The seven days of their journey south had given Caelan ample time to contemplate the weight of his responsibilities. Initially, he had left Silverpeak with a sense of security and confidence, but now, as he sat on his horse flanked by Ser William and Elays, looking upon the frail-looking man clothed in black, still restrained, he felt a cloud of unease washing over him. The deserter stood with his eyes cast downward toward the worn stone where he would meet his fate. His hands remained bound in front of him, connected to the rope that Jorik held tightly just a few feet away. The man could easily weave an extravagant lie, claiming that House Valnor had falsely accused him of desertion. He could assert that he was a mere villager from a settlement near Silverpeak, that Caelan had arrested him in place of the true deserter they couldn't find.

"Should be anytime, my lord," Ser William spoke, his voice steady, "Lord Stark wanted to gather his sons to accompany him before he came."

Caelan's eyes scanned the green and muddy hills, a stark contrast to the towering mountains of Silverpeak. He watched the worn trails, anxiously awaiting the arrival of Lord Stark and his party.

"Did you speak with him directly?" Caelan questioned.

Ser William shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly. "No, Lord. But the guard I spoke with assured me that he would be meeting us here."

"My father says Lord Stark has always been a man of his word. We won't be waiting long."

"My lord," Elays spoke from the other side of Caelan, his youthful voice tinged with curiosity, "Will what the deserter claims to have seen be considered?"

"Perhaps," Caelan replied thoughtfully, "But he's not brought here to tell Lord Stark a tale. He's here for breaking an oath," he added, casting a sympathetic glance at Elays, who seemed genuinely concerned for the man before them.

The deserter, a mere few steps away, remained silent and motionless. His demeanor sharply contrasted with the impatience growing within Caelan.

But finally, the sound of approaching hoofbeats cut through the tension. Caelan turned his attention toward the road, where Lord Stark and his sons, Robb and a younger boy, rode behind him. Just a pace behind Robb was a boy about the same age as the eldest Stark son, their direwolf banners snapping in the wind. As they drew closer, Caelan couldn't help but notice the seriousness etched into Robb Stark's expression.

"Lord Caelan Valnor," Ned greeted Caelan as he slowed his horse and swiftly dismounted. Caelan mirrored the gesture, handing the reins of his horse to Elays. "I trust you and your men had a safe journey from Silverpeak," Ned spoke, his voice commanding respect, much like his own father's.

"Aye, my Lord," Caelan replied, bowing his head to the older man as Ned extended a hand toward him. "Painfully uneventful, actually."

Ned Stark chuckled softly. "Better that than a troublesome journey," he agreed. He then turned his attention to the restrained deserter. "This is the deserter?"

Caelan nodded. "Aye," he confirmed, "we captured him along the Dark River in the mountains."

The deserter, his voice quaking with fear, spoke up, acknowledging his transgressions. "I know I broke my oath, my Lords, I know I'm a deserter. But I saw what I saw, I saw the white walkers. People need to know."

Caelan sighed heavily, shifting his gaze to Ned's stern face as he listened to the deserter's pleas.

"If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm no coward," the deserter begged. "Tell them I'm sorry."

As Ned Stark offered a sympathetic nod, Jorik placed a reassuring hand on the man's slim shoulder, guiding him gently toward the stone platform. A young boy, about the same age as Robb Stark, approached Ned with a concealed sword, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

Ned pulled the massive blade, larger even than Scalebreaker, from its sheath, its steel glinting ominously in the fading daylight. The deserter bowed his head in defeat against the stone platform.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm," Ned intoned with a solemn gravity, "I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

Caelan's gaze briefly flickered to Elays, who watched with wide eyes filled with unease as Ned Stark raised the mighty sword high above his head. In one swift and merciless movement, he brought the blade down upon the neck of the deserter. The man's head rolled away from his body, coming to rest at the feet of the young boy who had presented the lord with the sword. The deserter's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, a grim testament to the unwavering justice of the North. The chilling finality of the execution hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the harsh realities of their world.

As the execution concluded, the onlookers remained in a silence. The deserter's lifeless body lay upon the stone platform, his fate sealed by the sword of Lord Stark. Caelan couldn't help but feel some of the unease lift off of him.

Ned Stark wiped his sword clean on a cloth handed to him by a nearby attendant. His gaze turned back to Caelan, his eyes holding a mixture of respect and curiosity. "Lord Valnor," he began, his tone measured and respectful, "I appreciate you and your men bringing the deserter to Winterfell."

Caelan nodded in acknowledgment, his expression still serious. "It was our duty, Lord Stark."

Ned Stark's features softened slightly, and he offered a faint smile.

Elays, who had quietly observed the Wardens' justice, spoke up hesitantly. "My lord, what the deserter said... about the white walkers. Is that to be believed?"

Ned's expression grew more solemn, and he exchanged a knowing look with his sons that stood not far behind him and Caelan before looking back to Elays. "The Night's Watch has a long history of guarding the realm from dangers beyond the Wall. White walkers are legend. Nothing more."

