Chapter Text
7th Moon, 295 AC
A cold breeze slid gently across the Weirwood’s glistening red leaves. The summer rains had taken over the snow, and now everything lay wet and soggy. The air smelt of moss and well-trodden mud. Benjen drew a gentle smile across his face, feeling at home for once in a long, long time.
The sounds of children playing behind him felt like a beautiful chorus, like the Septons in their Septs would arrange. It was life and youth and happiness. It was not the Watch.
The dried husk of icy shells they called men there did not laugh nor play. Sure, a few young stewards had the energy occasionally to play at snowball fighting and dredging up snow to create facsimiles of dragons and giants. It did not compare to this joyous little thing, the laughter of true children. Lost in imagination, in the present. They did not worry about the future, or of the past. At least, they pretended they did not.
Opening his eyes and closing on his prayers, Benjen turned over on his haunches and surveyed the fighting siblings. Arya had Bran in a full grip, whilst the young boy began licking the sister's arms, making her draw back in disgust. A ringing of giggles came from his side; Sansa. She hid her smile with her hand, but when Arya picked Bran up and dunked his head in the nearby spring, she laughed uncontrollably.
Far away, across the spring, he saw Robb and Theon talking amongst themselves. Robb skipped stones, while Theon aimed for the frogs and birds resting around.
Ass.
Benjen stood and stretched, letting loose a tension he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“Are you leaving us, Nuncle?” Sansa said, her voice small and delicate, though still giddy with past laughter.
“Aye, I can barely hear my own thoughts whilst these two wild beasts go at it!” He emphasized to the squabbling siblings. They both turned and in unison ran at him. As they got close, they scooped up and readied a mud pie each to throw, but Benjen easily dodged the children's projectiles and then hoisted them up on both arms.
“Hah! You'll have to try harder than tha-” He was cut off from his moment of victory when a muddy hand fell softly onto his forehead. A buzz of laughter surrounded Benjen. Arya had the audacity to attempt a look of shame, before smiling toothily at her success.
Letting them both down with ease, he took a small kerchief in his pocket and wiped at his face. In effect, he basically just smeared the dirt across his forehead. He looked down at the rag and frowned.
Silence slowly crept up in the Godswood, and a small tension rose within it. Then, Benjen let out a mock roar, chasing after the two and then tickling the little shites. Their screams of delight more treasure than any gold.
When he had successfully tired them out, tickling them until they begged him to stop, he walked over to the spring and began using the water to clean himself. The crystal clear waters give him a natural mirror with which to do so. When he finished, he walked over to Sansa, ruffled her hair, and headed for the entrance to the forest.
“Bye bye uncie!” Little Bran said as he trotted off, still recuperating from his run. If what Ned had said about Bran's behavior was true, then the young lad did a surprisingly good job of hiding it. Benjen had yet to see him cry over heights or attack the wet nurses yet, and mayhaps he wouldn't. Young minds often moved on faster than a grown man's did.
As he passed by their perch, Benjen gave Robb and Theon a nod. “Keep an eye on those two, nasty little snarks they've become.” He chuckled.
Robb laughed, “Aye, uncle, I'll keep an eye, but I can't say I'll get too close.”
“Aye, I'll be keeping my distance.” Theon chimed in, looking pointedly at Benjen's slightly dirtied face.
Benjen grabbed up his black cloak from a nearby branch and continued on, chuckling to himself. When he finally found his way out of the Godswood, he took a deep breath. The noise of the castle was completely disorienting compared to the woods.
The courtyards and castle were full of activity and busywork. The smiths worked tirelessly, the stablemasters had more than their fair share of horses to care for, and the rest were cooking all day and night for the large number of guests in Winterfell. It seemed like Ned had hired quite a few newer additions to the castle's usual household now, most likely to help with the workload. Without a wife to manage said household, it probably wasn't a bad idea. Benjen was thankful he'd never gone for a castle life like Ned had.
At least Ned had wanted it, for the most part. He recalled Ned visiting once from the Vale, talking about knighthoods and tourneys. Claiming, he'd move down to the rocky mountains of the south and become a landed knight.
Those talks stopped after the rebellion, of course. Ned had since become the exemplar, if odd, Northern Lord. Though even that seemed to be changing before Benjen’s eyes.
