?,? BC
(Many Thousand Years Before Aegon's Conquest)
The Distant Past
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Long ago, before the time of kingdoms, before the time of bending and the time of the Avatar, the world was shaken by a force so powerful, no mortal mind could ever truly comprehend it.
It was the time of the Long Night, and with it, came chaos.
Chaos rose and darkness fell, blanketing the mortal realm in cold and ice, seemingly forevermore, leaving nothing to survive. Unchecked, chaos was permitted to rage across the world, as monsters of all shapes and sizes claimed control of the mortal realm, as spirits walked the world of man freely, and it seemed that for each day the Long Night persisted, less of the physical realm remained.
Then, as the Long Night reached its zenith, they appeared.
From nowhere, the Last Hero of Mankind rose up, the lone challenger standing up against the forces of darkness.
Behind him came the people of the world.
Those that remained, united as a single force, with no heed paid to their backgrounds: Andal, Rhoynar and further afield; it mattered not whether they commanded an element or swung a sword, together, mankind began to push back the Others, forcing them away from man's world and as they did, something extraordinary happened.
The Last Hero must have called upon the Spirit of the World, for it answered their call, until the Hero became the Champion of Order, wielding the power of all four elements, as they pushed back Chaos, bringing an end to the Long Night, separating the realms of man and spirit, and ushering in the Dawn.
The people lavished their new Champion in glory, heralding them with titles and status, they named the Champion of Order as the Bastion of Peace, the Bringer of Light, the Guardian of Life.
They named this being: The Avatar.
They alone were the one being capable of controlling the power of all four elements. It was their wisdom and guidance that saw the world begin to heal from the wounds wrought by the Long Night, as mankind started to learn and reached their hands out in friendship, seeking the beginnings of peace and prosperity.
Yet, it was not to last.
As it did for all men, time withered the Avatar's body, and though they accomplished many remarkable things in their life, sadly, the Avatar's time came to an end.
But it was not the end.
For, like the cycle of the seasons, the cycle of the Avatar then began anew.
Summer gave way to Spring, and the Avatar gave way for their next life.
The Avatar was reborn.
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299 AC
(Two Hundred, Ninety-Nine Years After Aegon's Conquest)
Present Day
Winterfell was noisy.
Winterfell was always noisy, he knew from a lifetime of experience, but today especially, he felt that Winterfell was noisy. Usually, there was a calmness in the air, or so he felt, but today there was only a feeling of excitement that lingered, seeming to permeate even the thickest of his castle's stone walls. In search of a few moments of quiet thought, he'd moved from the comfort of his solar to the walkway that surrounded Winterfell's courtyards, knowing that the guards posted wouldn't disturb him on his stroll.
They were almost upon them.
Word had reached the castle over a moon ago that the Council of Elders were on their way to meet with Lord Stark, and it hadn't taken him but a moment to determine the cause of their visit.
The Avatar.
Though why they felt the need to entreat with him in the first place, Ned had no idea. While the single, major interaction he had had with the previous Avatar had ended poorly, he felt not a single desire to seek out a quarrel with the new one.
As the spiritual advisors, the Council of Elders existed beyond his authority to command. Their founding was said to have been almost as long ago as the entirety of House Stark's or even the Wall's, and it was the known practice that no one had the authority or the ability to command the Council of Elders, not the Lord of Winterfell, not the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and not even the Iron Throne.
Centuries past, his ancestor, Torrhen Stark, then the King of the North, had chosen to bend the knee to the Conqueror, and given up his crown in exchange for sparing the lives of every one of his men. The man who would become King Aegon Targaryen, the first King of the Seven Kingdoms, had accepted his offer, and in exchange for his fealty, he had spared his life and named House Stark as his Warden of the North. He'd taken them from being the Kings of Winter to being the Lords Paramount of the North, and while history had not been kind to his ancestor many of them Northmen branding him the King Who Knelt, Ned couldn't help but think that if even half the stories of the dragons were true, then he didn't want to be the man who would have wanted to make a different choice.
Some still saw it as cowardice, but Ned only saw the wisdom in such a choice. His ancestor had knelt and surrendered his crown, giving up the power his family had held for thousands of years, but in the face of a host that could not be defeated, no Northman had ended the day with his bones burned and buried. The only wounds given were to a king's pride, and he had only do so in the face of a force that boasted of a larger army, three dragons, the power of the Conqueror's Comet and the Avatar himself.
In exchange for his fealty, his men had kept their lives and their dignity. They had returned home, with their lives little different that they had left them, and with promises of honouring the old ways and oaths sworn to respect the ways of the Moon and Ocean, and as Aegon forged his new throne, built from the swords of Seven Kingdoms' worth of fallen foes, not a single blade of Northern steel could be found among their number.
House Stark had respected their fealty in the days since, as the Conqueror named himself Aegon the First, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men and then passed that title onto his sons after him and their sons after them. Their faith in their new monarch had even been bolstered during the reign of Jaehaerys the First. Known as the Wise and as the Conciliator, he was widely known as the greatest of the Targaryen Kings, an opinion that Ned himself shared.
Jaehaerys had been a Master Firebender of rare skill, but one who disliked the idea of conflict and had found himself more at ease among his keep's collection of scrolls and tomes. It had been the Conciliator that had sat down to properly pen most of Westeros's most important laws and had issued rights of protection to their spiritual advisors, women, widows, the smallfolk and even included provisions for the Avatar, who had not only been his greatest advisor, but also his best friend.
Even two centuries past his death, King Jaehaerys and Avatar Barth remained respected by all who heard of them.
It was memories such as those, that made rebellion against the Iron Throne so difficult.
Yet it needed to be done.
The Crown Prince at the time, Prince Rhaegar, had kidnapped his sister, Lyanna. His older brother, Brandon, already travelling south for his marriage to the Lady Catelyn of House Tully, had simply continued to ride on to King's Landing, his rage at boiling point, as he made straight for the Red Keep and demanded that the Prince face him and die in battle.
