10th Moon, 8000

Courtyard of Winterfell

The courtyard of Winterfell was loud with the clash of steel on steel, the two warriors oblivious to the crowd formed around them, deeply focused on their dance of death.

Torrhen Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of WInterfell stood in the courtyard, snowflakes slowly falling upon his brown hair, their slow and gentle path a stark contrast to the aggressive clashes of steel in the fight before him, he stood straight despite the cold, his hands clasped tightly around the hilt of his Valyrian greatsword Ice, which was pointed at the ground in front of him.

Beside him stood his heir, Brandon, his third son Donnor, and his only daughter Lyara, who had her hands placed protectively over her pregnant belly, a nervous look on her face as she watched the fighting in front of her. At the other end of the crowd stood the aged Lord Warrick Wells, a pale look on his face.

Lyarra Stark and Warrick Wells had good reasons to be nervous, as the two participants of the melee were close to them, Brandon the ‘’Bastard of WInterfell’’ was Lyarras husband, while Ser Wendall Wells was the oldest son of Lord Warrick.

The two were fighting as part of a trial by combat to determine the guilt or innocence of Lord Warrick Wells, who stood accused of raping a peasant girl and siring a bastard on her, later turning the woman away from his keep after she gave birth, denying her care from his maesters, in which the woman died soon after. In addition to this, it was determined that Lord Warrick had provided the ship that the two Manderly traitors had used to escape White Harbor, which explained why they had not been able to find the ship in the narrow sea, since they had been looking for a Manderly ship.

Lord Warrick, foremost vassal of the Manderlys had been made a high lord following their betrayal, however once Torrhen had heard of the man's crimes he had come to despise Warrick Wells, proclaiming he was not fit to be a high lord, he sent a company of Northern lancers to White Creek Castle, to escort Lord Wells to WInterfell to stand trial, but the old lord had turned them away, and even raised his banners in rebellion before eventually backing down at the advice of his Maesters three days later, and surrendered in Winterfell, demanding trial by combat, as was his right, an intelligent move as his son Wendell was one of the few knights north of Moat Caillin and a fine swordsman.

Torrhen had chosen his half brother Brandon, who had been sired as a bastard by his father. Though many in similar situations had become rivals, Torrhen had always been close to his bastard brother who had served as his right hand ever since he had become King of the North, and later Lord Paramount after swearing allegiance to King Aegon. Torrhen had even granted him the hand of his own daughter in marriage; he could not legitimize his brother, but at the very least he could ensure Brandon's children were Starks. Despite the fact Brandon was nearly two decades older than his daughter and technically her uncle, the low amount of blood they shared meant the marriage was not seen as overly controversial.

‘’The Bastard of Winterfell’’ as he was called was one of the best fighters in the North and had even volunteered to sneak into Aegons camp in the dead of night and slay his three dragons with arrows of Weirwood on the eve of Torrhen's capitulation to the Dragon King. Torrhen had refused his half-brother however, he would not risk dooming his host or his lands to Dragonfire.

The clashing of swords continued, as it had been for almost ten minutes, each man clearly a capable warrior.

‘’It is a fair fight.’’ Donnor said simply, arms crossed.

‘’Brandon will outlast him.’’ Lyara said quietly, her voice little more than a whisper, it was clear the prospect of her unborn child's father dying was one she could scarcely bear.

‘’The gods will favor whichever man stands for truth.’’ Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell said, earning a small nod from Torrhen.

Ser Wendel Wells, who had been on the defensive for much of the fight suddenly launched a counterattack, bringing his sword in a sweeping arc at Brandons head, though the Bastard of Winterfell deftly ducked under it, with the Knight almost losing his balance and falling to the ground, though he steadied himself and the two continued circling around each other. Ser Wendel launched another strike at the bastard, who brought his own sword up just in time, causing the courtyard to ring yet again with the sound of steel on steel, the two men locked their swords and tried to overwhelm eachother with strength, though eventually they both withdrew, the duel still dead even.

Ser Wendel, eager to keep on the attack, quickly hacked at Brandons belly as the two came apart, hoping to surprise him but the Bastard of Winterfell anticipated this, bringing his own sword to meet the strike and very nearly causing the Knight to drop his blade due to the strength of the block.

Torrhen watched with little emotion, he knew his bastard brother had prepared for the fight by drinking an ancient mixture of herbs dating back to the days of the First Men, a mixture said to give one strength in battle, and this far it seemed to be working as Brandon seemed a step quicker than the Knight.

At times during the melee, he had found himself confident that his half-brother would win, even finding himself with the raw urge to cheer Brandon on, in spite of his stern nature, but he had always quickly repressed such thoughts and action, it was the gods that would decide the outcome of the duel, and he would not seek to understand or undermine their will.