A few days prior, he'd finally arrived in Winterfell for the funeral, exchanged pleasantries, and had gone up to his brother's solar to catch up. That's when he had seen the mess that was Ned's mind on full display in the form of his study. Letters and maps and all sorts of nonsense were on the desks, the floors, every table, and every wall. It concerned Benjen and when he found out what most of the letters were about, he'd nearly fallen over from the knowledge of it.
Brandon and father’s letters… Benjen still felt a heavy weight at the thought as he strode past Lord Bolton and his family with a nod and ‘my lord’.
Why had Ned dredged all of that up? And you didn't even want to get him started on what Ned had said about Jon.
Revealing his parentage to the boy? What was it all for, then? To disclose that would mean to put in peril everything they'd lived for. Everything they promised.
Benjen had curtailed Ned's grieving mind for now, but sooner than later, he'd have to ensure Ned wasn't going to upend his entire life over the would have and could haves. The past was made for the past. They made their decisions, and he'd be damned if he was going to repeat those mistakes again, or jeopardize the plans they'd already had. Catelyn was a fine woman, an amazing mother, and a good friend. It was his responsibility to keep Ned in line for her, since she couldn't now. At least until this funeral business was over and done.
Benjen wasn't innocent in any definition of the word. He'd seen his fair share of death, for good and ill reasons. Catelyn died in just about the most gracious way you could, giving life to another. It was on par with sacrificing yourself for your comrades, and it was a heavy burden for those who survived. He saw that in his nieces and nephews, and his brother. Even the castle staff felt it. The one consolation was that in her death, they were given a beautiful new life in return. That was something at the least, right?
Well, it didn't much matter if the ones who survived are under so much guilt that they get themselves killed right after. He'd seen his fair share of that too. That, in his eyes, was the worst way to die. Benjen wasn't going to let that be Ned.
With Benjen's thoughts wandering, it was hardly a surprise when he ended up walking nearly straight into Lady Mormont. Quickly, he ducked his head, “My apologies, my Lady. I was lost in thought.” When had he gotten into the Great Hall?
Mormont gave a soft chuckle, “You can hardly be blamed for that, can you? Actually, I wished to speak with you.”
Benjen was a little surprised at that. No one save his family and old friends in the staff had wanted to speak to him since his arrival. Though, Jon had somehow evaded him his entire visit...
“What can I do for you, my Lady?” he asked, turning his attention back to her.
“Just want you to tell that Lord of ours that we expect him to actually be down here tonight for dinner. It's the last day before we leave for Cerwyn's, and he's barely said a word of anything. Not a good look.” Ah, so that was it. A message, he was used to that, at least. Many people used him as a go between for them and Ned. Even Catelyn did, in that small window when they both occupied Winterfell. Benjen warmed at the thought.
He enjoyed Lady Mormont's plain way of speech, and decided he liked her. He'd met some of her family once, but he'd only ever had passing words with the rest of the family, whenever there were raids or hints of one on the island and Black Brothers were sent to aid them. This must have been the mother of all those Mormont girls from his last visit. Before Jorah broke the most sacred of First Men and Andal laws.
Benjen shook his head. “I'll see to it, my Lady. My brother has taken this loss hard.”
“As have all of us. She may have been a Southron, but Lady Catelyn was a Lady of Winterfell regardless. She was strong, and if it wasn't for all those pretty words those Septons put in her head, she'd have been a proper Northern woman.” Benjen thought she may have overstepped with that line, though he also could tell she meant it in no ill will.
Before he could say anything to that, however, Rodrick Ryswell slid up, his family nearby. “I wouldn't exactly call you a proper northern woman either, Mormont!” He said, earning a kick to the shin. He held it for a moment, mocking pain.
“Best mind your tongue, Lord Rodrick, I'm old enough to be your mother, boy.” Lord Ryswell gave a final rub of his shin, and moved back to sit with his family, laughing all the while.
“Men…” Lady Mormont sighed, “Anyway, just looking out for our Lord. I heard some… Talk.” Without any further explanation, Mormont headed out the Great Hall, leaving Benjen to worry over whatever this ‘talk’ was.
