The great hall of Winterfell was colder than I expected my entire being could freeze.
It was tall and broad, the ceiling high above like the inside of a mountain. Blackened rafters stretched across the stone, heavy with age. A hearth large enough to swallow a horse burned at the far end, but even that fire did not warm the chill in the air.
On the dais at the end of the hall sat Lord Rickard Stark, head of House Stark, Warden of the North.
His presence filled the space more than the fire did.
He was tall, still in the pri of his strength, cloaked in dark grey wool with the silver direwolf brooch on his shoulder. His beard was neatly trimd, flecked with early white, and his eyes were cold as frozen iron.
He did not need to raise his voice.
"Step forward," he said, and the echo of it followed down the long stretch of stone.
I obeyed.
A guard stood to one side of the dais. Rodrik was nearby as well, still as a carved wolf. Maester Walys had taken up a quieter place near a pillar, parchnt in hand.
Lord Rickard looked over once, Like a man weighing an iron ingot before the forge.
"Levi of Bogwater," he said. "Or so you're nad."
I kneeled as he spoke. nodding. "Yes, my lord."
"You may rise. Now were present during the attack on the caravan traveling from the Neck."
I stood back up. replying calmly as i can to this questions.
"Yes."
"You saw the fight?"
"Yes."
"You carried no blade?"
"I did not my Lord. I even didn't fight. I only watched. I wasn't trained for it."
That last part slipped out faster than I ant it to, but Lord Rickard didn't seem bothered. His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You watched fifty-eight n die," he said. "And lived."
I flinched at that, but nodded. "Yes."
He gave a low breath through his nose and leaned forward. "Tell , then. From beginning to end. No flourishes. No excuses."
So I told him what i told the others again. The forest. The bend in the trail. The sudden rush. The boys. The hunger. The blood. The silence.
When I finished, the hall was still.
Even the fire crackles seed quieter.
Then Lord Rickard spoke again, his tone unchanged.
"The surviving attackers there were four?"
"Yes, my lord. They were only boys."
"Only?" His eyebrow lifted slightly.
I hesitated. "They looked younger than . So even probably my own age. no older than being 14 or 15."
"Then they were old enough to hold a blade. Old enough to choose. Do you understand what that ans in the North, boy?"
"No," I admitted. "Not fully my lord."
Rickard leaned back into his seat. "In the North, we speak plainly. The laws are old and cold, like the land itself. Murder no matter the age calls for justice. So face the sword. Others… take the black."
I frowned. "The black?"
"The Night's Watch," said Maester Walys gently from the side. "They guard the Wall to the far North. Those who are sentenced may be given the choice to live out their lives in service there. No wives. No children. Only duty."
"The Wall," I echoed.
"A frozen grave to so," Lord Rickard said. "A second life to others."
I didn't know what to say.
He studied . "You ask about them. The boys. Why?"
I looked up at him. "Because they didn't fight out of hate. They fought because they were starving. I just… wanted to know what would happen."
"You care for them?" he asked.
I blinked. "I don't know if I care. I just… I can't stop thinking about them. One of them was crying when we tied his hands."
There was a pause.
Then Lord Rickard raised his hand slightly, and a guard near the rear turned and left through a side door.
A mont later, I heard footsteps.
Chains.
Then the door opened, and the four boys were led in dirty, bruised, and bound.
They didn't cry. They didn't beg. They stared at the ground.
"Bring them forward," Rickard commanded.
The boys were lined up at the base of the dais. One of them, the youngest, had a black eye and a busted lip. Another had dried blood on his shirt. They didn't look like murderers. Just like scraps of people trying to remain whole.
"These are the choices," Rickard said, voice ringing through the hall. "The law is clear. They killed. They stole. They spilled blood in Northern lands."
He turned to them now, not just . "But the North rembers more than wrongs. It rembers rcy, When rcy is earned."
He looked at each boy in turn.
"You may hang. Or you may take the black. The choice will be yours. The Wall or the rope."
The boys were silent.
Lord Rickard turned back to .
"But since you brought them to question, I will ask you once. Do you think they should be spared the Wall itself? You ask about pity, BUT do you offer it?"
I didn't answer right away. My throat was tight.
What could I say?
I thought of the swampberries in my pouch. The cheat engine. My inability to summon anything else. All my powers that are so questionable if it even is mine and not so Gods ga.
What would these boys be with a second chance?
Would they survive at the Wall? Could they?
Or was that just a longer death?
"…I don't know if pity is enough," I finally said. "But they were starving. That much was true. And even if they made a choice… I can't say I wouldn't have done the sa if I was in their place."
Rickard listened without interrupting.
I went on, "But they killed good n. n who didn't deserve it. They should pay. I just… I don't think hanging them teaches anything."
Rickard's eyes narrowed.
"So you choose the Wall."
"I think it's better than a rope."
The four boys looked up slowly.
One of them weary, older than the rest gave a faint nod. The youngest still looked too shocked to speak.
Rickard sat silent for a long mont.
Then he stood.
"Then it is the Wall," he declared. "And they will take no coin, no wife, no na beyond what they earn in black. Let it be known: rcy is not weakness. But neither is justice blind."
He sat again, and the guards began to pull the boys away. None resisted. One of them looked back at before he vanished into the dark corridor.
I wasn't sure if it was thanks or bla in his eyes.
Rickard looked at once more.
"You spoke truth. And you weighed their fate with thought. That's more than most."
I bowed slightly. "Thank you, my lord."
He gave a curt nod. "You may return to your caravan. Maester Walys will see to it."
Then he turned to speak with Rodrik in quiet tones.
And I… was dismissed.
But the weight didn't lift.
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