The North's Rose (game of thrones)

prologue

The cold nipped at his face as he stepped into the heavily lighted building. Joyous music carefully filled Peter's ears as his gaze swept across the room, his dark brown oculars noting the many smiles on the different faces. This caused a small one to appear on his own. He covered half of the hall in a few short strides before reaching his destination and dipped his head. The man who sat before him looked up with a grin before standing.
    "Why, what're you doing this far south, Lord Duncan?" Robb took the man in his arms for a short embrace. "I didn't expect you for another few months!" His dark curls fell into his line of sight and he made no gesture to move them. Clearly he had been drinking, not a lot, but the slur of his words and happiness in his eyes made it clear that his guard would be down for the rest of the night.
    "Your grace, would it be a possibility to speak to you in private immediately?" Peter begged before his eyes landed on the woman who sat beside the King of the North. She held a babe in her arms, close to her breast. There was no doubt in his mind that the baby was one of the most beautiful ones the lord had ever seen. "She's gorgeous, m'lady." His thick, northern accent was soft as he reached over to  stroke the babe's head. Talisa smiled gently at the bearded man as he touched the baby.
    "Thank you, my lord." Her voice was as beautiful as she was herself. Peter smiled ruefully before turning toward the king.
    "Of course," Robb agreed before beckoning the man to follow. Opening the doors, they were greeted by the cold winds and laughter of men coming from the tents further down the hill. They celebrating the birth of their princess. The North's very own Rose. Robb led them toward a tower and flung open the heavy wooden door. They began to ascend the stone staircase. At the top was a room full of nothing but burnt rubble, ash and stone debris. A rustling came from inside Peter's dark jacket.
    "What is it, m'lord?" Robb's face was stern now, just as you'd expect of a king.
    Something stirred inside of Peter and he hesitated. Carefully pulling the thing from his jacket and cradling it in both arms, it released a tired cry and struggled to be released from the man's grip. Robb gave a gasp of surprise and stepped back unsurely. "His name is Gared." The lord's voice wavered slightly and tears brimmed his eyes as sadness overtook him. "Your grace, you're the only man I trust to take care of the boy. My wife has been driven half to madness, and the other Duncan's have been slaughtered by those of the South." A tear rolled down his cheek, not caring that someone saw. "Please, your grace, take him as your ward, your squire, when he is older, anything!"
    The Stark released a sigh, as if in deep thought. Peter dared not breathe at that moment as fear coursed through his veins. The nerves sent a shiver down his spine and sent his skin into a hide of gooseflesh. The other man stepped forward and took the baby from his arms, cradled it to his chest gently. A smile settled upon both of their faces as the king laughed. Lifting his gaze back toward Peter, he spoke again.
    "I shall take him on as a ward when he is of ten years, but treat him as if he were my own, that I swear m'lord." The words lifted a massive weight from Peter's shoulders and his smile widened.
    "Oh, thank you, your grace! Thank you ever so much!" Joy leapt within his voice and he clapped his hands together.
    "But, m'lord, if you don't mind me asking what are you doing leaving such a young boy?" His question was acquainted by the look of confusion. This sent Peter's heart downward, clearing his throat before he replied.
    "I have business at the Wall, your grace." He wasn't questioned further.
    They started their descent of the long staircase. Upon reaching the bottom, Robb gave another laugh.
"Who knows, Gared here and my daughter may even grow up to fall in love!" They both chuckled at the thought. Peter spun round and watched the baby in Robb's arms. He leant down and placed the softest kiss he could manage across his forehead. This caused him to stir and thrash around restlessly as he cried. Another tear rolled down the old man's cheeks before he mounted his grey destrier. The old draft horse snorted, neighed and threw back its head before galloping down the darkened path. Robb's tall, dark figure entered the bright hall soon after and the room instantly fell silent.