Grabbing up a bit to eat on his way, he headed into the hall heading north, then up and out onto a small corridor which overlooked the small Sept and courtyard below, then back inside to the throne room. Benjen stood on an upper wooden balcony above the throne, for courtiers and others to watch proceedings. It was here that Benjen found Ned, sitting on the old Stark throne, speaking with another vassal about this or that request, or misgiving, or some other want. Many had brought gifts of goodwill as well.
This was where he'd be other than the solar as of late. Though, the solar was still his most used out of the two. Sometimes, Benjen didn't even think he'd seen him go to bed some nights. Ned had been like that before, just after the rebellion, when he had finally returned home. This, along with numerous other things, also concerned Benjen greatly.
Some others lingered here as well, talking amongst themselves. Lady Barbery for one, and another lady, a Fisher if Benjen could guess by the codfish brooch which clasped her black and blue cloak.
“Good day, First Ranger.” Lady Barbery nodded, fixing a smile. The Lady Fisher gave him a polite nod as well, though said nothing.
“Good day, my Ladies. Anything interesting?” He waved down to the hall below. Benjen didn't recognize the man before Ned. Maybe they were some minor lord? The man's cloak depicted a red eagle's head on white.
“Oh, nothing worth talking about. Ser Kyle Condon is merely informing Lord Stark of Castle Cerwyn’s progress in preparation for the funeral ceremonies.”
“And? All things are as they should be?” Benjen looked at Lady Dustin then, and noted the creases in her face. It had been a long time since last they saw one another. It had been a visit, just before the rebellion. Benjen recalled his late brother's relationship with Barbery and shuddered.
“Yes… quite.” Was all she said.
Not wanting to linger alone with them, Benjen said his goodbyes and then made his way around the balcony, and then down a flight of stairs, just behind the throne. The man, Kyle, had headed off by now, and Ned bid Benjen come close when he saw him.
“Ben! I haven't seen you since last night. Come, walk with me.” He said, dark bags under his eyes. An aura of exhaustion hung over his older brother as he stood, grunting from the apparent strain. His shoulders were bent, seemingly heavy with weight. It was confirmed then, he hadn't slept as he should, the fool.
“Are you certain? There seem to be a few more requests...” Benjen looked to the rest of the hall apologetically, but most seemed content and bowed at his leave.
“No. I have already spent an hour or two out of each day attending to their needs. If it is that great, Vayon or Luwin will let me know tonight.” Ned said with a bit of annoyance. His politeness had always given way to exhaustion, and with everything going on, Benjen knew he was holding back far worse at the moment.
They went through a rounded wooden door, a straight entryway stretched before them, they were now in the Great Keep. As they headed up the stairs, past some guards, Benjen knew their destination then. They entered the nursery soon after.
A wet nurse nodded to Ned as he took Rickon from her. His hold was delicate and practiced, and the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift a fair bit as he stood there. He'd done this after every span of time spent in the throne room at noon, and after every night spent in the solar. Rickon grounded Ned, and Benjen was glad to see it.
“Isn't he a beautiful babe? Just like his mother.” Ned's eyes were filled with sorrow, but also a great joy as he beheld his son. Benjen smiled, and patted Ned on the shoulder.
“Aye, he is. Save for his eyes, they're yours for certain.” Benjen said quietly, staring down at the babe and ruffling his full head of flaming red hair.
“Ah, that's where you're wrong, brother. Let me show you.” Ned headed for the window, opening them while carefully holding onto Rickon. A gentle rain was falling now and Benjen amusedly thought of the other children, properly soaked, if they had stayed out in the woods.
When Ned had natural light streaming in, he held Rickon for Benjen to see. Weirdly enough, what was clear icy gray moments before, now gleamed a slight blue, like a crystal clear stream running over smooth pale rocks. It was a mesmerizing color, and Benjen was astonished by how it alighted as the babe looked at his father, babbling and giggling even as rain droplets pelted him. When the babe looked at him, it smiled with full gums, and babbled some more.
“Gods, Ned, you'll make me break my oaths at this rate. Makes me want a child of my own…” He said, half-joking. Ned laughed, then closed the windows.
“Apologies. A Lord such as myself should not jingle great treasures in front of his jealous siblings!” He teased, a bright smile on his face, completely evaporating the dark bags from before.
