King of Winter

King Robert, having come to the North, still had not given up his love of hunting.

For the past few days, the main course at nearly every dinner had been game personally killed by the king: bears, stags, boars with apples stuffed in their mouths...

Today, he had set out even earlier. At the first hint of dawn, the king dragged his good brother Eddard along with him.

Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Theon Greyjoy, Rodrik Cassel, Tyrion Lannister, and others had accompanied them as well.

Joffrey had not gone.

For various reasons, he was taking Bran and Sansa on a tour of Winterfell.

Naturally, they could not visit the ruined, abandoned towers suitable for secret trysts. His destination was the mysterious and unknown Crypts.

Would Winterfell's secrets be found there?

Six soldiers worked together to pull open the enormous, slanted ironwood doors.

Bran led the way, Sansa clung to the Prince's arm, and the three descended deep underground along the long, winding stone staircase.

The stairs were truly long.

The narrow space stretched into distant, unknowable darkness. The farther down they went, the more piercingly cold the air became, as though they were walking toward an icy hell.

Though they carried lanterns in their hands, it felt as if there was light but no warmth.

"It's so cold."

Sansa could not help complaining.

Joffrey drew Dragonflame and activated Fire Magic Energy with all his strength. Heat and light descended upon them once more.

Bran's eyes immediately lit up. "Wow, Your Highness, that sword is incredible!"

Joffrey laughed heartily. "Once you become a knight, Bran, how about I give you a sword no worse than this one?"

Bran took him completely seriously. "Your Highness has to keep his word."

"Of course."

Bran broke into a brilliant smile.

The three continued onward.

The firelight filled the entire space, greatly diminishing the Crypts' frightening atmosphere.

Groups of cold stone pillars stood on both sides of the passage. Between them sat stone statues of Winterfell's Starks, the Kings in the North and successive heads of House Stark.

Iron swords rested across their knees to keep their wandering souls at rest. Direwolves were carved roaring at their feet, while behind them stood the stone sarcophagi containing their remains.

Joffrey could see the marks of time.

Many of the swords had been reduced to reddish-brown dust, barely retaining the shape of blades. How many years would that take?

He looked at the statues' faces.

The statues were rough and ancient, solemn and dignified. He had no idea whether the carvings truly resembled the people they depicted, but fortunately, he did not know any of them anyway.

He only knew a few names.

Brandon the Builder, Brandon Ice Eyes, Theon the Hungry Wolf, Torhen the King Who Knelt...

Joffrey knew it.

Eddard, the second son raised by House Arryn, was truly an anomaly among Stark lords.

Eddard, who valued honor, had inherited more of House Arryn's "High as Honor." The part of him that was "Winter Is Coming" had not yet fully awakened.

Had Brandon the Wild Wolf not been burned to death by the Mad King, Eddard would have become his elder brother's bannerman rather than the ruler of the North, and House Stark would not be what it was today.

Joffrey also knew it.

The traditional Starks carried Wolf Blood. They had always been wild and untamed, thirsting for profit like bloodthirsty wolves. Who knew what glorious deeds these statues had once achieved, or how much blood had stained them?

As he slowly passed statue after statue, it felt as though he had already read House Stark's ancient history.

They stopped before the final statues.

One statue tightly gripped a sword in its hand. Its face was stern, with the distinctive long face of a Stark.

On either side stood a male and female statue, neither holding an iron sword.

Beyond them lay only empty spaces in the darkness.

"Bran, Sansa, this is Lord Rickard, isn't it?"

Joffrey lowered his head in salute to the elder, then greeted Eddard's older brother Brandon and younger sister Lyanna as well.

In a sense, he had these people to thank for where he was today. Without them, without that Tourney at Harrenhal, the Targaryens might still be sitting on the Iron Throne.

His visit to the Crypts was complete.

As a fan, he should have been satisfied. Yet he had not seen the light of magic.

"Do you know what's deeper inside?"

Joffrey intended to keep exploring.

Bran recalled all the stories and legends Old Nan and Maester Luwin had told him. All the terror had now become curiosity. "No one knows. Why don't we go take a look? There must be something!"

Sansa became even more frightened upon hearing that.

"We've been down here for so long. Won't they be worried outside? We should go back first."

Bran looked at Joffrey hopefully.

"Your Highness, let's just go take a look. There must be something!"

Joffrey decided to send Sansa back first.

Unexpectedly, after going back up, their numbers had increased rather than decreased.

The loud sounds of two people running and chasing each other echoed continuously through the narrow corridor ahead. Joffrey was helpless.

"Arya, Bran, don't get too excited. Be careful not to run into the walls."

By now, they had passed the statues. Both sides of the corridor were lined with empty niches carved from stone, waiting for future Starks to take up residence after death.

This stretch was longer than the previous one, with even more niches.

Joffrey could only feel that the Stark ancestors had thought far too far ahead. They had probably prepared graves for Starks thousands, even tens of thousands of years into the future. It showed just how confident they were in their family's continuation.

Bran and Arya suddenly ran back.

"Come look! There are so many dead people—no, so many bones!"

The dozen or so soldiers beside them immediately turned serious.

"Your Highness, we should return to the surface. Angry spirits will show no mercy to the living. We must ensure your safety."

Naturally, Joffrey would not back down. "They're just bones. What's there to fear?"

Bran and Arya finally quieted down somewhat. The soldiers cautiously walked ahead to scout the way, and the air finally took on a mysterious feeling of adventure.

The firelight gradually drove back the darkness ahead.

Crack~

A sound came from beneath a soldier's feet. He immediately staggered several steps back, crashing into another soldier.

Arya directly picked up a white fragment. "These are the bones. One almost tripped me earlier, but luckily I reacted quickly."

Bran refused to be outdone. "I didn't get tripped at all."

Joffrey crouched down and examined them closely. The bones were ordinary and brittle, and there was an especially large amount of powder on the ground.

Who knew how many years had passed.

He pressed a finger against one of the bones and activated the Location Rune and Scout Rune.

Using the bone as a medium, he could locate the other bones from the same corpse and scout the environment around them.

His "vision" shifted back and forth among countless bones. Frame after frame appeared and vanished, the chaotic information challenging his mind and spirit.

At last, he "saw" an ancient throne.

Joffrey rose to his feet.

"There's nothing wrong here. The answer lies ahead."

After a long trek, they passed through another vast, desolate underground hall unknown to anyone. Ahead lay an even grander chamber.

The Black Stone Throne waited quietly there.

Gods.

The abandoned throne within Winterfell was already incomparably ancient and imposing.

It was the symbol of power for generations of Kings in the North.

But this throne...

It was so immense, so cold, so pure, radiating a chilling aura beyond description.

The soldiers involuntarily fell to their knees before it.

Old Gods above.

This had to be the throne fit only for an ancient King of Winter!

Before the throne.

Bran and Arya stood motionless, as though the Black Stone Throne had captured their souls.

Joffrey saw the light of magic.