Chapter 16: Eddard

The guards herded them like sheep, steel glinting in torchlight, boots crunching snow. Jon's breath hitched, sharp and shallow, his chest a drumbeat of 'what now, what now'. He stole a look at Arrax—eight feet of muscle and blue metal, blond hair glowing like a beacon, eyes slicing through the dark like they'd seen hell and spat in its face. The giant walked steady, unbothered, a cliff ignoring the tide. Ryk lagged behind, tugging at his cloak, muttering, "Bloody indignity, this," his pride a bruised apple, sour and soft.

Arya was a storm between them, all elbows and teeth. "Hands off him!" she snapped, voice a whipcrack, glaring at a guard who'd edged too close to Arrax. "He's ours. Ryk, though—shove him in the snow, see if I care." Ryk's head jerked up, mouth twisting in a half-laugh, half-wince. "Love you too, runt," he shot back, smoothing his collar like it'd save his dignity. She didn't hear, already darting ahead, a shadow with a heartbeat.

Jon's stomach churned, a stew of dread and questions. 'Why us? Why now?' Their story—Arrax, a knight washed up from some far-off sea, Ryk his mouthy squire—felt flimsy as wet parchment. Winterfell's walls listened, always had, and lies here were like meat left out too long—they stank quick. The guards shoved them past the courtyard, up the steps, through the Great Keep's doors. The wood creaked, a low groan, like it was warning them: 'turn back'.

Inside, the Great Hall hit like a fist—smoke and meat hanging heavy, torches spitting light that didn't reach the corners. Shadows pooled on the stone, thick as secrets, and Jon's spine prickled, cold as a blade's kiss. Up ahead, Eddard Stark sat on the high seat, face hard as the Wall, eyes gray and unyielding. Robb flanked him, arms folded, tossing Jon a nod—warm, sure, but laced with a question he didn't voice.

Then Eddard saw Arrax, and the air snapped taut. The giant filled the hall, not just with size—eight feet, broad as a barn—but with SOMETHING. His armor, dented blue, gleamed alien under the firelight, and those eyes… Eddard's hand twitched to Ice's hilt, knuckles whitening, a tell Jon knew from a hundred quiet moments. War eyes, he'd called them once, the kind that'd stared down death and walked away. "Jon," Eddard said, voice a slow roll of thunder, "you've brought a giant to my door."

Jon's throat was sand. "Aye, Father. Ser Arrax, a knight from… across the sea. Shipwrecked. He's with us." The words tripped, clumsy, and he felt Arya's stare—sharp, too damn sharp—and prayed she'd hold her tongue.

Eddard didn't blink, just peeled Arrax apart with his gaze. "A knight," he said, letting the word hang, heavy as a noose. "From where?"

Arrax stepped up, boots thumping like falling stones, and dipped his head—not low, just enough. "A land beyond your maps," he said, voice rumbling deep, a river carving rock. "A place of iron and fire, where oaths are forged." It was their lie, stitched rough, but he sold it—calm, sure, a man who'd peddled worse and lived.

Eddard's eyes narrowed, a flicker in them—memory, maybe, or mistrust. "You've got a warrior's build," he said, deliberate, "and eyes that know blood. I've seen their like before." No question, just truth, and Arrax didn't flinch, just held that stare, two hounds sniffing the wind.

Robb cut in, smooth as a blade through silk. "Winterfell welcomes you, Ser Arrax," he said, all charm with a barb beneath. "We open our doors to the lost, but we watch them too. You'll forgive the caution." His smile was a mask, and Jon's gut twisted tighter.

Arrax's lip quirked, barely a smirk. "Caution's wise," he said, and it landed like a stone in a still pond—ripples of 'what's he mean by that' Jon caught Eddard's grip on Ice, steady as stone, and thought, 'He's not swallowing it, not whole.'

Arya piped up, a spark in the murk. "He's no danger, Father. He's… odd, but good. Told me about monsters—big ones." Her voice softened, a kid chasing a story, and Eddard's face eased, just a hair.

"Monsters," he murmured, eyes sliding back to Arrax, lingering. "Plenty of those in the North." He rose, slow, a mountain shifting, and the hall leaned in, breath held. "You'll stay, for now. Guests. But Jon—" His gaze pinned Jon, heavy as iron. "We'll speak later. Just us."

Jon jerked a nod, relief and fear slugging it out in his chest. The guards eased back, murmurs buzzing like flies, and Arrax tilted his head, regal, a king playing peasant. "My thanks….," he said, smooth as sin, but Jon saw the glint—old, wild, a beast pacing its cage.

They were shooed out, dismissed like strays, and the walls seemed to close in, shadows muttering. Arya grabbed his hand, small and warm, and squeezed. "He's not mad," she whispered, "just… careful." Jon forced a smile, thin as a thread. 'Careful's half a step from doubting,' he thought, and the knot in his throat stayed.