“Jealous sibling aye? I'll show you jealousy, let's see your skill at arms. Will the great Lord Stark find his match against his younger brother?” Benjen patted his bicep, and grinned mischievously.
“I won't even try it, brother. You've got far more experience than I. At any rate, it's been a month or so since I've even touched a blade. I've been so busy…” Ned trailed off, most likely thinking of all that had transpired in such a short time.
“Of course, of that we can both agree. I did need to tell you something, however. You won’t like it.” Benjen said, grimacing.
The dark bags returned to his brother's eyes as he handed over Rickon. With a heartfelt kiss to the babe's forehead, they left the nursery and found themselves walking toward the solar. Ned greeted a few guards as they entered, and they both took a seat.
Warm drinks were called for and made by a servant named Jerrold, apparently Ned's cupbearer. Benjen took deep swigs of it and thanked the boy.
His brother had gained a liking for warmed spiced mead, which Benjen agreed with. Many years spent on the wall made any warmth enviable, no matter where it came from. He hadn't sensed any idea of drunkenness from his brother, but he kept an eye on how many Ned had all the same.
“Right… What is it you wished to say, Ben?” Ned took a sip of his mead, and carefully undid his cloak's clasp, covering the back of his chair with a long black cloak, lined with grizzly fur. It reminded Benjen of father.
“Some nobles and I talked for a moment before I found you in the throne room.” Benjen sighed, knowing what he'd say next would probably annoy Ned a great deal more than he already was. “The Lords and Ladies are expecting to be fully addressed at tonight's dinner. It's not a… good look, some have said, to be absent as a host.” Benjen repeated Mormont's words, though he did not allude that they were hers.
Ned took an angry sip of mead, then calmed down with a breath. “My wife and mother of my children are dead, and they want to feel acknowledged?”
“I'm not saying it's right, Ned.” Benjen said, raising a hand. He didn't want this to turn into an argument. “There's been talk—”
“Talk!” Ned barked loudly, “Of what? Of a husband who grieves for his wife too deeply?” Ned practically growled. The guards would've heard that…
“I don't know, brother, it's just what's been said.”
“Damn these greedy Lords.” Ned quickly let out. “They can come back once they've lost, as I have.” Ned slumped into his chair, regretting his outburst immediately. Benjen did not respond, merely taking another sip of his mead. He worried deeply for his brother, and would never fault him for his sorrow. He had a duty, however. They both did.
After a long silence, Ned spoke, “Fine. I will give them their time. They've taken some already… Why not more? Was I not the one who invited them all?”
Benjen could only nod, feeling guilty all the while. “Ned… They've brought many gifts, brother. You have to at least give something in return. I know it's not ideal.” Benjen recounted some of the gifts already received. Pristine swords, heraldry, wolf emblazoned tunics, babies clothing and toys, and plenty of other fine gifts. Some were more tasteful than others, but they were gifts all the same. Most likely, many Lords were waiting until the final banquet to give their more extravagant presents.
“That's the way of things.” Ned said with finality. They both finished their drinks quickly after that, but before Benjen left, he gave Ned a quick embrace.
“You best get some rest beforehand. Take a nap here for all I care, but get some rest, you oaf. You look half dead.” Benjen chided.
Ned smiled, then sank back into his chair. “There's much to do, Ben. Much and more. But aye, I'll get some rest, as it pleases you, brother.”
Benjen left after that, heading out into the adjoining courtyard below the keep and taking a meandering path toward the gardens. The rain was still falling but light. A chilly breeze had sent most people inside by now, though many of the castle household still toiled. When Benjen reached the Godswood, he took a moment to see if the children were nearby, but it seemed they'd moved on to somewhere else.
The gardens themselves were as mesmerizing and warm as he remembered. He stood still for a few moments to just breathe in the earthy air and let himself relax. Plants of new kinds were here now, from the south, a nameday gift for Catelyn after her first year at Winterfell. Speaking of which…
In the middle of the gardens, raised up, was Catelyn’s visage. The statue was near complete. It would be a fine thing when it was. Benjen had not seen Catelyn as much as any of the children or his brother had, but even then, he found the statue captured her essence perfectly. Long waving hair, beautiful high cheekbones, and eyes of a rarity that many people did not possess.
