Fuck that shit.
This wasn't enough.
It was definitely not enough.
Sure, he had avoided getting his head chopped off by Ned Stark. That alone was a miracle. But sitting inside a damp stone cell beneath Winterfell was not exactly what he would call a success.
His nose suddenly twitched.
"What the hell is that shitty smell…?"
The stench had been faint before, but now that he was sitting still it was becoming impossible to ignore. It was thick and sour, the kind of smell that made his stomach twist.
His eyes slowly shifted toward the corner of the cell.
There sat a small wooden bucket.
Dean stared at it for a moment before Will's memories filled in the rest. The answer was unpleasantly simple.
That bucket was the prisoners' latrine.
The place where anyone locked in the cell had to relieve themselves. And it would remain there until a guard eventually bothered to empty it.
Sometimes that happened once a day.
Sometimes it didn't.
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a quiet groan.
'Fuck Stark… fuck Winterfell.'
His gaze drifted toward the iron bars of the cell.
'If that bastard doesn't take me out of this shitty cell within a day… I'm bailing out.'
He meant every word.
Dean might have been desperate enough to bluff a lord of the North to save his life, but he still had limits. A modern man like him was not going to sit quietly in a filthy medieval prison for long.
He had his standards.
In his previous life he had already spent far too much time confined to a bed. Now that he had a functioning body again, he had absolutely no intention of being trapped inside another cage.
No matter what.
He slowly shifted his body across the floor until he reached the opposite wall of the cell. That was as far away from the bucket as the cramped space allowed.
Once he settled there, he closed his eyes and reached inward.
The darkness within his shadow stirred.
A moment later the shadow ants responded to his call.
Small black shapes rose silently from his shadow and gathered near his feet, waiting for his command.
Dean studied the cell carefully.
The iron bars were close together, but there was enough space for something as small as an ant to slip through. Near the top of the wall there was also a thin opening where faint daylight filtered into the dungeon.
That was all he needed.
He gave the command.
One shadow ant crawled toward the iron bars and slipped easily through the narrow gap between them. Another climbed the rough stone wall and squeezed through the small opening near the ceiling.
Both disappeared outside the cell.
Dean immediately felt their presence settle at the edge of his awareness.
Now he had ways to escape when needed.
Still, a small part of him remained uneasy. One of his ants had vanished earlier on the hill near the fog, and he still had no idea what had killed it. The thought lingered quietly in the back of his mind.
He could only hope that these two would not suffer the same fate.
Once the ants were in position, Dean leaned back against the stone wall and folded his arms across his chest.
For now, there was nothing more he could do.
Sooner or later, a raven would arrive from King's Landing. That letter would carry the news of Jon Arryn's death and announce the king's journey north. If his memory of the story was correct, Robert Baratheon and the royal procession were still nearly a month away from reaching Winterfell.
But the raven would come first.
Dean allowed himself a small smile even with that shitty smell.
If Ned Stark received that letter after hearing the warnings Dean had just given him, it might make the Lord of Winterfell think twice.
It might even make him believe, at least a little.
And if that happened, the game Dean had just started might begin to move in his favor.
───────────── ✦ ─────────────
▓▒░ Godswood, Winterfell ░▒▓
Eddard Stark sat quietly beneath the heart tree. The pale carved face watched him with its deep red eyes but he was used to it.
Ice, his greatsword rested on the ground beside him.
He had come to the godswood out of habit. After every execution, he would bring the sword here and clean the blood from the blade before the old gods. It was something he had done for many years.
Today, however, there was no blood to wash away.
The execution had never happened.
Ice remained clean inside its sheath, resting silently beside him. The sword that should have taken a man's head now lay unused.
Ned leaned forward slightly and rested his arms on his knees. His thoughts were not calm. They kept returning to the deserter and the strange words he had spoken on the hill.
There was one matter he forced himself not to think about for the moment.
The secret about Jon.
Instead, he focused on the other warning.
The king riding north.
Ned frowned slightly as he considered it.
If Robert truly intended to travel all the way to Winterfell, then something serious must have happened in King's Landing. The king rarely left the capital unless something demanded his attention. The journey from the south to the North was long and unpleasant, especially for a man who preferred feasts, hunting, and strong wine.
