Game of Thrones: The Wolf of Deepwood Motte Chapter 20 CHAPTER 20

"People?"

A faint smile appeared on Garon's face, for he had already guessed what Jai Lannister intended to say next.

Sure enough, upon seeing Garon's questioning gaze, Jai slowly stepped closer, his tone carrying an unmistakable edge of provocation.

"You know, the first ti you cut soone is sothing you never forget."

"You suddenly realize that people are nothing more than flesh stretched over bones."

"With only a slight slash of a sword…"

Jai raised his hand and slowly made a throat-cutting gesture before Garon, the corners of his lips curling into a mocking grin.

"You'll discover there's really no difference between n and the beasts you Northerners hunt in the Wolfswood."

Then he paused deliberately.

Seeing Garon remain silent, Jai assud he had frightened him and instantly lost interest.

He casually patted Garon on the shoulder and sneered disdainfully.

"But perhaps the Glovers should simply remain in the Wolfswood hunting animals."

"Maybe one day I'll spend a few gold dragons purchasing the pelts you people skin from your prey."

Having said that, Jai no longer spared Garon another glance and turned away arrogantly.

Garon's expression remained calm from beginning to end.

He did not react impulsively, nor did he rise to Jai's provocation.

In Garon's eyes, whether Jai Lannister lived or died depended entirely on what happened tomorrow.

"Tywin Lannister spent his entire life building the legacy of House Lannister, yet every one of his children is consud by vice."

"How laughable…"

Especially Jai and Cersei.

The two siblings could barely restrain themselves for even a single day after arriving at Winterfell before secretly seeking each other out.

Their recklessness clearly showed how little regard they had for everyone around them.

Garon silently watched Jai's departing figure, already sentencing the Lannisters to death in his heart.

"Once Tywin dies, the Westerlands will eventually beco mine to seize."

A cold smile flickered through his eyes before he turned and headed back toward his chambers.

anwhile, deep beneath Winterfell in the crypts of House Stark…

Ned Stark raised the oil lamp in his hand and illuminated the three stone tombs before them.

"Here, Your Grace."

Robert Baratheon quietly nodded.

He stepped forward, knelt before the tombs, and lowered his head in silent homage.

Three stone statues rested there side by side, each carved into the likeness of the dead they represented.

Rickard Stark's statue wore the sa stern expression he had carried in life.

The sculptor had captured him perfectly.

His stone hands rested solemnly atop the sword laid across his knees.

Yet even the sword that once guarded the North could not save him from the Mad King's wildfire.

Beside Rickard rested his eldest son Brandon Stark and his daughter Lyanna Stark.

And Lyanna was the woman Robert Baratheon had loved for his entire life.

After paying his respects, Robert slowly rose and stared fixedly at Lyanna's stone likeness.

"She was far more beautiful than this carving."

"And only sixteen…"

Robert's gaze lingered on the statue as though unwilling to part from it.

Finally, he cursed bitterly.

"Damn it, Ned."

"Did you really have to bury her in this cold, sunless place?"

"She was a Stark of Winterfell," Ned calmly replied.

"She belongs here."

Robert clearly disagreed.

"She should've been buried beneath the open sky."

"On so green hill with flowers and fruit trees growing around her grave."

"With sunlight and white clouds above her."

Ned quietly reminded him,

"I was with her when she died."

"She only wished to return ho and rest beside Father and Brandon."

As he spoke, Ned's gaze also fell upon Lyanna's tomb.

For a brief mont, mories from fourteen years ago resurfaced in his mind.

The Tower of Joy.

Blood.

Promises.

And Lyanna's final plea.

In the blink of an eye, fourteen years had passed.

Even her child had now grown into a man.

Ned instinctively thought of Jon Snow.

Deep within his heart, he silently spoke to Lyanna.

"Jon has recently beco close friends with Garon Glover of Deepwood Motte."

"You likely rember House Glover well enough. Ethan Glover once served Brandon as his squire."

"That boy has changed quite a bit recently."

"Under Garon's influence, Jon has beco more optimistic and far more willing to face the future."

Ned had countless things he wished he could say aloud.

Unfortunately, those words could only remain buried forever within his heart.

For fourteen years, he had protected Jon's true identity at all costs.

And he would continue protecting Lyanna's son no matter what.

anwhile, Robert gently touched Lyanna's carved face as though she were still alive.

"I swore I would kill Rhaegar for what he did to her."

Ned slowly regained his composure and quietly reminded him,

"You already killed him, Your Grace."

Robert's face darkened instantly.

"Killing him once was nowhere near enough."

Hatred surged within his eyes.

"Do you know, Ned?"

"The two surviving Targaryens are nearly grown now."

"And I hear certain fools across the Narrow Sea are secretly supporting them."

"How can Lyanna ever rest peacefully while dragonspawn still live?"

Ned frowned slightly.

"They are only children."

"Children?"

Robert suddenly turned and glared at him.

"Fourteen years have passed."

"Once that girl flowers, the two of them will wed according to Targaryen custom."

"And then there will be more dragonspawn."

"Ned, do you still call them children?"

Ned had no desire to continue arguing with him.

"You should discuss matters like this with your Hand, Your Grace."

"Oh, enough of that."

Robert waved his hand impatiently.

"You know perfectly well why I ca to the North."

"Ned Stark…"

"Co to King's Landing and serve as my Hand."

"You're the only man left whom I truly trust."

Warmth briefly stirred within Ned's heart.

If he had no family…

If he did not bear responsibility for the North…

He might truly have agreed without hesitation.

But now…

"Your Grace," Ned carefully replied, "I fear I lack the ability necessary for such an important office."

Robert pretended not to hear the refusal.

"If I truly cared about your comfort, I would've allowed you to stay retired in Winterfell forever."

"I need you to rule the realm while I spend my days feasting, hunting, and drinking."

"Surely you rember the saying about kings and their Hands?"

Ned naturally knew it.

"The king dreams," he said quietly, "and the Hand builds the dream."

Robert suddenly barked out a laugh.

"A fisher girl once gave a far better version."

"The king eats, and the Hand takes the shit."

The crypts instantly echoed with Robert's thunderous laughter.

When he finally cald down, he looked directly at Ned.

"Lord Eddard Stark."

"I hereby appoint you Hand of the King."

Ned imdiately knelt on one knee, still intending to refuse.

But Robert stepped forward before he could speak.

"After Jon Arryn's death, King's Landing has beco a nest of snakes."

"I need your help."

"You and Jon Arryn helped win the Iron Throne."

"Now help keep it."

"My oldest friend…"

"You can't abandon when I need you most."

Ned's lips moved slightly.

After a long silence, he finally sighed deeply.

"As you command, Your Grace."

Robert imdiately burst into laughter and pulled Ned to his feet.

"That's more like it."

"If Lyanna had lived, our houses would already be joined by marriage."

"But perhaps it still isn't too late…"

Just as Robert prepared to speak of betrothing Joffrey Baratheon to Sansa Stark, another set of footsteps suddenly echoed throughout the crypts.

The interruption instantly halted Robert's words.

Ned frowned slightly.

He had clearly ordered that nobody disturb them.

"Who's there?"

His voice turned cold as he looked deeper into the darkness.

A familiar voice quickly answered from within the crypts.

"Ned, it's ."

"Benjen."