As Benjen gazed up at the statue, he barely recognized the person nearby, until they said, “Eyeing my sister, eh?”
Turning with surprise, Benjen saw Edmure sitting nearby, his eyes bleary and a mug of something strong smelling in his hands. “Edmure… I didn't realize you'd arrived.”
“It was only this morning. Ned greeted us alone… Usually the whole of the family would be out there, but… It can't be helped, can it?” Edmure said with an aching tone. He took a deep swig of… ale? Gods, it was strange seeing a man Benjen had only known as a boy acting like a grown man… but he indeed was a grown man now. Very strange.
“No… It can't.” Benjen muttered, still staring up at the statue. He shifted the conversation, “When will Lady Lysa be joining us? If you know.”
Edmure snorted, “No idea. We've sent a letter to White Harbor and relayed to them that we arrived, but…” Edmure trailed off. Benjen thought better than to ask further if Edmure's reaction was anything to go by.
A brief span of silence passed between the two uncles, respectful but still awkward. Edmure spoke then, “You'll surely be joining us for dinner?”
“Of course.” Was Benjen's reply.
“Well, let's head there now, it's nearly late enough. Can't sit around forever.” Edmure stood, stretching for a second. “Have to meet with all these northern barbarians!” He said jokingly, Benjen gave an honest chuckle, and motioned for him to lead.
“By your leave, most noble southern Lord.” Benjen said with equal sarcasm, Edmure laughed. He laid his mug down, completely empty now, and they both exited the gardens.
They made their way back toward the Great Hall. Benjen and Edmure were halfway there when Benjen saw a small figure darting past the armory, dark brown hair and gray eyes.
Jon.
“You go ahead, I've got some business to attend to, I'll see you at the banquet.” Benjen said quickly, stopping and stooping over towards where he saw Jon.
Edmure gave a noise of agreement, hesitating for a second, before continuing on.
When Ben finally reaches where he saw Jon, he realizes he's standing in front of the crypt, doors ajar and the whistling sound of wind coming from within. Heading inside, Benjen is relaxed yet again by another piece of his old home. The crypts are warm and cozy to him. Where many, even Ned, would look into these stone halls with apprehension, Benjen had always seen it as just another extension of their home. A great underground network of passages which housed all those that came before. It was both delightful and inspiring to Benjen, and had been a main factor in his departure to the wall.
As he gets to his father's resting place, he notes the odd sound of rushing steps down the stairwell. What is this boy up to? Benjen thinks confusedly. None of the children had ever liked the crypts enough to go further than the first upper levels, at least, since his last visit, which in all honesty is probably outdated. Making his way down, he grows progressively more and more worried. What is Jon doing so deep in the crypts? Why is he hiding from him? Is he in trouble?
Before Benjen can start thinking these thoughts through, he arrives at the bottom of the lowest level of stairs, with Jon panting just beside.
“Uncle! Uh… Hello.” Jon says unseriously. Benjen notes a certain… anxiety, in his words. As if they're to distract rather than to interact. Looking around, Benjen doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. Regardless, he crosses his arms, giving his best ‘concerned uncle’ look.
“What's going on, Jon? It's nearly pitch black down here.” Benjen says, artificially adding some authority to his voice, like when he speaks to rookies at the Wall.
Best to get him used to that now.
“I'm… just walking.” The boy says, obviously not just walking.
“Fess up, come on. You've been avoiding me, we both know it. I'm not one to be petty, but I'm your uncle Jon, I expected at least a greeting.” Benjen tries to soften his tone, but he's pretty sure some real annoyance gets through, and he feels a little guilty at the face Jon makes at this.
“I'm sorry, uncle. I… I just didn’t have the heart to talk to you yet. I wanted… to wait till you were about to leave.” He sways back and forth, as if caught doing something naughty. It's childlike, but Benjen actually relaxes at the sight of it.
He's being truthful.
With a little care to make sure he doesn't pull anything, Benjen sits down on the stairs and pats the space next to him. “Sit with me.”
Jon does, sitting down and still not looking up at him. He'll need to break that habit soon, but he's still a boy, he'll learn. “Alright,” Benjen sighs, readying himself, “What's the matter Jon?”
