In the practice yard, after a brief rest, Domeric Bolton faced his second opponent: Jon Snow.
Jon was still reeling from the news of the potential betrothal he had heard from Sansa.
Distracted and physically smaller than Robb—having not yet hit his growth spurt—Jon was defeated quickly.
Well… defeated faster than Robb, and with significantly less grace.
Just as Arthur, itching for a fight, grabbed two practice swords to step in and teach Domeric a lesson, Lady Dustin emerged from the Great Keep and called out to him.
"Arthur, would you guide me to the crypts?" Lady Dustin adjusted her sable cloak against the chill. "I am not familiar with Winterfell's layout, and neither are my men."
Arthur wanted to refuse—he really wanted to duel Domeric—but Lady Dustin was a highborn guest from afar. Her request was reasonable.
"My lady, it would be my honor."
The entrance to the crypts was located in the oldest part of the castle, near the foundations of the First Keep—a structure that had stood empty for hundreds of years.
Arthur led Lady Dustin and her guards through the yard, past the guardroom, to the heavy ironwood door near the First Keep.
There were no guards posted here, only a locked iron door. After all, the only things inside were stone statues.
Arthur called for a guard to bring the key.
The guard struggled with the heavy iron door, finally pulling it open to reveal a spiral stone staircase plunging into darkness.
"It's a long way down, my lady," Arthur said, taking an oil lantern from the guard. "There's nothing down there but the statues of Stark ancestors."
"Lead on. I want to see your father, Brandon Stark," Lady Dustin said, her voice tinged with memory. "It's been almost nine years. I'm beginning to forget his face."
The stairs were narrow and steep, the stone worn smooth by centuries of footsteps.
Arthur led the way, followed closely by Lady Dustin, with her guards bringing up the rear.
The crypts were black and cold, but Arthur knew them well. He, Robb, and Jon often played down here, sometimes even bringing Sansa and three-year-old Arya along for "adventures."
"This morning, I told Catelyn Tully I wanted to take you as my page or foster son," Lady Dustin said suddenly as they descended step by careful step.
"She refused. Because you are a bastard."
"My name is Snow, my lady," Arthur said, steadying himself with a hand against the cold wall. The lantern light flickered, making the steps seem to shift beneath his feet. "That is undeniable. Though defining a man solely by his birth… is unwise."
"Catelyn hates bastards. I can see you don't have an easy life here," Lady Dustin said, keeping pace behind him. "You should be like your father, Brandon. Riding a destrier through the forests, wild and free, not trapped here being—"
"My lady," Arthur interrupted gently. "We have arrived."
"There are more stairs going down," Lady Dustin noted, peering into the gloom.
"Those lead to the lower levels. They are much older."
Arthur pushed open the heavy inner door, leading the group into a long, vaulted tunnel. Pillars of granite marched two by two into the endless dark.
Lady Dustin's guards raised their lanterns, pushing back the shadows.
The light revealed rows of stone kings seated on thrones. Their eyes were carved with eerie realism, seeming to hold emotion, and their stone fingers gripped the hilts of rusted iron swords.
Old Nan used to say the swords across their laps kept the spirits of the dead kings sealed within their tombs. If the swords rusted away or were stolen, the spirits would wander the crypts.
"So many of them," Lady Dustin murmured. "Do you know their names?"
"Rodrik Stark," Arthur said, raising his lantern to illuminate a statue near the entrance. "He won Bear Island from the Ironborn in a wrestling match and gave it to House Mormont."
"I've heard the story," Lady Dustin said noncommittally. "Though Ironborn usually only pay the iron price."
"There is a book in the Library Tower that details the event," Arthur replied, offering no opinion. He pointed further down the row. "These are the Kings in the North. The last one there is Torrhen."
" The King Who Knelt."
"Yes, my lady. He bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen and his dragons at the Inn of the Kneeling Man. After him, the Starks were only Lords."
"Where is Brandon Stark's tomb?"
"At the end. Please follow me, my lady."
Lady Dustin gestured for her guards to remain behind and followed Arthur alone.
They walked between the rows of pillars, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The stone eyes of dead lords and their direwolves seemed to follow them. It was an unsettling feeling, especially with so few living souls present.
Arthur was used to it, but Lady Dustin's expression grew stiffer with every step.
Finally, they reached three stone tombs arranged side by side. They stood before the resting place of Brandon Stark.
Arthur stopped and lit a few candle stubs left in niches on the wall.
"Lord Rickard," Lady Dustin said thoughtfully, looking at the central figure in the flickering light.
The statue sat high and proud, with a long, stern face and a stone beard. Like the others, he had stone eyes, but his gaze seemed particularly sorrowful.
Rickard was Brandon's father, Arthur's grandfather. Both father and son had been executed by the Mad King Aerys Targaryen in King's Landing eight years ago—one burned alive, the other strangled while trying to save him.
Lady Dustin removed a glove and touched the knee of Brandon Stark's statue, her pale skin contrasting sharply with the dull grey stone.
"Your father, Brandon, was fostered at Barrowton by old Lord Dustin. I later married the old Lord's son, but he spent all his time riding in the Rills. He was obsessed with horses. His little sister Lyanna was just the same."
Lady Dustin spoke as if lost in the past.
"Those two were practically centaurs."
"My father was eager to host the heir to Winterfell. For the sake of House Ryswell's future influence, he would have gladly offered my maidenhead to any Stark who passed by."
"In truth, he didn't need to offer anything. Your father, Brandon… he took what he wanted. He was never one for politeness." The candlelight reflected in her eyes like two tiny flames.
"That night, he took my maidenhead. The pity is, I didn't get with child like your mother did."
Lady Dustin tore her gaze away from Brandon's statue with difficulty and looked at Arthur.
"You look very much like him. Tall, handsome, the same dark hair. Only those violet eyes come from your mother."
"Many people have told me that. That I look like him, that I act like him," Arthur said, holding the lantern up to illuminate his father's stone face.
"But only I know the truth. I am not like him."
Lady Dustin looked surprised. "You don't love him?"
"He brought me into this world, and then he left me in it."
Arthur's voice was calm, but hard.
"He was going to marry another woman—Catelyn Tully—not my mother."
"Why… why should I love him?"