The King, Aerys II, now known to all who learned of him as the Mad King, had simply ordered him and his companions arrested for threatening the life of the Heir to the Iron Throne, and demanded that all of their fathers present themselves to him.
His father, Rickard, had answered the call, along with two hundred others.
The Mad King had executed them all.
The call to war had been their response.
It had bloody and brutal, and nothing at all like the stories he was told as a child. The most common smell on the battlefield was the piss and shit of the men who had died, and no matter what he did, Ned knew that he would never forget the sounds of his friends dying while he lived.
Fighting 'for the right cause' had mattered little, and in the end, more innocent people had needed to die before everyone could sit down and agree that their need for vengeance was satisfied.
Childrens' blood had stained his hands before everything was settled, and even then, the war had not ended. It took weeks longer, until on this very day, ten and six years ago, when he had finally succeeded in finding his stolen sister.
In exchange for his life, Varys, the Mad King's Master of Whispers gave him a letter that Rhaegar the Rapist had penned in his own hand, marked for the Tower of Joy.
Within the Prince's Pass, along the entrance to the Principality of Dorne, had stood the Tower of Joy.
All it had given him was despair.
He paused in his journey only long enough to lift the Siege at Storm's End and accept Lord Tyrell's oath of fealty on behalf of their new king, but that was all he waited for.
His sister had need of him.
It was at the Tower he'd found her. He'd feared she would be bruised and beaten, raped and defiled, but it was worse than that. Instead, he had found her as she lay dying in a bed of her own blood, her body exhausted, covered in her own fluids, as she screamed, with tears in her eyes and fought to survive the labours of childbirth.
And she hadn't been alone.
Three of the Mad King's Kingsguard had been left to keep her under guard: the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Ser Oswell Whent, and most importantly of all: Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.
And perhaps more importantly, the Avatar.
So skilled with a blade was he, that not only could he seamlessly wield his sword alongside his Mastery of Airbending, but Arthur had already been a Knight by the time he reached his tenth and sixth birthday.
When it had been announced that he was in fact, the latest incarnation of the Avatar, he should've begun his journey towards becoming a fully realised Avatar. As the Avatar, he belonged to the people, not a single institution, yet just months later, after the Defiance of Duskendale, Ser Gwayne Gaunt had perished and Ser Arthur had accepted Aerys' offer to take his place in the Kingsguard.
The man had sworn to dedicate his life to serving a single man, as opposed to remaining a neutral being, intended to be at the service of the entire world, actively choosing to eschew every ancient custom and tradition held sacred by those who came before him and had instead reaffirmed his vows.
Even now, Ned had to admit that the memory of that knowledge still found a way to disgust him.
Still, there had been some benefits to it.
The Avatar had played a role in most major conflicts throughout the history of the world, but the Avatar Spirit did not take kindly to its hosts that abused it.
His discovery of Lyanna had led to blows at the base of the Tower, as he had expected it to. Seven against three were great odds for a gamble, but less so when the three contained three knights of the Kingsguard and the Avatar himself. None of the seven of them were unskilled swordsmen, and five of them had been Masters of their elements, but the Kingsguard were steps ahead of them, with three of the realms' finest swordsmen.
The White Bull and Ser Oswell might not have had any bending abilities of their own, but their skill with their blades had more than made up the difference for it.
Lord Willam Dustin and Ser Mark Ryswell had been the first to fall, before Ethan Glover had cut Ser Oswell down from behind. The White Bull had retaliated by cutting him down, only to be unable to defend himself from Martyn Cassel's reckless swing.
That had left four of them to face off against the Sword of the Morning.
Against any other man, victory would have been a certain thing.
But this was no ordinary man.
The finest sword in Seven Kingdoms.
The most powerful bender in the world.
Avatar Arthur.
Were it not for the fact, that after having given his vow to serve a single man for the rest of his life, Ser Arthur had struggled to even touch the full power of the legendary 'Avatar State', then he would've died that day for certain.
Ned had never seen anyone wield the power in his lifetime, but it supposedly imbued the Avatar with the combined knowledge and power of all of his past lives, all of his previous incarnations, condensed into a single man. More power, knowledge and skill than even a thousand men were capable of. Had he been capable of tapping into that power, they would've needed another seven men just to stand even the slightest chance of victory against him.
As he was, however, their chances were marginally better.
Arthur cut down Theo Wull with nary a thought, blocking his blow with a column of stone, the air enhanced slice of his sword cutting through stone, skin and bone alike, to cleave the man's torso in two. A blast of fire had seen Howland Reed go down, before swordsmanship alone had claimed Martyn's life.
It had come down to the two of them.
Whenever he could make use of it, Arthur preferred to make use of his natural element, Air, to enhance his skills with a blade, making his swings faster, his slices sharper and his cuts deeper. He had some skill with Fire, common as it was to Dorne and to the Targaryens he had sworn to serve, but having grown up in a desert showed in his awareness.
Stuck in his position as the Kingsguard, forever working with little time to himself, he'd barely managed to study the arts of Earth and Waterbending, let alone sense their presence.
He hadn't thought to check for water on the floor.
And that was what killed him.
As focused as they were on each other, both men missed Howland rising to his feet, and as Arthur moved in for the kill, he found himself with poor footing, slipping on ground that was now coated in a layer of ice. He'd righted himself quickly, using fire from his feet to melt the trap, but not before he had a greatsword buried in his belly, and Howland stuck a dagger through his neck from behind. For a moment, his eyes had flashed the brightest of whites, and then, just as easy as that, the Avatar was dead.
They had claimed the day's victory and with it, the Avatar's life, though it had not come without great cost.
Five of their own men had been slain by what had remained of Aerys' Kingsguard. He knew that it was, at least in some small part, his fault, for not gathering other warriors to aid them, but there hadn't been time to gather additional support. He hadn't expected the three Kingsguard to be there, and even with the six men he had gathered to join him, they had been at a distinct disadvantage in the dry features of the desert.
They were of the North.