Jon shifts uncomfortably, but surprisingly, lifts his head to look at him, eyes expressive and intense. He's been thinking about this for some time then. Benjen thinks, feeling pride at how Jon is presenting himself. Maybe there's no need to worry about his development.
“I don't want to join the Night's Watch.” He says, strong and without any stutter or faltering. At first, Benjen is taken aback, and then, he laughs.
It takes Jon off guard, who begins to frown. “It's… It's not funny!” He says with perfect sincerity. This only makes Benjen laugh harder.
“Oh, Jon. Calm yourself!” Benjen says in between fits of laughter, patting Jon on the back. Jon begins to chuckle as well, though more confusedly.
“I- I thought you'd be mad.”
“Mad? Whatever for?” Benjen was genuinely surprised now. Of course, it had been Ned and Benjen's plan to steer him toward the Wall or something like it, but honestly, if Benjen had to be truthful, his attempts had been half-hearted ever since he had seen the Night's Watch for what it was.
“Well, I just thought… Since I promised you I would, and always talked of it when you visited, that you'd be mad at me going back on it. That's all.” Jon fiddles with his cloak as he speaks. A memory of Lyanna flashes in Benjen's mind, fiddling with her cloak's buttons, telling him…
Benjen straightens and stops laughing.
“Oh… Oh Jon, please. I know you talked about it for a while, but trust me… You- You wouldn't understand what you'd be giving up.” Benjen lays a hand on Jon's shoulder, steadying the both of them. “You're still a boy. You have a good few years to decide your path. There's no rush.”
“I just…” Jon stops, and then Benjen's anxiety grows when he sees Jon's eyes glistening wet. Jon bends his head, “I don't want to be a burden to my siblings… I don't want my children to kill Robb’s. I… I don't want to—”
“Hold it, hold it. Jon, even if that happens, you can't control it. Relax… relax.” He brings Jon into an embrace, he feels him shudder against him, then finally still. “You love your siblings, right?”
Benjen feels Jon nod against his chest.
“Then here's what I'll say. You do whatever it is that you can, to help them. They need you right now, Jon, and thoughts about the future need to wait. For everyone. Now's not the time for “ifs” and “buts”. Now's the time for grieving, for rest.” Benjen ends his speech with a ruffle of the head, and holds Jon out, making him look into his eyes. “You don't say anything else, okay? You say nothing, you think about it, and when you're a grown man, we will continue this discussion, alright? Just nod or shake your head.”
Jon nods, a hint of a smile on his face.
“Good. Now… let's get out of this place, the dust is harder on me than last I remember.” Benjen stands then, helping Jon up.
“It's ‘cause you're getting old, Ben.” Jon teases, then giggles.
Benjen only shakes his head. “Didn't I tell you to not say anything?” They both laugh out loud at that, the previous tension evaporated.
They head up and out of the crypts, paying their respects as they do. Then make their way to the apartments; Jon so he can be with his siblings, and Benjen so he can relax before dinner. The slight drizzle of rain keeps a steady beat as they do, washing clean all of Winterfell, and hopefully all the sorrow with it.
~~~
“Hear, hear!” A loud clang echoes across the hall, and all the noises of merry going die out. A comfortable silence descends upon the packed room. From nobles to castle staff to low Lords, the hall is brimming with people, and could probably hold more besides. Benjen was always astounded by just how big Winterfell was. It had to have been monstrous work for their ancestors.
Turning to the origin of the sound, Benjen was a little anxious to see Rodrik Ryswell taking a stand. The man was tall, taller than Benjen and Ned, though only a little. What really made him stand out was his brilliantly long and wavy honey-brown hair, a Ryswell family trait.
Ned and Benjen exchanged a look of tepidity, and then turned back to Lord Ryswell. The children were all around and midway through their meals. Most of them stopped where they were to listen, save Arya, who still greedily ripped into her roasted chicken. Sansa had to pop her shoulder for her to finally pay attention. Edmure and Brynden Tully sat on the opposite side of Ned, and also paused their meals to listen. Because of their arrival, Jon was already whisked back to his place among the lowborn boys. Benjen understood the reasoning, but loathed the act after what he'd told Jon in the crypts. Stay strong, Jon.