However Caelan couldn't help but wonder about the validity of the deserter's claims. A child's tale that brought him to an early death, a tale he died believing. It was a claim that he broke his oath for. Caelan couldn't help but feel a bit of doubt build within him about what he had seen beyond the wall being nothing but a legend.

As they all rode further south towards Winterfell, Caelan remained in his position beside Lord Stark. Even after the Stark boys and their bastard brother rode ahead. Seeming to find a bit of entertainment on the ride away from the execution site. If Caelans' own father had been in Lord Starks position, he wouldn't have ever allowed Caelan and his brothers to forget what they had just witnessed. No matter how old they were.

"I was surprised that your father didn't make the journey," Ned began, breaking the rhythmic sound of the hooves moving across the ground. "Is he in good health?"

"He is," Caelan replied, "Although I think hours on horseback back make him feel differently." Caelan added, a small smirk spreading across his lips.

"I thought he'd grown paranoid about leaving the mountains," Ned chuckled, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. "I believe he knew you'd be able to manage yourself, and it seems you have."

"It was my d-"

"Yes, yes, it was your duty. And you completed the task at hand well." Ned interjected, looking at Caelan as the trees that surrounded Winterfell came into view. "In his letter, he also suggested a marriage."

Caelan sighed heavily, "He mentioned it before I left." he replied.

"I was surprised by the proposal, I thought Lord Arion was allowing his children to choose their own path."

Ned's comment about the marriage proposal lingered in the air, and Caelan felt the weight of his father's expectations as well as what he had included in his letter to Lord Stark. "My father believes in strong alliances," Caelan explained. "He sees marriage not just as a union between two people. Though he values our freedom, he also understands the power of alliances."

Ned nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, your father is a wise man, Lord Caelan. And what are your thoughts on this proposed union with my daughter, Lyanna?"

Caelan hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully before even uttering a word. "I respect and honor my father's wisdom, and I understand the importance of such alliances. Yet, I must admit, the prospect is... daunting. My last memory of Lady Lyanna is from childhood, and much has changed since then."

Ned gave a knowing nod. "Lyanna has grown into a strong-willed and capable woman, much like her mother. She would make a formidable partner to any lord." he paused, then added, "And I must admit, House Valnor is the house I'd prefer to see her join over some of the others in the north."

The conversation between Caelan and Ned was interrupted by a sudden commotion ahead. The Stark boys had dismounted their horses and were gathered around something in the snow. Curiosity piqued, Caelan and Ned urged their horses forward to join them.

As they approached, Caelan saw the cause of the excitement: a dead direwolf, its throat ripped open, and five small pups nestled beside her. The Stark boys were marveling at the sight, discussing the rarity of finding direwolves so far south of the Wall.

However silence spread from the rest who had been following Lord Stark. "Poor beast," Ser William spoke. "A shame whatever did that, didn't take the pups." he added, leaning a bit towards Caelan.

One of Starks attendants swiftly dismounted from his horse and pulled a silver blade from it's sheath. "Better a quick death then." he spoke colding as he quickly reached for the pup in the arms of the youngest Stark boy who desperately clung to the animal.

"Only a mad man fights with a boy," Caelan noted, earning a small yet bitter look from the attendant as he forcibly pulled the pup from his arms.

It wasn't Caelan's place, he knew that. The young man, who looked to be about the age of the future Warden of the North wasn't his attendant to give orders to. But the look in his eyes was one of defiance, one that Caelan wasn't exactly fond of.

"Put away your blade, Greyjoy." Robb Stark ordered sternly, a pup still firmly placed in his own arm.

Caelan scoffed, "Greyjoy, then I stand corrected. A spoiled prick perhaps may fight with a boy." he said, his voice being not much louder than a mere utterance to Ser William.

Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, was the first to speak directly to Ned Stark. "Lord Stark, there are five pups, one for each of the Stark children."

Ned Stark hesitated, his gaze shifting between the pups and his young son standing there with wide eyes, both filled with tears and hope that his father would show mercy to the creatures.. "You will feed them yourselves, train them yourselves, and if they die, you will bury them yourselves," he said sternly.

"What about you, Jon?" the young boy questioned.

"I'm not a Stark." he replied simply as he took the pup back from Greyjoy and handed it back to the boy.

"Looks like you might be in luck," Jorik spoke from his place among the other men who had rode to meet Caelan with Lord Stark. Her pointed to the bushes behind the dead direwolf. "Might have another just there."

As Jorik pointed out, the group noticed a rustling in the bushes behind the dead direwolf. Jon Snow, curiosity piqued, moved closer, cautiously parting the branches. To his surprise, he found another pup, this one smaller and albino, with red eyes. It whimpered softly, clearly the runt of the litter.

"That one is yours, Snow," Robb replied, a bit of amusement replacing the stern look he had given Greyjoy.

Jon gently picked up the albino pup, a sense of belonging evident in his eyes. The group observed this moment of bonding, each of them aware of the significance of a bastard son being given his own direwolf, a symbol of the Stark family.