You could find bends of all four elements in each of the Seven Kingdoms, but when it came to best chances, the people of the North would name Water and Earth as their domains, not the lands containing the sands and the sun.
Howland had sat in place, using what little water still remained to heal the worst of his burns, but Ned had other priorities. He'd taken the tower steps three at a time until he'd reached the top, arriving in the midst of his sister's screams.
What he'd found there had changed his life.
His sister in the birthing bed, surrounded by her own blood, as she cried for her newborn son. A son she would never see, the ordeal having taken the last of her strength. A son who would one day grow up to become a man, who would one day take his first steps and say his first word, find his first love and suffer his first heartbreak, all without his mother there to guide him through it.
She never even got to look upon the boy with her own eyes.
"Promise me, Ned".
She'd barely whispered the words, her body failing her, but he'd nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and smiled for her, as she closed her eyes one final time.
She hadn't even lived long enough to name him.
Later, Howland had found him there, attempting to soothe a babe with no nursemaid in sight, as it cried for his mother.
Howland's help had been invaluable, as they rode with all due haste for the nearest keep.
Starfall was not only the nearest keep, but also the home of Avatar Arthur's family.
In his rage, he'd torn down the walls of the Tower, using their bricks to build cairns for his slain men, and after a few moments' deliberation, for the Kingsguard too. He'd plucked Dawn, Arthur's sword, forged from the remains of a falling star and carried it with them, intent on returning it.
The sword deserved a better fate than being cast beneath some rocks, and a better man to wield it, than he who had come before.
They rode hard and fast, and while doing so, he'd sat his nephew on the horse with him and pondered on what he was to do with him.
The boy had the icy, blue-grey eyes of House Stark, and Ned had known that the gaze sat behind those eyes held the power of a waterbender. When combined with the already dark colouring of his hair, it served to give him the appearance that House Stark were typically known for throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Regardless of the truth of the babe's father, the boy was a part of his family, a member of his pack, and despite his hatred for the damn thing, he also knew that with what had happened to Rhaegar's family, his nephew was now also a potential claimant to the Iron Throne.
Robert had declared himself King on the eve of the Battle of the Trident, but Ned knew he didn't want the damn thing. In an ideal world, he and Robert would simply work together. He would claim regency of the Iron Throne in the boy's name, serve as his regent until he came of age and in the years that were to come, teach his nephew what it meant to be an honourable man and hopefully, a good king. Robert and Jon would serve as his advisors on his nephew's Small Council, with an eye of marrying his nephew to Robert's daughter, (once he settled down and managed to have a real one).
But that wasn't possible.
First of all, he had no proof of Jon's parentage, and even if he had, or even if his word was trusted enough to simply take it as truth, all he had was a bastard royal, and no one alive remembered the Blackfyre Rebellions with anything akin to fondness.
Secondly, not only had Tywin Lannister sacked King's Landing once the city gates had opened at the end of the war, but he'd also ordered the murders of Elia Martell, Princess Rhaenys and even the baby Prince Aegon, to open the way for Robert's ascension. He could forgive Robert that, he had played no part in it, after all, but once the truth had been revealed, Robert had done nothing of it. This man, a man he thought of as his brother in all-but blood, had not only refused to give the family the justice they deserved, but had decried them to all the realms as not even being children, instead, all he'd done was wave the crimes away, labelling the dead only as 'dragonspawn'.
It was the first time in his life he'd ever looked upon someone he called 'friend', with nothing but disgust.
He couldn't forgive him for that.
And there was no way in any of the hells that he would let that man catch a whiff of the truth of Jon's father.
He wouldn't risk Lyanna's son like that.
Not now.
Not ever.
No, the boy would have to be his. The natural son he'd fathered with some unknown whore he'd never speak of by name. if the boy where to live, and by each of the Great Spirits themselves, his nephew would live, then it would have to be as his son, as the baseborn brother to his son with the Lady Catelyn.
It wouldn't be long before she gave birth either and then he'd have two sons to call his own. He didn't pretend to know how she knew these things, but she'd written to him in her letters that she knew she was carrying a son and not a daughter. She was planning on naming him Robb, after his friend, having told her how close the two of them were, having grown up together, while spending the best years of their youth fostering with Jon Arryn.
Jon…
Jon would do nicely for a name.
Jon Arryn was a good man, strong and wise. All Ned knew about being a good man came from his lessons with Jon Arryn, and it would be great for him to pass the man's name, and eventually his lessons, onto his nephew.
Yes, Jon it would be.
Jon Snow.
There were other options of course, Sand, Waters, even Blackfyre, (not that he'd admit that last one aloud), but the boy was a Northman, and in the North, their sons were called Snow.
He took a moment to thank the spirits above that the boy did not share the appearance of his Targaryen ancestors, and also, he took a moment to ponder if his other sons would share the same colouring as the two of them did.
The obvious threat now, was Howland.
He'd seen the body, and the bed, and the babe and the blood. He was the only other man alive who knew the truth of Jon's parentage, and if necessary, he would have to silence him.
As the old saying went, "Two can keep a secret, but only when one of them is dead".
He wouldn't take the risk with Lyanna's son.
Thankfully, Howland had taken care of it before he could think too.
He'd ridden ahead to Starfall, calling for guards and a nursemaid to attend them. Arthur's fate had not been received well, not that he had expected it to be, but the Daynes had offered guest right and provisions for their trip back home, thanking them with the barest civility for the return of their sword and the knowledge of their son's passing.
Howland had begged the use of a the godswood before they departed and asked that he join him, and it was there, beneath what passed for a heart tree in Dorne, that Howland had sworn him a blood oath to never reveal the truth of Jon's parentage, for as long as the two of them lived.
He'd breathed easier after that and never told the man of the dagger he'd been sharpening to stick in his back.
From there, the two of them had ridden back to King's Landing.
Robert had ridden out to meet them at the gates, already looking as miserable as Ned thought was possible, at being the new king, and honestly, Ned couldn't blame him there - the potential idea of him even having needed to serve as regent had managed to terrify Ned - but otherwise, all seemed to be going well.
