For several long seconds, Eddard Stark said nothing.
The shock that had flashed across his face vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the calm, controlled expression of a lord accustomed to ruling both men and himself.
Yet Dean had seen it clearly. That brief widening of the eyes. That moment where the carefully guarded mask had slipped.
Ned took a slow breath, steadying himself. A hundred questions pushed at the edge of his mind, each one demanding to be asked immediately. How could this man possibly know? Who had told him? Had the truth somehow escaped after all these years?
But Eddard Stark was not a man who let panic guide his tongue.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and measured.
"And who else knows of this?"
Dean shook his head without hesitation.
"No one, my lord. Other than the gods... and myself."
Ned's grey eyes remained fixed on him, searching for even the smallest hint of deception.
"And you have spoken of this to no other man?"
"I have not," Dean replied calmly. "Nor do I intend to."
He lowered his voice slightly, his tone serious.
"The North stands strong because it is united, my lord. I have no wish to see it fall into chaos over whispers of dragons and hidden heirs. Some truths are better left buried."
For a moment the two men simply looked at each other.
Ned then spoke again.
"If you possessed knowledge so grave concerning the White Walkers," he said slowly, "why did you not return to the Wall and report what you had seen? Why desert your post and flee south?"
Dean let out a quiet breath before answering.
"Hearing the voice of the gods for the first time does not leave a man's mind entirely steady, my lord."
A faint trace of honesty crept into his voice.
"My thoughts were... scattered. It took time before I could even begin to make sense of what had happened."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"And truth be told, sooner or later I would have had to leave the Night's Watch regardless."
Ned's brow furrowed. "The Night's Watch is for life."
Dean nodded slightly as he lied his ass off.
"That is what men say. But the gods had other plans for me. They gave me a mission."
The word hung in the air between them.
Ned raised an eyebrow.
"What mission?"
Dean shook his head slowly.
"The gods have forbidden me from speaking of it to any man, my lord. Not yet."
Another lie slid smoothly out of his mouth, polished and ready.
That answer earned him a long, thoughtful look. For a few moments Ned Stark remained silent once again.
Seventeen years.
For seventeen years he had carried the truth of Jon Snow's birth alone. Not even Catelyn knew the full story. Not his bannermen. Not Robert Baratheon. Not a single soul in all of Westeros had been entrusted with that secret.
And yet this man standing before him had spoken it aloud without hesitation.
It should have been impossible.
Yet the knowledge itself was too precise to dismiss.
Ned slowly exhaled, feeling the weight of the situation settle upon his shoulders. A condemned deserter who somehow knew a secret that had been buried for nearly two decades. A warning about White Walkers rising beyond the Wall. And now talk of the old gods giving missions and visions.
It was madness.
And yet something about the man did not feel like madness.
When Ned finally spoke again, his voice carried the quiet authority of a lord who had made his decision.
"The execution is delayed."
The words rippled through the gathered men like a sudden gust of wind.
Ser Rodrik Cassel stepped forward, confusion clearly written across his face.
"My lord?"
Ned did not even turn to look at him.
"This matter requires further questioning."
His eyes remained on Dean.
"Take the prisoner back to Winterfell. Place him under guard."
The guards moved forward and seized Dean by the arms, preparing to drag him away from the execution ground.
"My lord… a word."
Dean's voice cut through the moment before they could take more than a few steps.
Ned Stark closed his eyes briefly, and for the first time since the exchange had begun a faint trace of weariness crossed his face. What had begun as a simple matter of justice had turned into something far more tangled. The man had already halted an execution, revealed a secret buried for nearly two decades, and spoken of visions and warnings from the old gods.
Yet Ned raised a hand.
The guards stopped immediately and fell back leaving the deserter amd Lord alone.
A quiet sigh escaped Ned's mouth before he spoke. "What is it now?"
There was clear exasperation in his voice, though the Lord of Winterfell did not allow it to grow into anger.
Dean leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice so that the surrounding men could not hear him.
"My lord… the gods sent me another warning."
Ned's grey eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing. Instead he waited, watching the man carefully.
Dean continued in a low voice.
"They showed me something else. Something that has not yet happened."
He paused briefly before speaking the next words.
"The king will soon ride north to Winterfell."
Ned's brow tightened.
Dean went on.
"He will come as your old friend, my lord. With smiles and wine and talk of the old days. But he will also come with a request."
Dean held Ned's gaze.
