The Wall is my goal. Such a strange one I am aware of, most would avoid it but I do not wish to. A bastard of a drunken man and whore is hardly something I wish to say when I am asked of it in cities with such high families and royalty. King's Landing was my home. Not anymore. I will not be missed, and I will not miss it, well maybe the warmer weather. At this point my ride had driven up the Kingsroad, which I could not see but could hear was about to end, more and more noise filled my ears. I arose from my slumped position in the back of the cart, piled high straw upon my back, but I peered over it to see a castle which I have not seen before. It must be Winterfell, of the once many Starks.
The castle was not what it must have been before, the once grey brickwork stained with a black of charcoal and ash. Fire has destroyed it. The cart halted suddenly, the horse whinnying and stamping at the ground. I jumped off and walked over the driver, a older man with a grey beard twisted with tones of snow and crow feathers, he was heading towards a town near to Winterfell and offered to take me as far as here. The Wall was still many miles away, most of which I'd have to walk, I knew that. The man wiped the sweat off his brow and looked to the remains of Winterfell, he must of not have known it was burnt down either.
"This is as far as I can take you, lass. If I were you, get away from here quickly," he spoke in an almost hushed voice, he seemed anxious. He wasn't the only one, the horse had its ear back and its tail tucked between its legs, the old stallion dug at the ground in anticipation of leaving.
"I will, thank you again, I am in debt to you," I offered a small bow and turned to leave towards the burnt castle.
I heard the reins whip into action and the horse half trotted half cantered away from the castle and back down Kingsroad. I breathed in deeply, held to my sword at my side and strode forward. Many questions rose in my mind, but the main one had to be: where are the Starks? If their castle had been taken and destroyed, where were they? Eddard was executed, I saw. I know of Robb and his mother, they were murdered at a wedding along with many troops and bannermen of the Stark House. The event has now been ironically been placed as 'The Red Wedding,' which is a horrible thing to think about. But what of the younger children of the Starks? I scarcely dare to think of it, I just pray to the Old Gods of The Forest that they are alive somewhere in Westeros.
As I gained closer to the walls of the castle, I heard a voice. Screaming. I ran at this point, someone could be in pain. The iron gates were abandoned at the side of the entrance, rubble scattered across the courtyard, it was then I noticed. A man. He was on his knees, his hands gripping his hair. I approached him cautiously. He looked up, red under his eyes from tears, he wiped his nose and arose. Growling grew from behind me, I stood still, fingers gripping into the palms of my hands.
"Ghost, no," the man softly spoke, his hands reached out. It was then a white direwolf, yes a direwolf walked towards him, its red eyes looking at me. The wolf's head was to my chest, a still young one I assumed. I opened my mouth to speak but I could not,
"I am Jon Snow, bastard son of the late Eddard Stark, and if it is not rude my lady. Who are you?" He stepped towards me, the wolf staying where it was left,
"I am... I am-" I stuttered, yet I do not know why. Jon lifted his brow,
"Eira, bastard also, with no name of the first, all I know is my name means snow." Jon chuckled lightly,
"Seems we have one name in common then I guess."