He'd named Jon as Hand of the King, possibly the wisest decision he could've made, and offered him the position as Master of Laws, but he'd turned it down without a second thought.
He'd had no desire to stay in King's Landing for a moment more than was necessary.
When Robert had spotted Jon, he'd offered to legitimise him on the spot, (well, after he'd forced him to endure quite a bit of good natured teasing), and make his son's name Jon Stark before they ever saw the Riverlands, saying that it was the least he could do for him, and he had to admit that by Tui and La, he had been tempted to accept.
He'd met Hoster Tully only the once, but his opinion of the man was low. He'd had taken advantage of the war and their desperation to force the hands of himself and Jon Arryn, corralling them both into marriages with his daughters, which would one day now serve to give him grandchildren that would serve not only as the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, but also as the Lord Paramount of the North and Lord Paramount of the Vale, as well as the Warden of the North and Warden of the East.
They barely had enough time to consummate their respective unions and coming home with a legitimate son, one who was potentially older than the son he was having with his new wife, would've been the perfect way to get back at him, potentially ruining what were no doubt his plans, but no, it was not to be.
Though he was tempted, it would've been a grave insult to his new wife, and Lady Catelyn had done nothing to earn his ire. It pained him to say no on the boy's behalf, but truly, he felt had no other option.
As he had anticipated, Lady Catelyn had not taken to Jon's presence well. It had been obvious that she was hoping for him to choose to foster the boy away from Winterfell, or even simply send him away to somewhere unknown, never to be seen again, but he was the last link he had to Lyanna, and he would not give that up, no matter the cause.
When it had come in that the boy was a Waterbender, just as he had suspected, Howland had offered to foster the boy, as well as any of his other children, if he desired it, and it wasn't the last offer he got to send his children out, but he was resolute in his decision to keep Jon close, and in doing so, decided that he wanted to keep all of his pack together.
They would be safer that way.
Cat had argued against his decision, more so as the years went on and their children had grown older. Fostering was a common practice amongst the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms, and Ned knew that the children of House Stark would be well looked after and well sought after, if he had decided that route.
He had been tempted to wrote to Robert and Jon and propose a three-way fostering between their heirs but letting Robb go meant that he had to let the others go, and if he did, he knew Cat would demand Jon be sent away too.
He just couldn't.
Jon belonged with him in Winterfell.
Jon was safest in Winterfell.
And despite Catelyn's ever-present resentment at his son's presence in their home, Jon had remained at Winterfell and their family had been all the better for it.
In the decade and a half that had since past, Ned found that he had grown to love Catelyn. Now, the Lady of Winterfell, they had grown together in the years since their hasty marriage, and now he could say with absolute truth that she was his wife and partner in life. They had conceived a full litter of children together, three sons and two daughters, every single one of which had been revealed as a waterbender. The years had been kind to them, and though Cat had gone on to treat Jon, not with contempt, which she knew he would never tolerate in his household, whether she was his beloved wife or not, but simply with a cold presence, she had never once acted out in cruelty.
Something which he believed had grown more difficult for her when Jon had proven himself to be the most talented waterbender out of the children.
All of his children were talented waterbenders. Each one of them was in a position, where he considered them on their way to being declared as a Master Waterbender before they reached their eight and tenth name day, but he had to admit, Jon was something else entirely.
Prodigious talents weren't unheard of in Westeros. All Seven Kingdoms boasted a long history of turning out youthful masters of their elements, yet Ned couldn't recall a single instance - certainly not in his lifetime - where a waterbender had been declared as a master by the tender age of two and ten.
The fact that it happened a full three years before his elder brother managed to achieve the same distinction only served to give Cat more reasons to be upset.
Jon also being Robb's favourite training partner was the salt rubbed in the wound.
After he was declared a Master, Jon had began assisting Ser Rodrik with the training of his siblings. While Ser Rodrik made sure that each of his children knew how to use their waterbending skills to defend themselves, he also made sure that the spiritual lessons that came with northern style waterbending were well attended too.
When he assisted, Jon focused on the more practical aspects of waterbending, which unsurprisingly gained him much affection from his siblings, (particularly Arya).
While Ser Rodrik had been busy preparing Robb to take his mastery trials, as well as his ward, Theon Greyjoy, Jon had happily taken it upon himself to instruct Bran and Arya in the basics of House Stark's most ancient and sacred art. They'd loved his lessons and were more than a bit put out when Robb and Theon had passed, earning their own titles of Master, and Ser Rodrik had been able to resume their usual lessons.
Sansa was the only sibling he hadn't been able to properly assist with her own training, simply because there was little that Jon could offer her as a teacher. Though she knew only the barest basics regarding combat, Sansa preferred it that way. Instead, she had proven herself to be extremely adept as a healer - the one area of the waterbending arts in which she outshined all of her siblings' abilities.
Though Rickon had succeeded in making water move and causing it to shake when he got upset, a boy of four was not a suitable student for Ser Rodrik.
Of their family, Catelyn was the only one of them that wasn't a waterbender, in fact, she wasn't a bender at all. Though she was descended from the long line of Master Waterbenders that had comprised House Tully throughout the ages, Catelyn had not been blessed with the gift herself.
A part of his mind had often wondered if she at all resented that everyone else around her had been given a gift that she was denied. Cat's younger sister, Lysa, wasn't a waterbender either, neither was their father, Lord Hoster, nor their uncle, Ser Brynden, The Blackfish. Children of mixed lines rarely received the ability, so it wasn't surprising that they hadn't, given that their mother, Minisa, had come from House Whent, who were known for their airbending prowess, but made it even more surprising that her brother, Edmure, had, in fact, been given the blessing of the Moon and Ocean.
Cat had gone on to marry him and given birth to their five children, each one a waterbender.
Having one in the family was considered a boon to your House.
Having a two was considered a blessing from the Great Spirits of the Moon and Ocean themselves.