"He will ask you to serve as his Hand."
The wind moved across the hilltop, stirring the Stark banners and carrying the distant sounds of the men gathered below.
Ned's expression did not change much, but his eyes grew sharper.
Dean lowered his voice further.
"The gods showed me what follows if you accept."
He allowed a moment of silence to stretch between them.
"You will ride south with him. To King's Landing."
Dean watched Ned carefully before finishing the warning. "And if you go… you will not return."
He did not need to elaborate.
Ned Stark understood the meaning well enough.
For several moments the Lord of Winterfell simply stood there, studying the man before him with an unreadable expression. The thought itself sounded absurd, yet the idea of Robert suddenly riding north was not impossible. The king had always preferred action over letters, and the distance between Winterfell and King's Landing had never stopped him before.
The situation had grown far too complicated for the blade waiting beside the execution block.
He breathed out and slightly turned toward the guards.
"Take him back to Winterfell."
The men moved immediately, tightening their grip on Dean's arms as they began leading him down the hill.
Ned watched them for a moment before giving his final order.
"Keep him under watch at all times. No one speaks with him unless I give the word."
The guards nodded and escorted the prisoner away from the clearing, leaving behind the hollowed execution trunk that had nearly become his grave.
Nearby, Theon Greyjoy still held the sheathed greatsword that had been meant for the execution.
For the moment, the blade would remain unused.
And Dean, who had been seconds away from losing his head, walked away from the execution block by bluffing harder than he ever had in his entire life.
Inside his mind, the tight knot of tension slowly began to loosen. As the guards started leading him down the hill, he silently thanked the old gods. The same gods whose names he had been throwing around moments earlier had somehow ended up saving his life.
If things had gone even slightly differently, he might have been forced to make a far uglier choice.
Something like grabbing little Bran Stark and turning the boy into a hostage.
The thought alone made him uneasy. That move might have bought him a few minutes of freedom, but it would have turned every Stark soldier and bannerman in the North into his enemy. He would have been hunted without rest until someone eventually caught him.
Thankfully, it had not come to that.
As the guards marched him down the hill, Dean kept his head lowered and his shoulders slightly slumped. To everyone watching, he looked like a man who had narrowly escaped death and was now being taken away in chains.
Inside, however, his mind remained alert.
As he walked, his eyes briefly caught a thin line of ants moving across the ground near his boots. Dean stepped forward and casually crushed one of them beneath his heel. The movement looked accidental to anyone watching.
But it was not.
At the same moment, he activated his ability.
Shadow Extraction.
A faint connection appeared in his mind as the ant's shadow was pulled into his shadow space. The empty slot that had appeared earlier was filled once again. Dean felt a quiet sense of relief as the link settled back into place.
Without slowing his steps, he silently summoned the new shadow ant back into the darkness of his shadow space.
After that, he reached out again with his senses. One by one, the ants he had scattered across the hilltop began returning to him instantly.
They soon reached the horses waiting at the bottom of the hill. The guards mounted their horses and secured the rope tied around Dean's wrists. Once they were ready, the group began moving toward Winterfell.
The journey was quiet. The cold wind blew across the open land as they rode. After some time, the tall grey walls of Winterfell came into view. Soon they reached the castle gates and entered the courtyard.
Servants, soldiers, and stable boys glanced at him as he was led across the yard. Some watched with curiosity, while others looked at him with suspicion. No one spoke, and the guards kept him moving without stopping.
They guided him through a narrow passage inside the castle and then down a short set of stone steps. The air quickly became colder and damp as they descended beneath the main structure.
At the bottom of the stairs, a row of small holding cells waited in the dim light.
One of the guards stepped forward and unlocked the iron door of an empty cell. Without ceremony, they shoved Dean inside.
He stumbled forward a step before catching his balance on the rough stone floor.
Behind him, the iron door slammed shut with a heavy clang.
A moment later, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoed through the corridor.
The guards stayed only long enough to make sure the door was secure before turning away. Their footsteps gradually faded as they walked back up the passage, leaving the prisoner alone in the dim chamber.
Dean looked around the small cell.
The walls were made of cold grey stone, and the floor was uneven beneath his boots. High above, a narrow barred opening allowed only a thin strip of daylight to enter.
After a moment, Dean slowly sat down against the wall and let out a long breath.
For now, he was alive.
And at the moment, that was enough.
☩ ───── End of Chapter ───── ☩
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