If Robert came north, he would come for a reason.
According to the deserter, that reason would be to ask Ned to become Hand of the King.
Ned let out a slow breath.
That position was not empty.
Jon Arryn still held it.
The old lord had served as Hand since the day Robert claimed the Iron Throne. More than that, Jon Arryn had been like a father to both Robert and Ned when they were young wards in the Vale.
Jon was a careful and thoughtful man. He had spent years guiding Robert and keeping the realm steady while the king chased his pleasures.
Ned knew him well.
And Jon Arryn was not a man who would simply step down from his duty.
He had far too strong a sense of responsibility for that. Even in old age he would not abandon Robert or the realm.
Which meant there were only a few possibilities.
Perhaps Jon Arryn had fallen seriously ill.
Age had begun to touch him in recent years. That much Ned could not deny.
Ned's thoughts were broken by the sound of footsteps moving across the gravel path of the godswood.
He lifted his head and turned toward the sound.
Catelyn Stark was walking toward him through the quiet grove. Her cloak was drawn tightly around her shoulders, and the expression on her face was serious enough to pull Ned immediately from his thoughts.
"My lord," she said softly as she approached.
Ned slowly rose to his feet.
"What is it?"
"A raven has arrived from King's Landing," she said. "It came only moments ago."
And just like that, the things the deserter had spoken of earlier had already begun to happen.
The message carried dark news. Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, had died, and King Robert would soon ride north with Queen Cersei and Prince Joffrey. They would reach Winterfell within a month.
Catelyn moved closer beside him, and Ned rested a hand gently against her shoulder.
Her presence steadied him, yet the weight of the future pressed heavily on his mind.
A dangerous road now lay ahead of him.
And there was still one man who might hold answers.
Ned's eyes slowly lifted toward the castle walls that rose beyond the trees of the Godswood.
The deserter.
He knew that their conversation was far from finished.
Tonight, he would speak with the man again.
And this time they would speak alone.
Time passed quickly in Winterfell.
The sun slowly set behind the distant hills. Cold evening winds moved through the ancient castle. Torches were lit along the stone corridors as darkness spread across the North.
One by one, the halls of Winterfell grew quiet. The servants finished their work and went to rest. The guards took their positions along the walls for the night.
Before long, midnight had come.
Inside his study, Eddard Stark sat behind a heavy wooden table. Several parchments lay spread before him, but he had not truly read a single line.
His thoughts remained fixed on the man locked beneath the castle.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," Ned said calmly.
The door opened and two of his most trusted guards stepped inside. Dean stood between them with his wrists still bound.
"My lord," one of the guards said respectfully. "The prisoner."
Ned gave a small nod.
"Leave us."
The guards nodded obeying the order. They stepped outside and closed the door behind them, leaving the two men alone in the quiet chamber.
For a short moment neither of them spoke.
Ned studied the man standing before him. The lamplight illuminated Dean's face clearly, and the deserter appeared far calmer than any man who had nearly lost his head earlier that day had any right to be.
Finally Ned broke the silence.
"You have caused me a great deal of trouble today."
Dean gave a small shrug.
"Better trouble than a corpse, my lord."
Ned's expression remained unchanged.
"You claimed the old gods showed you things," he continued slowly. "Things yet to come."
Dean nodded slightly.
"And now a raven arrives from King's Landing carrying news that matches your warning."
"That helps my case a little," Dean replied.
Ned remained silent for a moment before speaking again.
"How did you know?"
Dean paused briefly while choosing his words.
"The same way I knew about Jon Snow being your sister's son."
"The gods?"
Dean nodded with a smile on his face.
Ned's gaze sharpened.
"You also spoke of White Walkers beyond the Wall."
"They are real," Dean said quietly.
Ned studied him carefully.
"The Night's Watch has spoken of such things for centuries. Most men call them stories."
"Most men have never seen them," Dean replied.
Ned slowly folded his hands together on the table.
"If what you say is true," he said, "then you possess knowledge that could change the fate of the realm."
Dean met his gaze without hesitation.
"That is the idea."
Ned leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Then you will start from the beginning," he said calmly. "Tell me everything you saw beyond the Wall."
Dean drew in a slow breath.
"Alright," he said.
And then he began.