Having five, (six if they counted Jon), was a such a great show of favour from the Great Spirits to House Stark that neither he nor Maester Luwin had ever heard of it happening before.
A strong gust of wind caused him to shiver, as the chill seemed to reach into his bones and he drew his cloak tighter around him in response. The day's air was bitterly cold, and reminded him more than ever of his family's words:
Winter is Coming
The longest Summer in living history was coming to an end. It had lasted for over a decade, and Maester Luwin was simply awaiting the day that he received the raven that confirmed that Autumn had officially started.
The Autumn would be short, he knew and from experience, he also knew that a long Summer meant that they needed to be prepared to endure an equally long Winter. It would be the first Winter his children ever experienced, and in the North, simply surviving Winter was a challenge.
He simply prayed that they all made it through.
"-s it. See. Just like Robb's doing".
"Ohh…"
He smiled as he heard the voices of his children and moved to rest against the walkway's protective wall. He was content to stand there and look down upon the courtyard, as Robb and Jon did their best to instruct Bran on the water-whip technique.
Jon was doing his best to explain each part of the move, keeping his words simple enough for Bran to understand, while Robb played the dutiful part of the model, demonstrating every minute movement in slow motion, trying to keep his body in time with Jon's words.
He was aware of Catelyn joining him, breaking his gaze away from his sons to greet her with a kiss on the cheek, before returning his attention back to the session at hand.
"Again. Now watch his wrists", Jon instructed, directing Bran's attention to their brother's hands, "you can see how he keeps them nice and loose as he moves. When you move, your wrists need to flow like water, ready, so that when he moves to strike", Robb stamped his front foot down, right hand snapping outwards, "his front wrist snaps out and the water flows with it".
The water lashed out with Robb's movement, striking the head of the training dummy with enough force to rattle it, the water-whip creating a large gash in the straw where the right cheek would be found on a normal man.
"Alright Bran, now you give it a go".
"Okay…"
He continued to watch on from above, not without a solid smattering of pride, as Bran began to make the movements he'd just been shown, drawing on the fresh water within the troughs beside them. Robb and Jon both took several steps backwards, giving their brother some much needed space to work with.
It was in the moment that he pulled his hand back that Ned saw the mistake he was making, as he made it. He was too focused on getting the position of his front hand perfect, that he was keeping his rear wrist locked up tightly, instead of letting it flow as loosely as it needed to. In the moment that he snapped forward to strike, the water jerked, before it followed his firmer rear hand instead of his looser guiding one, and all he succeeded in doing was sending the water crashing to the floor, where it froze Bran's feet to the ground.
He smiled despite himself, as Robb and Jon broke into guffaws and Bran's face turning red in embarrassment. He gave them both a moment, before he flicked some of the nearby snow their way, two small snowballs striking them both on the back of their heads. They turned to face him, looking sheepish, as he raised an eyebrow from his viewpoint above them, "And pray tell, which of you was a Waterbending Master before they were ten?"
Jon moved to raise his hand, but Robb elbowed him in the ribs before he could finish, earning him half a scowl and half a smile from his younger brother.
"No, you weren't, now get on with it".
"Yes Father", his boys intoned, before a water-whip flew past them all, slicing into the target and leaving it with an almost identical cut on the left side of the face.
All three of them blinked in confusion, looking at Bran who seemed as confused as they were, before they spotted Arya, stood to the side with one hand still behind her, both legs slightly bent with her other hand still outstretched.
Bran took a moment to look outraged, before he managed to melt the water around his feet and took off after his sister, forming a snowball as he went, leaving the others to laugh at his expense.
"Go on Bran! Get 'er!"
"Run Arya!"
Robb and Jon called out after their two younger siblings, still chuckling between themselves as their siblings slipped out of the main courtyard.
"Lord Stark!"
He looked away to find his castle's steward, Vayon Poole, hurrying towards him, gasping for breath, each puff of his lungs blanketing his face with a fine mist, "Lord Stark", he rasped out, "it's the Council of Elders".
"Hmm", he nodded, "they're here already?"
"No", he shook his head, "I mean, begging your pardon, my Lord, not quite yet, but one of your riders returned".
He straightened up, "Has something happened to them?"
Those that joined the Council of Elders rarely, if ever, left their sanctuary once they'd sworn their vows, and on the rare occasion they did, it was only ever for reasons that they felt would greatly impact the spirits. Having them be attacked on their way to Winterfell would not be good for House Stark, especially not when they were so close to Winterfell itself.
"No, it's", Vayon took a deep breath, "they'll be here before lunch, Lord Stark, but the guard felt they needed to send someone back to warn you".
He blinked, "Warn me? Warn me of what?"
"That they said, 'the time has come'. That's why they're here", having regained some of his breath, Vayon was finally able to straighten himself up as best he could. He could scarcely remember a time that his loyal steward had ever looked so excited before, "The Council are saying that they're here to announce the identity of the next Avatar".
=== === === === ===
The Avatar lived in a perpetual cycle: Fire, Air, Water, Earth.
Four elements, which needed to be learnt and mastered in that order. The Avatar was the only being in the world capable of bending more than one element, and when the Avatar died, the Avatar Spirit chose its next host body from the cycle.
From their history books, they knew that it was not uncommon for Avatars to comfortably live beyond a century. There were four Avatars in a cycle, and four cycles in an Age. Each Age had been recorded by the Maesters for as long as their history books had existed, and every Age was known to lasted at least a thousand years before starting anew.
With one exception.
The last full Age, now known to history as the Age of the Dragon, had started in 112 BC, one hundred and twelve years Before Aegon's Conquest, and only lasted three hundred and forty-eight years, ending in 236 AC. It was by far the shortest Age in the history of mankind, and many felt that House Targaryen were to blame.
A great many Avatars of the past had lived to see their hundredth year. While it wasn't a requirement, and far from a certainty, living that long was the sign of strong lifeforce, and far more commonly found among powerful benders than those who were without the gift.