Brandon chose that moment to strike, a savage downward hack directed at the Knights skull, it made it past the Knights sword, but at the last moment Ser Wendal brought his shield up, causing a crash of wooden splinters, the knight had launched a counterattack after this but Brandon dealt with it easily enough.

Despite his failure to land a killing blow, Brandon had clearly regained the offensive, causing the Knight to have to defend against his blows.

Finally, the decisive moment arrived after several more strikes and counterstrikes. Brandon launched a devastating series of strikes, the Knight had managed to deal with two of them, both with sword and shield but the final one was too quick for him, and Brandons blade slashed the knight across the forehead, the chainmail doing nothing to stop the blow. The sword left a long bloody streak across his face, the top of his nose and one of his eyes.

Ser Wendal let out a yell of pain, blinded by the blood in his eyes and Brandon took advantage of this, thrusting his sword with all his might into the Knight's chest, the sharp steel puncturing the leather and mail armor, piercing the knights heart and going clear through to the other side.

Ser Wendel slumped to his knees, dead before he hit the ground as Brandon slowly withdrew his blade, causing the knight to fall face first on the courtyard, his red blood mixing with the frosty snow of the courtyard, its tendrils snaking towards the crowd.

Lord Warrick Wells' face had turned milk white at the sight of his son's death, his wide eyes betraying his fear…he knew that his son's demise had damned him as well.

A silence fell over the courtyard, none took pleasure in what they had just witnessed, even if most had favored the Bastard of Winterfell to win, the gods had shown Lord Warrick Wells to be guilty, though at the cost of one of the North's finest knights.

Torrhen nodded slowly, aware of what must be done, he turned to his Justiciar, Lord Robin Locke of Oldcastle, whose lands bordered those of house Wells.

‘’Take Lord Warrick back to his chambers in preparation for my ruling, have a septon brought to him if he wishes….see that Ser Wendals body is returned to his family lands.’’ Torrhen commanded his Justiciar.

‘’Lord Stark…have mercy I beg you….my lord…I beg you.’’ Lord Warrick pleaded as he was dragged to his chambers where he was being held, his cries growing weaker as he was taken farther away.

A Few Hours Later

Godswood of Winterfell

Torrhen Stark sat under the Weirwood, Ice in his lap, running a whetstone over the blade, though in truth it was not necessary, Ice was Valyrian steel and was always sharp.

He looked into the black pool of water in front of him, which was still despite the wind.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned, relaxing when he saw it was his Lady wife, Barbary Dustin, a heavyset woman with brown hair and eyes.

‘’It is time my lord.’’ She said simply.

Torrhen nodded silently.

‘’The man must die…there can be no other ruling….that poor girl who he raped and turned away deserves justice just as much as he deserves punishment for his role in aiding the Manderlys escape.’’ She said, her voice rising in intensity.

‘’I know….as does he, that is why I had the Septon sent.’’ Torrhen said, still sharpening his blade.

‘’A kindness he did not deserve.’’ His wife said pointedly.

Torrhen was silent at that, standing up slowly, sheathing his greatsword.

He looked to the sky which was darkening fast, the last light of the sun barely penetrating into the godswood ‘’You are right…it is time.’’

The two made their way to the castle courtyard, which had since been cleaned of blood, both by servants and fresh snow, Ser Wendels body had since been removed, it would be taken to White Creek Castle, the seat of House Wells to undergo rites from their septon.

Lord Warrick stood as well, shivering from fear or cold Torrhen did not know, though from what he knew of the man he guessed fear.

A block had been set up in the courtyard, a simple log with space enough for a mans neck, all in attendance knew the ruling was just a formality, it had been ever since Torrhen had sent the man a septon,

Lord Torrhen stood near the block, Ice in hand and turned to face Lord Warrick Wells.

‘’Step forward my lord.’’ He said sternly.

Lord Warrick made no effort to move and a guardsman shoved him forward, eventually causing the elderly lord to shuffle forward.

‘’Lord Warrick Wells…..you stood accused of rape and treason against the crown, you put the matter to the gods…who have revealed the truth to all in attendance.’’ Torrhen began, looking the old man in the eye.

‘’Dont….please dont.’’ Lord Warrick said quietly, his voice a whisper, he knew as well as anyone what came next.

‘’In the name of Aegon Targaryen, first of his name, I, Torrhen Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North…do sentence you to die.’’ Torrhen finished, nodding to the guards who pushed the old man to the block, and then to his knees, the old lord's arms flailing and shaking in a futile attempt to resist.

‘’Dont…I beg of yo..AHHH’’ Lord Warrick began, before his words turned into a wordless cry, gone as quick as it began, the greatsword Ice ending his protests and his life.