The Spare to Winterfell (ASOIAF OC)

Prologue

Welcome to my fic,

Some of you might find this fic to be similiar to another one you have read, I was 5 chapters in when I dropped it to focus on other projects.

However, I've decided to bring it back because I like to switch up what I write some times, so while 'Like Father, Like Son' will be my main fic for the foreseeable future, I will update this as frequent as I can.

Enjoy! Feedback and Comments are greatly appreciated. Though your comment will be most likely ignored if it is negative. (Feedback & Criticism is not negative)

The man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword.

Those words echoed through the boy's mind as he watched his father from afar take the head of a deserter from the night's watch, the man's clothes were ragged and greasy, and both his ears and a single finger were lost from frostbite.

Torrhen was ten when we had first learned that crucial lesson, he still remembered it till this day, three years on. It was a wildling with a great brown bushy beard, with only one eye, and burns covering half his face. The man was mumbling to himself about the white walkers just as the deserter did now.

His father pulled him aside and told him that if he was to take a man's life, he owed it to him to look him in the eyes and hear his final words, and if he could not bear to do that, then perhaps he did not deserve to die.

And now it would be Torrhen's younger brother's turn to learn that lesson. He was surprised to learn that Bran would be venturing with them to see the beheading, he was only seven years old, and their father had never taken any of them out that young.

Eddard pulled their family's greatsword from its sheath that was being held by Theon Greyjoy, his ward. The sword was Valyrian Steel, and was as wide across as a grown man's hand, and stood even taller than Torrhen.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die."

Torrhen's father raised his sword up into the air, and with one fell stroke, blood sprayed across the snow, and the head bounced off a thickened root and rolled up to Theon Greyjoy's feet, the man had been older than all of them, at the age of nineteen, and had a dark sense of humour, kicking the head away while chuckling.

"You did well, Bran. Father will be proud." He told his younger brother, Bran, patting him on the back for not looking away as the man was executed.

"What did you think?" his bastard brother Jon walked up to him "Do you believe that he saw the white walkers?"

Torrhen grabbed the gloves from the pouch on his horse, and pulled them on. Glancing over at Jon and shrugging his shoulders, soon pulling himself up onto his horse.

"I don't know, brother." he answered honestly, making himself comfortable atop the saddle "This isn't the first deserter that spoke about the white walkers, even the wildlings speak of them. When enough people in their final moments say the same thing, it does make you wonder if they are speaking the truth."

"What're you talking about?" his elder brother, Robb asked as he walked up to them. He was big and broader than both Jon and Torrhen, and shared his mother's features, the fair skin and red-brown hair, with the bright blue eyes.

"Only the monster in old nan's stories." Torrhen chuckled, looking back to Jon "If they are real, the wall stands between us, and if we're to believe every tale about them, then they can't pass it."