In the years since the start of Aegon's Conquest, seventeen Avatars had been born. Of those seventeen, only seven had lived long enough to be identified, (that number would become eight, if successfully finding the new Avatar became the result of the Council's visit), and of those seven that had been identified, only two of them had lived long enough to see their thirtieth year.
There were many Sages, Septons and even Maesters that claimed the short lives of their most recent Avatars, was a punishment meted out by the Great Spirits, for the Seven Kingdom's lack of proper respect towards them, while others simply considered it a punishment for the Avatars themselves, caused by those Avatars of recent memory that had abused the power they were given for personal gain.
Some even said it was a sign of the end times.
Avatars were identified by trained men when they reached their sixth and tenth name day. From there, they began their training in the other three elements, which usually took another few years, until they were considered to be 'fully realised' Avatars.
Arthur Dayne had been four and twenty when he'd killed him, and while he could only truly claim to have mastered airbending, he was at least somewhat capable of using all four elements.
His predecessor, the Fire Avatar, Princess Minisa Nymeros Martell had been three and twenty when she died, still in the middle of her earthbending training.
Before her, the Earth Avatar, Ser Tion Lannister, had only lived long enough to reach seven and ten name days. He hadn't even finished mastering Earthbending at the time of his death, let alone started on the other three elements.
The two Avatars before him had died before they had fully finished learning to walk.
The Hightower Avatar had died of a pox shortly after their six and tenth name day, before their airbending training could begin.
The three before him had all died during their first days, as none knew who they were.
And before them…
While he considered Arthur a disgrace to the ideals the Avatar should be held to, not even he would consider him the worst of the lot.
But Daemon Blackfyre was a serious contender for the role.
That man had been a bastard in every sense of the word.
But that didn't matter now, not when the time had come, sixteen years after Ser Arthur's passing, for the next Avatar to begin their training once again, and apparently the Council of Elders felt the need to start in the North.
Hopefully, that boded well for them.
Whatever his faults, Arthur - Ser Arthur, he reminded himself - had still been an anointed knight of the realm. Born the second son of House Dayne of Starfall, who were known to produce strong airbenders, unlike their cadet house, House Dayne of High Hermitage, who were better known for their earthbending prowess.
Air had been Arthur's natural element and that made it the first element of his Avatar Cycle, as well as the element that he needed to master first. The second element in his Avatar Cycle had been water, and though it had been over two hundred years since there had last been a Water Avatar that lived long enough to be recognised, it made some sense that the Council of Elders had come to Winterfell to begin their search, despite it being the Kingdom of the Reach that had produced the last real waterbending Avatar.
Even today, Avatar Barth was still spoken of with something akin to reverence. An Avatar and Septon, he'd served as Hand of the King to Jaehaerys the First for almost forty years, and together, the two men had caused the Seven Kingdoms to prosper.
Ned could only hope that their new Avatar would be one such as that.
Whether they knew it or not, there couldn't have been a better time for the Council of Elders to meet with so many potential candidates either. Over the coming week, House Stark was about to play at hosting sons and daughters from most, if not all, of their vassals. Some of them had arrived already, but many more would be doing say throughout the day and into tomorrow, as they came together to celebrate the six and tenth year of Robb's birth, celebrating the day that their next Warden of the North was officially recognised as a man in the eyes of the Great Spirits.
In addition to many of their sworn vassals coming to formally meet the Heir to Winterfell, Cat was excited that the able members of House Tully were making the journey.
Her sister, Lysa, had refused to come, writing that as her husband, Jon Arryn, would be unable to get away from King's Landing for long enough, she didn't feel safe travelling without him or his guards. Ned had received a letter of apology from Jon himself too. It seemed that Robert had wanted them both to visit, so that they could finally see Winterfell and those they considered their Northern nieces and nephews with their own eyes, but Tywin Lannister had apparently decided that this was a good time for him to pay a visit the capital and neither man wanted, (nor trusted), him to be left there alone and unsupervised.
He shook his head in disgust, as he thought back on the contents of the letter.
Those bloody Lannisters were always managing to find a way to ruin something.
It would've been nice to see Robert and Jon again.
While it was true that he and Robert and parted on poor terms, the murders of Elia Martell, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon weighing heavily on his soul, especially as he held Jon in his arms, Jon Arryn hadn't been idle in the years since. The man was a good choice of Hand, and after sending the bones of Elia Martell and her children back to Dorne, he'd managed to broker something of a peace between Dorne and the Iron Throne. He'd ignored Ned's advice to have their killers executed and Ser Jaime sent to the Wall, but he had also reduced the North's taxes significantly, far more so than any of Robert's other allies, which had allowed them to put their coin towards rebuilding their homes and saving up for the coming Winter.
The North had recovered nicely, if slowly, and by the time Robert had called for his banners, when Balon Greyjoy rose up in rebellion, the men of the North had proudly marched to meet him. He'd been granted his wish to take in Balon's sole surviving son, Theon, as his ward when the fighting was done, rather than leaving him to the tender mercies of Tywin Lannister's tutelage.
Great Spirits be damned, he had named first two sons, which included his heir, Robb and Jon - if that wasn't a clear display of the love he held for both men, each of which he considered to be a part of his family, extended as they were - then he didn't know what else would suffice.
He'd considered delaying Robb's celebration, but the plans had been made and sent out to his lords, after they'd been forced to delay by several weeks already, as Robb's grandfather, Lord Hoster, needed the extra time to prepare for the journey north, being as ill as he was. It just so happened that now, Robb's celebration now fell on Jon's name day instead.
He'd been careful over the years, to make sure that Jon was included in House Stark's business as much as possible. He'd given him and Robb the same responsibilities, same chores and the same allowance, but he'd also been clear that one day, Robb would be the one to succeed him.
He'd been worried about Jon growing to resent him for that, but Robb had told them both, that he wanted Jon, already a Master Waterbender and a natural talent on a horse and with a sword, to replace Ser Rodrik as Winterfell's Master-at-Arms, when the time came, and ever since that day, Ned hadn't seen the slightest inkling of resentment between them.
