King of Winter

King Robert had not given up his love of hunting just because he had come to the North.

Almost every night, the main course was a beast the king had killed himself. Wild bears, stags, boars with apples stuffed in their mouths...

Today, he had set out even earlier. At first light, the king had dragged his good friend Eddard out with him.

Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Theon Greyjoy, Rodrik Cassel, Tyrion Lannister, and others had gone along.

Joffrey had not.

For various reasons, he was dragging Bran and Sansa around Winterfell instead.

The ruined, deserted tower, perfect for a secret tryst, was out of the question. His destination was the mysterious Crypts.

Would he find Winterfell's secrets there?

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

Bran led the way, Sansa took the Prince's arm, and the three descended a long, winding flight of stone steps.

The stairs really were long.

The narrow passage stretched into distant, unknowable darkness. The farther down they went, the colder the air became, as though they were walking into an icy hell.

Even with a lantern in hand, it seemed to give off light but no warmth.

"It's so cold."

Sansa could not help complaining.

Joffrey drew Dragonflame and poured Fire Magic Energy into it. Heat and light returned to their side.

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

Joffrey laughed. "How about I give you a sword just as good when you become a knight, Bran?"

Bran took him completely seriously. "You have to keep your word, Your Highness."

"Of course."

Bran broke into a brilliant smile.

The three continued onward.

Firelight filled the passage, taking much of the terror out of the Crypts.

Rows of cold stone pillars lined both sides of the passage. Between them stood statues of the Starks of Winterfell: the Kings in the North and the heads of House Stark through the generations.

Iron swords rested across their laps to quiet their wandering souls, snarling direwolves were carved at their feet, and behind them stood the stone coffins holding their remains.

Joffrey could see the marks of time.

Many swords were little more than reddish-brown dust, barely retaining their shape. How many years had that taken?

He looked at the statues' faces.

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

He knew only a few names.

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

Joffrey knew one thing.

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

Eddard's devotion to honor owed more to House Arryn's "High as Honor." The "Winter Is Coming" part of him had yet to fully awaken.

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

Joffrey knew something else, too.

The traditional Starks had inherited Wolf Blood. They had always been wild and unruly, hungry for gain as wolves were for blood. Who knew what glorious deeds these statues had once accomplished, or how much blood they had spilled?

As he passed statue after statue, he felt as though he had read the long history of House Stark.

At the last statues, they stopped.

One figure gripped a sword tightly, his face stern and bearing the long features characteristic of the Starks.

Beside him stood two more statues, one male and one female. Neither had an iron sword.

Beyond them lay only empty places in the dark.

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

Joffrey bowed his head to their forebear, then paid his respects to Eddard's elder brother Brandon and his younger sister Lyanna.

In a way, he owed his present life to these three. Without them, without the Tourney at Harrenhal, the Targaryens might still be sitting on the Iron Throne.

His visit to the Crypts was complete.

As a fan, he ought to have been satisfied. But he had seen no light of magic.

"Do you know what's farther in?"

Joffrey meant to keep exploring.

Bran remembered all the stories and legends Old Nan and Maester Luwin had told him. Every old fear had turned to curiosity. "Nobody knows. Let's go and see. There must be something!"

That frightened Sansa even more.

"We've been in here so long. Won't the people outside be worried? We should go back first."

Bran looked at Joffrey hopefully.

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

Joffrey decided to take Sansa back first.

He had not expected the trip upstairs to leave them with more people, not fewer.

The sounds of two people running and chasing each other echoed through the narrow passage. Joffrey sighed helplessly.

"Arya, Bran, don't get too excited. Watch out for the walls."

By now, they had passed the statues. On either side of the passage were empty spaces carved from stone, waiting for Starks yet to die.

This stretch was longer even than the one lined with statues.

Joffrey thought the Stark ancestors had planned remarkably far ahead. They seemed to have prepared tombs for thousands upon thousands of years of future Starks, such was their confidence that the family would endure.

Bran and Arya suddenly came running back.

"Come look! There are loads of dead people up ahead—no, loads of bones!"

The dozen or so soldiers beside them immediately grew serious.

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

Joffrey had no intention of retreating. "They're only bones. What's there to be afraid of?"

Bran and Arya grew unusually quiet. The soldiers moved ahead cautiously to scout the way, and at last the place began to feel like a mysterious expedition.

The firelight gradually pushed back the darkness ahead.

Crunch.

Something snapped beneath a soldier's foot. He jumped back several steps and collided with another soldier.

Arya picked up a white fragment. "These are the bones. One nearly tripped me earlier, but I was quick enough to catch myself."

Bran refused to be outdone. "I didn't trip over any."

Joffrey crouched for a closer look. The bone was ordinary and brittle, and there was a great deal of powder on the ground.

Who knew how many years it had been?

He pressed a finger to a bone and activated the Location Rune and Scout Rune.

With the bone as a medium, he could locate the other bones from the same body and survey their surroundings.

His "vision" shifted between countless bones. Images appeared and vanished, frame by frame, the flood of information straining his mind.

At last, he "saw" an ancient throne.

Joffrey stood.

"There's nothing wrong here. The answer is up ahead."

After a long trek, they passed through a vast, desolate underground hall unknown to anyone. Beyond it lay an even greater chamber.

The Black Stone Throne waited there in silence.

Gods.

The abandoned throne in Winterfell was already ancient and imposing.

It had been the symbol of power for generations of Kings in the North.

But this throne...

It was immense, cold, and stark. An indescribable, piercing aura radiated from it.

The soldiers dropped to their knees before it, unable to stop themselves.

By the Old Gods.

Surely this was a throne worthy of the ancient King of Winter!

Before the throne,

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

Joffrey saw the light of magic.