Beauty In The Bleak

A raven came from kings landing.

The hand of the king, Lord Arryn, was dead.

The king and his entourage were paying a visit to Winterfell.

Everything began moving fast when Lord Stark received that raven.

Winterfell was used to hosting fellow Northmen who did not bat an eye at the rugged ways of the north. How long had it been since they hosted a *king*?

Would they even have enough liquor? Rumour has it, the king ate as much as he drank. ['A reasonable ratio'] Joe thought when he heard this. However, this could prove to be quite expensive.

Everyone was rather stressed around the castle, none no more so than Lady Catelyn. Although, if you looked at Maester Luwin or Ser Rodrik, you might have thought otherwise.

It was shaping out to be a big event. Even Uncle Benjen sent word that he would attend the feast. And Joe might have sneakily sent a raven to White Harbour.

"There they are, Bran. Go tell the others."

Joe and Bran sat on the wall by the South Gate.

They had word that the King's entourage was close and was keen to check how a king travels.

Bran had a goofy smile as he ran off to climb down the tower expertly.

"BRANDON!"

Joe smiled when he heard Lady Catelyn shout.

Joe loved to encourage Bran to climb the castle. It always made Lady Catelyn so angry.

Bran was nice enough to teach Joe how to climb. He liked being better than Joe at something and relished being asked by his big brother for help. Due to Joe's incredible upper body strength alongside Bran's tutor-ledge, Joe became quite adept at climbing. He sometimes imagined himself as a character from Assassins Creed.

With Bran gone, Joe picked up his spear.

He had asked one of the whores in Winter Town to paint a crude imitation of the sigil of House Baratheon, creating a big flag that he tied to his spear.

Joe stood, balancing himself on the wall, and began waving his spear around.

It was like a fascinating war dance as he gracefully swung the weirwood spear this way and that. It was a cross between angelic sign spinning and sharp movements of war.

He was jumping between the battlements, showing off his incredible poise. It was as if he was Oberyn Martel displaying his elegant movements during the trial of combat vs The Mountain.

Growing up in his past life, Joe was no stranger to the indigenous ways of the Maori warriors. They would welcome visiting tribes with war dances such as these. Very impressive, if you're into that sort of thing. So Joe figured, ["Why not?"]

The display was not lost on King Robert, who let out an impressed "Haha!" as he rode through the gate, smiling up at Joe.

It was true. The famed Stag King who once wielded his mighty war hammer had rendered himself an out-of-shape middle-aged tub of lard, fat, and wine.

But Joe wasn't one to judge such things. Everyone goes through their health journey at different speeds and stages. Let live what live, so they say. If anything, Joe was the problem. He peddled countless burgers to the masses in his day.

He didn't discriminate. Be you white or black, blind or deaf, penis or vagina- come one and all the in betweens to his food truck.

["If you have money, that is!"]

The whole castle had gathered to receive the royal troupe of grand colours and shining armour. Noble steeds and banners of Lannister and Baratheon waved alongside the Starks in a symphony of flapping noises.

The convoy consisted of many wagons with a following of servants to tend to King Robert's gregariousness. If you didn't know any better, you would think that he brought the entire royal court with him.

Wines, silks and playthings. When you're king, why not?

The security was equally as impressive, and they gazed up to gander at Joe's majestic display. Little did they know, Joe too was sizing them up, eyes flared like the hunt had started.

In they came. Prince Joffrey looked like a vulnerable pup more than anything else. It didn't help that Sandor Clegane followed him closely behind, wearing his smoke-dark hound armour. The helmet didn't strike Joe as too comfortable, but it looked the part. In a ridiculous kind of fashion~

Joe was more interested in the knights of the king's guard, Jaime, specifically. And, of course, he wanted to get a good look at Ilyn Payne, the tongueless bastard that he is.

They all looked so small from up on the walls. But Joe knew.

Animals had come to visit, and Lord Stark had opened his gates.

***

Inside the castle, everyone stood at attention like stiff puppets. You couldn't blame them. There wasn't much pomp all the way here up north. Even the children of Winterfell looked like their joints were in need of oiling.

Acting this way just wasn't natural. Sansa, however, took to it like white on rice.

Lady Catelyn knew something was missing. "Where's Arya? Sansa, where's your sister?"

Sansa's tiny shrug of the shoulder was indicative of how much she cared.

Behind and out of sight, Theon and Jon were lined up with the others that take residence in Winterfell. Master Luwin looked to be glowing today. Ser Rodrik stood proud.

"Now that I think about it, where's Joe?" wondered Theon.

Jon kept facing straight, "He said he wasn't coming," he said thoughtfully.

"Why?"

"He said he had shit to do, people to see. Shh! Here they come!"