Jon hadn't protested the celebration when the new date had been announced, though Ned swore he saw a glimmer of melancholy across his face, and Catelyn had simply shrugged off the timing when he had pointed it out, as an act of coincidence.
Robb had offered to make it a joint celebration for the two of them, but Jon himself had turned that particular idea down and small part of Ned was thankful, as while he was proud of Robb for standing by his brother, he wasn't sure how the Lords of the North would take being invited to a celebration for a bastard.
Jon had already managed to garner something of a mixed reputation in the North, even if most of its Lords and ladies had never met him. He'd become infamous simply by virtue of being his bastard but had added to that infamy by becoming a Waterbending Master at two-and-ten. That kind of thing tended to go noticed favourably by other houses, but at the end of the day, a bastard was still a bastard, and despite that, he simply couldn't see a way in which having a shared celebration for the Heir to the North and his bastard brother, regardless of their own feelings on the matter, would have been received well.
Least of all by his lady wife and her family.
He shook his head.
Below him, a sense of frantic desperation abounded, as the men and women of Winterfell rushed about, no doubt wishing to find a way to be clear of their duties and set their eyes on the Council of Elders that were due to arrive at any moment.
It had been a long time since Ned had laid eyes on one of them, not since he was a boy himself, so he could understand their excitement.
He just hoped that Rodrik wasn't one of the Elders that had joined the party, but as he was still the Great Sage, he all-but knew that the man would be here.
While Bran and Arya had disappeared underfoot, and Cat had gone to find Sansa and Rickon, and make sure that they were presentable, Robb and Jon were still in the courtyard below him, diligently storing the training gear they had been using with Bran, but there was a clear rush from them, as they no doubt wished to make their own way to the Great Hall, where he and his guests would receive the Elders.
He took as much time as possible in making his way to the Great Hall, while still moving quickly enough to be counted as respectful, should anyone ask, and giving his sons just enough time to finish storing away the training gear, run a clean washcloth across the sweat on their brows and necks, and get into the hall themselves.
The pair reached the entrance to the Great Hall at the same time he did, and both of them offered him a smile of thanks as they slipped inside, with Robb going first and then Jon ducking in immediately behind him. He gave them a few extra moments to straighten themselves up, before he pulled the doors open and strode inside, his cloak billowing behind him.
The hall was packed.
At the very front of the room was the dais, upon which the main table was usually sat for formal feasts. The table had been pushed back to the wall, and now Catelyn stood in the centre of the dais, with their children spread out beside her. She'd left a gap for him and Robb to stand in, with Bran and Rickon to their right, while Sansa, Arya and his ward, Theon Greyjoy would be on their left besides her.
The people parted for him as he walked between them, before closing ranks as he stepped up onto the dais himself, and took a look at the gathering.
His guests seemed to have emptied out their chambers to join them. Rickard Karstark had brought his children to the front of the room with him, which was unsurprising, given that Karlon Stark, the founder of House Karstark, had once been the Avatar himself.
Lady Maege and her daughters of House Mormont were there too, each woman of her family as beautiful as they were dangerous, but stood orderly together beneath their mother's warning gaze. It was impossible to miss the Umbers, being as tall as they were, but they'd thankfully stood towards the back of the room, while Lord Bolton couldn't be seen, but Ned doubted he'd remain in his rooms for an occasion this important.
The Glovers hadn't arrived yet, their party was still a half day's ride away, but they'd produced an Avatar in the past too - the last true Earth Avatar - and even if the children were earthbenders and too young to be considered as the Avatar, Galbart would still want the Council to offer a blessing to his brother's son and daughter.
He looked around the rest of the room, and spotted Jon to his right, standing off to the side, where he appeared to be keeping a close eye on Arya, which Ned found he was immensely grateful for. Besides him, several of his castle staff lined the wall, including Gage the head cook, his son Turnip, several of his castle maids and other a few others, including Vayon Poole, his daughter Jeyne, and even Mikken the castle blacksmith.
Forcing himself to blink, Ned turned away from everyone, not wanting to start looking too closely, lest he start staring at everyone.
He took a breath to steady himself, and caught a glimpse of Maester Luwin, who was stood near the main door, who nodded to him, confirming what the excited whispers from the far side had already alerted him to.
The Council of Elders had arrived.
A group made up entirely of men, with no woman permitted among their number, the Council of Elders were the spiritual leaders of the North, revered for their wisdom, knowledge of the spirits and in the direst of situations, their ability to heal the most grievous of injuries and afflictions.
In the days of old, they had served as the spiritual leaders of the Kingdom of the Isles and Rivers, before the Age of the Andals and the prominence of the Faith of the Seven.
Given that each elder trained with the order until they were deemed a 'Sage', the Council of Elders were oft referred to as the Water Sages, but that had never been their proper name. Their leader, the Great Sage, was named Rodrik, and now that he could see he was indeed with them, Ned could say that wasn't best pleased to find that he had made the journey to Winterfell.
A man of four and eighty name days, Rodrik had given up his family name when he had joined the Council and chosen to cut all ties with his past life. As an Elder, and the Great Sage at that, Rodrik was sworn to serve no one and nothing, save for the will of the Great Spirits of the Moon and Ocean, and to guide the Avatar when their time came, no matter which incarnation it was.
The Council took no sides, only living in service.
All five men wearing the ceremonial blue and white furs of their order, and Rodrik walked at the head of their party. The hair atop his head was thin and balding, but his beard remained as long and full as Ned remembered, only now it had traded dark brown and shades of grey for a mane of purest white. He dipped into a bow, as he came to stand in front of the dais, and Ned did the same in response, the entire hall mimicking their actions.
"Great Sage Rodrik", he began, straightening up, his voice clearly audible in the silent room, the only noise coming from the burning fireplaces, "I, Eddard Stark, Master of Water, Lord and Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North and Warden of the North, welcome you into our halls. I invite you, beneath the eyes of the Great Spirits of the Moon and Ocean, to partake in our bread and salt".