It didn't took him much time to explain what has happened as it was a brief encounter with the White Walkers afterall.
Ned listened to everything he has said carefully and not just dismissed it as a story this time.
After he was done, he looked at Dean very carefully trying to gauge his expressions or any spark of lies in then, but he didn't find any.
He sighed having no idea what to do with this man anymore. He knew one too many secrets which might affect the kingdom adversely...but this man was innocent and didn't seem to have voluntarily deserted the Night Watch.
Although he wasn't completely sure about the Old gods talking with him neither did he trust him, but he couldn't ignore it either.
Dean remained silent for a moment after finishing his story. He watched Eddard Stark carefully from across the table. The Lord of Winterfell had fallen into deep thought again, his eyes lowered slightly as he considered everything that had been said.
For a short while the room remained quiet except for the faint crackling of the oil lamp.
Dean could practically see the thoughts turning behind Ned's calm expression. The man was clearly weighing duty, law, and caution against the strange truth that had begun to unfold during the day.
Seeing that Ned was occupied with his own thoughts, Dean decided it was the right moment to speak.
He cleared his throat lightly.
"My lord… if I may make a request."
Ned lifted his eyes slowly and looked at him.
"What request?"
Dean shifted slightly in his seat before answering.
"The cell you have placed me in… is less than pleasant."
Ned raised an eyebrow but said nothing yet.
Dean continued carefully.
"There is a bucket in the corner that has not been emptied in quite some time. The smell alone could probably kill a man faster than the White Walkers."
For the first time that night, a faint trace of amusement flickered across Ned Stark's face, though it vanished quickly.
Dean spread his hands slightly.
"I am not asking for freedom, my lord. I understand my situation. But if you intend to question me further, it might help if I were placed somewhere a little… cleaner."
Ned studied him for a moment before speaking.
"You are a prisoner."
"I am aware of that," Dean replied calmly. "But I am also the only man in your castle who has seen what waits beyond the Wall."
Ned remained silent again.
Dean decided to push just a little further.
"I am not asking to leave Winterfell. Place guards outside the door if you wish. Lock the windows if it makes you feel better. Just move me somewhere that does not smell like a dead horse's backside."
The corner of Ned's mouth twitched slightly despite himself.
"You speak very boldly for a man whose life rests on my judgment."
Dean shrugged.
"My life already rested on your judgment this morning, my lord. Things improved slightly after that."
Ned leaned back in his chair and looked at the man for a long moment.
"You claim the old gods have a purpose for you," he said slowly. "Yet you seem more concerned with the smell of a bucket."
Dean nodded immediately.
"The gods may have plans for me, my lord, but I would still prefer to follow those plans without suffocating from the stench."
That earned him a quiet breath that might have been the closest thing to a laugh Ned Stark allowed himself.
After a moment, Ned reached his decision.
"You will remain a prisoner," he said firmly.
Dean sighed but nodded.
"However," Ned continued, "I see no reason to keep you in a dungeon if you are willing to speak truthfully. You will be moved to a guarded room within the castle. Two men will remain outside your door at all times. You will not leave that room unless I give the order."
Dean gave a small nod and thanked Ned.
"That sounds significantly better than the dungeon."
Ned's expression returned to its usual calm seriousness.
"Do not mistake this for trust."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Ned stood from his chair and moved toward the door.
"But understand this," he added before opening it. "If you attempt to flee Winterfell, the men guarding you will cut you down before you reach the gate."
Dean gave a small nod.
"Fair enough, my lord. I was hoping to avoid that outcome anyway."
Just as Ned was about to open the door and call for the guards waiting outside, Dean stopped him.
"My lord," Dean said slowly, choosing his words with care. "The Old Gods warned me of the turbulent times Winterfell is about to face. They also gave me a way to speak with them again."
Ned's grey eyes narrowed slightly.
Dean continued, keeping his voice calm.
"It is not like ordinary prayer. It is closer to what the maesters might call… divination. A way to seek guidance through ritual."
Ned remained silent, watching him closely.
"In order to contact the Old Gods again," Dean went on, "I would need to perform a ritual in the godswood."
☩ ───── End of Chapter ───── ☩
For 5+ advance chapters visit my P1treon.
P1treon - Midnightblade07