When King Robert came before them, everyone bowed as they would to their monarch in unison.

There was once a time the northerners only bowed to the Starks. Those days are centuries old now, but when the wind blows a certain way, you can almost feel it. That chill, that frost at the bone that only northerners know. So cold it's like their bones sing for the kings of old for warmth.

It was a bit awkward to wait for King Robert to get off his horse in a not-so-king manner.

Jon suddenly felt like he understood and had to hold back a chuckle, 'Haha, brilliant, brother. You'd probably laugh if you were here. You made the right choice.'

King Robert strode to the kneeling Lord Stark with purpose. He had a stern face that made the entire situation feel tenser than it probably should have been.

Lord Stark hadn't seen his friend in nine years. He may have grown up with him, but Robert was king now. He never did figure out how to act around him after that. And it's not like they could immediately laugh it up and embrace like the bros they were. They had a decorum of nobility to maintain.

Lord Stark rose after King Robert gestured with his hand, prompting everyone else to do the same. It was the kind of medieval receiving that makes you wonder how aliens studying us from afar would make of it.

"Your Grace."

"…" King Robert thought for a moment, failing to hide a cheeky smile, "You got fat."

All the children stood queerly. After hearing all the stories of their friendship, perhaps they should have expected such a greeting.

Lord Stark said nothing. He even held back a smile. It was a poker face befitting a high lord. One sly glance at King Robert's stomach was all the reply he had to make.

"Hahahaha!" The two friends laughed and embraced like soldiers, the kind only possible when two men face death together many times and come out the other side. Yet it was also a solemn embrace. A quiet understanding between the two of them- that parts of who they were will be forever lost on the battlefield.

Like grasping at crumbling dirt.

After King Robert met the Stark children, he snapped into action. He had impatient energy that he needed to release.

"Take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects."

Queen Cersei was acknowledging Lady Catelyn's curtsy. "We've been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait." She said dejectedly.

The King ignored his wife, "Ned."

The troops parted like the red sea for their king. Lord Stark followed as per request.

Down to the crypts they went.

***

The air down here would almost feel damp were it not for the strange arid jab in the atmosphere. It was almost like the dead were greedy for the living's oxygen. Joe always had the theory it was because candles would always be lit down there, burning what little life was in the ether.

King Robert and Lord Stark walked the hollow halls, briefing each other with the current run-down.

Jon Arryn was dead. After the small talk, King Robert got right to business and asked his blood brother to be his new Hand of the King.

Doubtless, if Joe told his family about his past life, Lord Stark would have refused the offer outright.

Instead, Joe worked the more subliminal approach, but never in a way like the little devil on the shoulder. He did not want his father's judgment to be impaired by uncertainty should whatever situation arise.

Ned needed time to think it over. Fair enough, the king thought. Yet after 17 years of getting what he wants, it's not like he was thinking about stopping anytime soon.

Coming down to the crypts had two purposes. Firstly, it was so Robert and Ned could talk in private.

With the who-hah bullshit out of the way, they could finally get to their real purpose for being here.

At the furthermost end of the Winterfell crypts was a rare sight.

Only Lords of Winterfell had statues erected for them at their burial site. It was only when Lord Stark's siblings died was the tradition broken.

Standing silent, made of cold and unforgiving stone, with a beauty that not even a master of sculpting could replicate, was the statue of Lyanna Stark.

She stood without an answer, no matter how desperate the yearning. No matter how deeply King Robert stared into those grey eyes. Those pearly brown iris gates that once opened his heart were now an impregnable wall of stone.

And no army, no matter how great, could lay siege to that castle called Death.

"Did you have to bury her in a place like this?" King Robert asked the question as if a change in burial location would make any difference to his empty heart. "She should be on a hill somewhere with the sun and clouds above her."

"She was *my* sister. This is where she belongs."

"She belonged with me."

Robert reached for his love, but it was not warmth that he felt on her cheeks. Nothing but coarse, grainy rock responded to his touch.

"In my dreams, I kill him every night."

There were no words for such resentment. You could tell he counted down the seconds of each day, itching to get back to his murderous slumber. But it was not Robert that would awake victoriously. No amount of times killing Prince Rhaegar could fix that.

Were it not for his kingly duties holding him together the soldier called Robert Baratheon would have shattered long ago.

No. It wasn't being the king that held him together.

Hate. Hate brought down the hammer, and Hate picked up the pieces left behind.

"It's done, your grace." Lord Stark said decisively, "The Targaryens are gone."

King Robert pondered deeply for the moment, the nagging feeling of a job not done spitting anger into his veins.

But before he could say the words~

"Not all of them!"

A voice echoed in the halls, and a flickering flame danced shadows on the walls in the distant dark.