As he spoke, one of Gage's scullions rushed forwards, offering the men up a plate, upon which sat a loaf of fresh bread and a small bowl of salt. Taking turns, each man tore off a piece of the offered bread, dragging it through the salt bowl before popping it in their mouths and swallowing it whole.
"As our honoured guests, I would offer you food from our tables, to help sate your hunger, wine and water from our skins to help quench your thirst, a place to rest your heads should they be weary. I offer you my protection while you reside within our halls".
"Eddard Stark", despite his bright white hair and long moustache that displayed his great age, Rodrik's voice was still as loud and strong as he remembered, clear and concise, much like he could recall his mother's being, "Master of Water, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North and Warden of the North, I am Rodrik, Great Sage to the Great Spirits of the Moon and Ocean, Grand Master of Water. I and my companions have travelled long and hard to be here this very day. Sixteen years have passed, the time of the Avatar is once again upon us, and we are here to guide him on his journey as best we may".
Ned nodded his head. Their visit was already going exactly as he had expected it too, "Whatever you deem required to assist in your search will be yours. Please, honoured elders, take rest and know that Winterfell, and the North, is at your service".
The Great Sage nodded, but Ned could clearly see the confused look upon his face, and at a glance, he could see it reflected in his travelling companions also, "Our apologies, Lord Stark", Rodrik began, before straightening up to address him in full, "however there seems to have been a miscommunication between our parties. We have not come here to begin our search for the Avatar".
Ned blinked, now he was the one looking confused, "You haven't?"
"No. The identity of the Avatar has been known to us for some time".
He blinked once again, and realised that his mouth was hanging open, so he closed it with an audible 'clack' of his teeth, "It has?"
Rodrik simply nodded, "Indeed. We came here ensure that his waterbending training has been carried out to our complete satisfaction, and from here, we will escort him to a place where he may begin to conduct his search for his Earthbending Master".
Ned understood the words, and their implication, but he had a hard time understanding their meaning, "The Avatar is here?"
The Great Sage smiled, calm and serene, and even a little amused, which he felt looked odd and out of place, on what was usually a very serious face, "Yes, Lord Stark. The Avatar is here. The Avatar is in this very room".
At once, the room broke out into mutterings and not-so hushed whispers, as people shuffled about, staring down their closest neighbours, as if one of them was about to burst into light. More then one set of eyes turned to face his family, being the most prominent waterbenders in the room, but Robb was the only one of the right age, but the Elders turned away from him, dismissing him as their choice, and Ned breathed a sigh of relief.
Rodrik stepped forwards, his brothers at his back, as they moved off towards the left side of the room, the crowed parting around them, as he fixed his eyes on the farthest wall.
And then it finally dawned on him, and feeling like a fool every moment of it, he realised exactly just whose sixteenth birthday the day belonged to.
It came as a slow realisation, the pieces slowly falling into place before spreading through his body like ice water through his veins. Beside him, Bran audibly gasped, his head bouncing between them, Robb and Theon spluttered in confusion, and he caught sight of Arya's mouth falling wide open.
He didn't have it in him to tell her to close it, dazed as he himself was feeling.
Slowly, and in full view of the entire hall, the five Sages of the Council of Elders, knelt on the ground. Moving as a group, the five men each took their knees in front of his second son, bowing so deep, that each man had their heads pressed to the floor. The four brothers formed a clear line at the back of the Great Sage, cutting him and their new charge off from the rest of the hall, separating them, in an illusion of privacy, before all five men spoke with one voice.
"It is our pleasure to serve you, Avatar Jon".
Watching the hall, was like watching a wave move in slow motion, starting from where Jon was standing and reaching outwards, as the people in the hall began to follow the Elders' lead. People shuffled about to make enough room on the floor for each other to bow properly, but Ned found that he was unable to move.
Like the rest of his family, he found himself standing tall, shocked into stillness, while Jon continued to stand there, utterly lost at the situation, with his mouth hung open in the shock they all shared. His skin had gone as pale as a sheet, losing what little colour it usually had, giving him the impression of a phantom. He looked towards him, his gaze desperately seeking some form of confirmation, or perhaps even a denial from him, but Ned was helpless to do anything for him.
So, he did the only thing he could.
He knelt.
As the rest of the Great Hall had, so too did Ned move to his knees, in full view of his son, pulling Robb and Cat down with him. They both fought his grip, but they knelt, pulling Bran and Sansa with them, who did the same for Arya and the confused Rickon beside them, until all of House Stark had joined their people, each one of them holding their breath in sheer disbelief, even as they touched their heads to the ground.
For the briefest of moments, there was no noise in the Great Hall, save for the cackling of the fires and the huffs of breath, before Ned heard the rustling of cloth. He raised his head to look up, Robb doing the same beside him, and found that, to his pride, Jon had remembered his old lessons well.
With a swirl of his hands, Jon's body moved like the gentle current, coming to rest in front of Rodrik. His legs bent, keeping him on his feet, not as a show of submission, but a gesture of respect. His left arm splayed out, away from him, not to show off as a display, but to show it was empty, as a gesture of trust. His right arm finished the motion, reaching outwards, not to take from those in front of him, but as an offer of friendship, as an offer of assistance.
As an offer from their Avatar.
Rodrik, a Great Sage of the Elder Council, the Voice of the Great Spirits of the Moon and Ocean reached out, as if to clasp at it, but stopped, less than a fingertip away, and after a moment, Jon grasped his hand and helped guide him back to his feet.
Behind them, Ned rose to his feet, Robb quickly doing the same, and before long the entirety of the Great Hall had joined them.
Nervousness covered every inch of Jon's face, but when Rodrik spoke, even with his back turned to him, Ned could feel the smile in his voice, as he called out, loud, proud and unfettered by age, "Hail! Avatar Jon!"
In an instant the call was taken up by the hall, the words bouncing off of the ancient stones, resonating throughout the castle, as the men and women that made up Winterfell called out to the world in one voice.
"HAIL! AVATAR JON!"