The hour crawled by, a slow drip of dread pooling in Jon's chest. He'd been pacing the courtyard, boots grinding gravel into dust, the wind clawing at his neck like it knew something he didn't. Then the guard came—face blank as slate, voice flat: "Lord Stark wants you. Now." Jon's stomach lurched, a fishhook tugging deep, but he nodded, squared his shoulders, and followed, trying to look like a man who hadn't just spun a lie bigger than Winterfell itself.

The meeting room swallowed him whole. Shadows clung to the corners, torchlight spitting feeble glows that buzzed like dying wasps. The air was thick—old wood, smoke, tension you could chew. Lady Stark sat stiff as a blade, her eyes daggers, lips pressed into a line that screamed 'you don't belong'. Beside her, Sansa flickered, a moth unsure of the flame, her gaze darting to Jon then skittering away. Eddard anchored the table's head, face carved from stone, Robb slouched beside him, arms folded, a half-smile curling like he'd bet on a fistfight and knew the winner.

Jon stepped in, the door groaning shut—a thud that landed like a fist. Lady Stark's voice cut the air, sharp as frostbite. "The bastard honors us," she hissed, 'bastard' dripping venom, but Eddard's hand sliced up, a wall. "Enough, Catelyn." His tone was gravel, low and final. He pointed to a chair. "Sit, Jon."

Jon sat, the seat creaking under him, his hands gripping the arms like they could keep him from drowning. Lady Stark's glare was a storm—'get out, get out'—her eyes shouting what her mouth couldn't. Sansa shifted, silk whispering, and Eddard nodded at them. "Leave us." No room for debate. Lady Stark rose, skirts snapping like a whip, Sansa trailing, a quiet ghost. The door clicked shut, and the room tightened, a noose of silence.

Just the men now—Eddard, Robb, Jon, and a knot of loyal souls, faces etched with years and scars. Maester Luwin perched at the edge, quill hovering, a vulture waiting for scraps. Eddard leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled like a cathedral. "Explain," he said, the word a boulder dropped into still water.

Jon's throat was ash. He started, voice wobbling, the makeshift tale about Arrax's shipwreck sour on his tongue. "He's a knight, Father. From across the sea. His ship broke on the rocks—" But it snagged, mid-sentence, a lie too heavy to hold. He stopped, breath hitching, the room tilting closer. "It's not true," he rasped, and the dam burst. "We met at the Wall. Him and me and the wildlings. He's not from here—not this world. He fell from the sky, fire and steel, a… a Space Marine, he calls it. From some place called the Imperium."

Silence hit like a slap, cold and stinging. Robb's eyes sparked, wolf-sharp, his smirk blooming into something wild. "A Space Marine," he drawled, voice a tease, "now that's worth the price of admission." The advisors stirred—murmurs rolling like low thunder: 'lunacy, trickery, power'. Eddard stayed stone, his gaze pinning Jon, stripping him bare.

"You brought him here," Eddard said, slow, each syllable a hammer strike. "To Winterfell. Our home." Not a question, but Jon nodded, throat a vise. "He's good, Father. Strong. Saved us—more than once. But he's… different. Could be dangerous if we're not careful."

Eddard's fingers tapped the table—once, a dull thud. "What say you?" he asked, eyes sweeping the room, voice flat as a blade's edge.

Ser Rodrik growled first, grizzled and blunt. "If he's that strong, he's a tool. Could break the wildlings like twigs. But we'd need him leashed—oaths, iron, something." His hand rested on his sword, steady as death.

Maester Luwin's quill scratched, a dry hiss. "Or he's a spark in a dry barn," he countered, soft, precise. "A man from beyond, with strength we can't grasp. He could burn us—or draw eyes we don't want."

Voices clashed—'useful, dangerous, mad'—a tangle of heat and doubt. Robb leaned back, arms crossed, smirking like a kid watching dogs scrap over a bone. Jon's hands clenched, nails digging crescents into the wood, his chest a knot of panic and shame.

Eddard raised a hand, and the room choked quiet. "I'll see him myself," he said, voice a low rumble, final as a grave. "Bring him."

Jon's breath slipped out, shaky. He stood, legs jelly, and pushed through the door, the wind outside howling like a banshee with a grudge. Arrax was in the yard, rubbing that scar on his neck—a jagged line he touched when the lies got thick. His blond hair caught the torchlight, a halo on a giant.

"Tell the truth," Jon blurted, voice raw. "I let it all out. No more games."

Arrax's eyes snapped to him, storm-blue, a flicker of a grin tugging his mouth. "Gutsy, Snow," he rumbled, voice like distant thunder. "Let's see if it holds." He nodded, slow, and they trudged back, boots crunching snow, the wind screaming prophecies.

Back in the room, Eddard stood, gray and unyielding, a cliff against the tide. Arrax filled the doorway, eight feet of muscle and menace, armor glinting like it remembered the stars. The air crackled, two forces colliding—Eddard's steady gaze, Arrax's looming weight. Silence stretched, a scream held back.

Eddard spoke, voice a blade's edge. "Tell me, Ser Arrax," he said, 'Ser' a test, a dare, "what do you want from Winterfell?"

Arrax's eyes glinted, a storm brewing. "A starting foothold," he said, low and sure, "…to observe and….."