Ryswell, now having all eyes on him, begins his speech, “I think we can all agree when I say, this has been a grand feast, my Lord!” Lord Ryswell says with a boisterous roar. A great thundering sound of claps and hoots and hollers rise up among the Northern lords, only the Boltons and a few other houses remaining more impassive, though Benjen does catch Lord Bolton's son, Domeric? Giving a hoot, which is quickly shushed by Lady Bolton.
“I want to firstly applaud our Lord's strength and tenacity in these times. I think we all agree that when there is loss, that is when we must have need of our friends, our families, and our allies. If no one else, I speak for myself, you will always have a true friend in the Rills, my Lord!” a resounding applause and cheer ripples through the hall, and Benjen catches the look of equal parts discomfort and parts exhaustion on Ned. He presses a hand on Ned's shoulder and shakes him out of it, giving him a smile. Ned calmly reflects one back, and claps to the little speech. Ryswell sits after, his eldest son clapping him on the back.
Then, dramatically, Lord Bolton rises. Almost effortlessly, he carries his voice across the hall without roaring like Rodrik had, instead having a calm demeanor altogether. “House Bolton will always be true and honest friends to the Starks as well. If you have need of us, my Lord, we will be there.” With a sharp nod to Ned, he sits. Another round of applause ripples through. His wife kisses him on the cheek, earning what Benjen can only guess is a smile on the man's lips, though most who don't know his face would call it a grimace.
Benjen notices a faint sound, and looking to his side, sees Sansa wiping her eyes with a kerchief. It seems the emotions of the moment were ringing true. Benjen wished he could say the same for Ned, who, although seemingly having rested between their meeting and the feast, can only seem to give half-hearted smiles and the odd raising of his mug as the speeches keep coming.
They hear similar sentiments from Lady Mormont, Lord Manderly (The longest of them all; so long it nearly causes Arya to fall asleep), Lord and Lady Forrester, Lord Fisher, Lord Hornwood, Master Glover, Master Tallhart, Lord Valrav, and finally Lord Karstark. Benjen noted those Principal Lords who had not attended, namely Locke, both Flint houses, Umber, Reed, and the Mountain Clans. They had their reasons, Benjen was sure, though he also knew their absence would be used against them in this. Ned was made of sterner stuff than to be fooled by any of this into thinking less of any persons, but he was tired, hurt, and malleable to his passions.
When Ned stood and raised a hand, that was when Benjen's anxiety began to reach a climax. “I have little to say, but this: I am grateful to have so many faithful and gracious friends. I wish I could repay your kindness tenfold, but, alas, I am grieving and will need time to get in my right head.” Ned says sarcastically, even though Benjen can see the truth in the words. A steady chuckle emanates from the hall, and Ned continues, “Though… I have plans,” God's no. Benjen thinks to himself, suppressing the urge to clasp his hand over Ned's mouth and silence him. “Plans that soon, I think, will match some of this kindness you all have shown me this day.” Ned raises a mug, which causes all others to raise theirs in toast as well. “To family! To friends! Winter is coming!” He says with a hearty cry out into the hall. A long span of cries echo back to them, ‘Winter is Coming's and all other manner of cheers. For all Benjen's life, that phrase has been one of foreboding, but Ned has seemingly turned it around into something altogether rallying. It reminds him of how Brandon used to say those words. A challenge… A promise…
Benjen smiles, thankful his brother didn't make an ass of himself. He worries a little about these… plans, but for now, he'll content himself with the moment.
Looking around, all at the table also seem very much appreciative of the words. Edmure and Brynden are pleased it seems, and the kids are all looking at their father in pride and love, especially Robb. His blue eyes twinkle up at Ned, completely mesmerized.
Soon enough, tables are cleared and room is made for dancing. Sansa drags Arya off whilst Robb goes off on his own with a nod from Ned. With so many families here, and with Robb of an age, he might actually meet a Lady to court… That would be good for the boy, especially after the loss of his mother.
Yes… Everything would turn out as it should. Regardless of whatever Ned was planning, now wasn't the time to worry. Tomorrow and the next would be for Catelyn, and then he might have cause, but for now, yes, for now. Everything was alright…