Two weeks later, Winterfell, the North.
Robert arrived sooner than anyone had expected.
Eddard personally welcomed the king at the castle, wearing a black fur cloak, his face marked by the stern lines characteristic of northerners.
When the king's travel-worn party entered Winterfell, Eddard Stark was genuinely startled. He knew Robert. Unless matters had become exceptionally dire, he would never have looked so hurried and bedraggled.
Seeing Robert dismount, he strode forward and dropped to one knee. "Your Grace."
"Get up, Ned." Robert hauled him to his feet and embraced him fiercely. "Let me have a good look at you. Seven save me, you're as solemn as ever."
Eddard gave a rare smile at hearing Robert use his nickname. "Winterfell is honored that you have come so far, Your Grace."
"None of that." Robert clapped him on the shoulder. "We're brothers, remember? Brothers who grew up together in the Vale."
They entered the castle side by side, with Barristan and several other members of the Kingsguard following behind.
Lady Catelyn waited in the hall with the children. Robb stood beside her, now grown into a sturdy young man. Sansa and Arya stood on their mother's other side, with Bran beside Arya. Rickon was still little and lay in his nurse's arms. Theon Greyjoy stood beside Robb; the hostage from the Iron Islands had now settled completely into life with House Stark.
And, of course, there was Jon Snow.
The bastard boy, only thirteen now, stood a little apart from the others. He resembled Eddard more than any of them, especially with those gray eyes. Catelyn glanced at him, then quickly looked away. Even after all these years, she still could not accept this evidence of her husband's betrayal.
It was not that she resented Eddard for taking a lover elsewhere.