*Step…* *Step…*

They were poised footsteps that almost danced for your eyes and gave off an almost hypnotic rhythm as you listened to the boots tap on the ground.

Lord Stark and King Robert squinted.

The figure got closer, revealing his dark leathers and white fox pelt cloak draped over his shoulders. The torch in his hands illuminated his amber eyes.

Skulking beside him, almost undetectable (despite being massive), was the Shadowcat named Void. Walking equally as regal.

"Sorry to startle you." Joe said with a smile, "I'm just here for a ritual of some sort."

Joe then placed a Winter Rose into the hand of Lyanna Stark. It wedged itself next to the feather placed there just previously by King Robert.

The Winter Rose; pale blue like frosted tears. A rare and mesmerising flower with a beauty that makes even bleakness a work of art.

After his time with Sensei, Joe was no stranger to the Winter Rose. Sansa would enjoy helping Joe nurture and cultivate the flowers in the glass gardens of Winterfell. The boys couldn't even tease Joe for working with flowers. They respected what their brother was doing for the culture.

King Robert peered into the heart of the rose. And for a moment he thought it sprang colour into Lyanna's statue. "Hmm," he mumbled, a meditative peace sweeping over him.

Mixed with the scent of melancholy.

"It's nice, isn't it? Well, not really. Dark and harrowing as shit down here. But it's one of my happy places. I like to come with some nice smelling flowers and try to add some life to it, you know?"

Joe then got lost as he stared into his mother's eyes, "I think she would have liked that. I heard she had the voice of an angel, with a smile sweet as honey and a kick fierce like thunder. Now and then, I come down here to see her. Whenever my heart beckons the call."

The sentiment touched King Robert, but by now, he was immensely intrigued, speechless even, to have someone to share his love for Lyanna. But he could tell it was not romantic admiration this youth was exuding.

"Who are you?!" The King asked, subconsciously expecting an answer that could once again pump blood through his heart. Like a kid once again who believes in magic.

Lord Stark was waiting for his cue to set the narrative. Quickly, he answered, "He's-"

But he was too slow.

"I'm Joe. Uhh.. One of the bastards. A pleasure to meet you, your grace." Said Joe, with a big smile and offering his hand.

King Robert's face extended in all directions as he computed the information, "I saw you on the wall! So you're One of Wylla's..?"

"So I'm told." Replied Joe, matching King Robert's strong grip.

['So this is the handshake of a king?']

"Haha! Look at you, lad! You look like you're ready for the battlefield!".. And that's when King Robert noticed Void, "W-.. Your beast?" he asked with a flinch.

"Yep, that's Void. He's real nice. Hold out your hand and let him sniff you. He likes smelling where people have been. You find that shit interesting when you have senses like his."

['I can't believe it. I'm starting to sound like Sensei when he's being condescending about hunting..']

Feeling assured, King Robert did just that. He could feel that Void's nose was cold and wet when it grazed him. The warm breath from the mighty beast warmed his fingers like a hot cup of coffee felt through the mug.

King Robert laughed magnanimously, "Haha, you are a fine creature! Hey, that tickles!"

"Hahaha, he's never smelt a king before. You'll have to forgive him."

King Robert was amazed by Void's soft fur as he scratched his head, "Ned! How in seven hells do you have such a beast walking around your castle? And I thought my court was gaudy!"

Lord Stark breathed a sigh of relief. That conversation could have gone a totally different direction. Now Ned could talk about stuff in his comfort zone; his children.

"You should see the direwolf pups the children are raising," He casually replied.

"Direwolves?! Damn it, Ned! I've fallen behind! I should have at least two stags wandering the capital! Hahahaha!"

"Bahahaha!" Joe erupted in laughter. The king's energy was undoubtedly contagious, "Are you ready for the feast, your majesty? We'll show you how the north gets fucking turnt. Let's get absolutely cunted!"

The king roared in laughter. What a bright young star this boy was. Such a breath of fresh air in this here world of bullshit, "That's the spirit, lad! We're going to fuck and drink and eat ourselves silly till the morning!"

"Okay!" Joe said ecstatically, "Um, in that particular order?

"…" Before Lord Stark could get a word in, Joe and King Robert had already begun wandering off as if their party animal instincts were leading the way.

"Sigh…" He let out a deep breath, the candles dancing in the subtle draft, his sister gazing down upon him.

He wondered about his sister, the past, the future, and everything. It all was about to consume him. Thankfully for Ned, the laughter of Robert and Joe quaking in the crypts was enough to snap him out of it.

"Pff." Lord Stark scoffed, shaking his head with a smile. The answer was so simple that it was like he betrayed the simple sense he was known for.

When the past or the future get you down, look to the present.

What better time than now?

Ned knew. Deep down, he had to admit it.

Tonight was going to be a banger.