him. But then again all of them were here atleast to see that if he is true when he is known to be dead to this world. He had thought them to send Lynora back telling her that their prince is dead with their king and queen. That much was good enough for him to step out from the dark and into the light.
They all looked at him for a quiet few seconds, so intently that Andrew feared that they might not believe or accept him. If they are not going to believe me, I'll make them believe me. He was about to tell them of what happened that day at Starfall when one by one all went down to one knee. Everyone from Maester Walys to Jory and Ser Rodrik to Mikken and Farlen to Desmond and Fat Tom, all went down to one knee with a single word from their mouths.
"Your Grace."
"Get up," Andrew told them. "You don't have to do that."
His men stayed on one knee, their heads bowed down. Andrew picked up Maester Walys and Ser Rodrik and the others followed.
"We never thought to see you alive and well," Maester Walys said.
"How did you escape?" Ser Rodrik asked. "We heard that you were killed, my king."
"Mother saved me," Andrew told them. "And I'm here now to get justice for mother and father and everyone who died that day. For that I need your help."
"Give us the command, sire," Farlen said. "We'll do anything for you."
He could almost sense the work half done at that. "Mikken, I need one of your best spears," he told the armorer. "Maester Walys, bring me the deadliest poisons from your stores."
He could see that everyone was confused at that.
"What are you going to do, your grace?" Ser Rodrik asked.
"I'm going to kill a dragon."