After I finished recounting my tale of adventure—of battling beasts, surviving in the wilds, and eventually founding my own kingdom beyond the Wall—the atmosphere in the great hall grew heavy with silence. A somber mood hung in the air, as though my words had reached into some ancient part of their hearts. They sat still, absorbing the impossible, weighing it against the reality they thought they knew.
Of course, I didn't expect them all to believe me. Aside from my father and Arya, I was fairly certain no one truly believed in the Army of the Dead or the Night King. They nodded respectfully, yes, but in their eyes I saw doubt, disbelief disguised as diplomacy. I couldn't blame them. The idea of an invincible undead force seemed distant, even mythical, to those who hadn't seen it with their own eyes.
But that didn't matter. I had seen it. I had survived it. And I was already invincible in this world. Why should the dead concern me?
Sensing the heaviness that lingered after my tale, I decided to shift the mood. With a grin tugging at my lips, I asked, "So... who among you wants to fly on my giant eagles?"
It was as if the very air in the hall had changed.
Everyone's head snapped up. Eyes widened in disbelief.
"Can we fly on them?" Arya practically exploded, her voice high with excitement. She leapt up from her seat, waving both hands. "Me! Me! I want to fly with you! On the eagles!"
Bran's face lit up with wonder, and even Rickon, usually shy in such gatherings, cried out, "I want to fly too!"
Sansa's lips curled into a smile, though her gaze was hesitant. I knew she was afraid of heights, but the dream of flying gleamed in her eyes.
Robb tried to hide it, but his grin betrayed him. He was just as eager, though more reserved in expressing it. Theon stood silently, a flicker of jealousy in his expression. He didn't say a word.
Catelyn, ever the cautious mother, immediately raised her voice. "No," she said firmly. "It is far too dangerous. If any of you fall, you could die."
My father, Eddard Stark, shared her concern, though I saw the battle behind his eyes. The child within him dreamed of the skies, even if the father stood wary.
I couldn't help but laugh—a deep, free-spirited laugh that echoed through the hall like a wild wind. "Come now, Father," I said. "Don't you want to know the feeling of flying? To soar through the skies like a bird? Freely? Without chains, without walls?"
His serious expression broke for a moment, a flicker of youthful excitement showing in his eyes. "Every man dreams of flying," he admitted.
I reassured them all. "It's perfectly safe. These eagles—I raised them myself since they were chicks. I found them here, in Winterfell, after their mother had died. They would have perished had I left them. So I took them in, cared for them, and trained them. They trust me completely, and I trust them. As you've seen, I flew here from my kingdom beyond the Wall on one of their backs. They're larger than any horse and can carry the weight of five men with ease."
Gasps rippled through the room. The idea that I had found these beasts in Winterfell and nurtured them to such power stunned them all.
Catelyn, still unconvinced, stood her ground. "It doesn't matter how well-trained they are. A fall from the sky would mean certain death."
I met her eyes with calm understanding. "I know no mother would ever accept this easily. But trust me. I would never risk anyone's life—not after what I've seen, what I've lost."
---
The next morning, excitement crackled in the air like electricity. Everyone had gathered in the training yard, their faces alight with anticipation. Even the guards had paused their duties to watch.
"Stand back," I called. "Give us some space."
They stepped away, forming a wide circle. I stood at the center, wind curling around my cloak.
Lifting my fingers to my lips, I let out a sharp, whistling cry that echoed across the sky.
Moments later, the air responded.
A high-pitched screech rang through the sky—piercing and majestic. Two colossal forms emerged from the clouds, cutting through the morning light with their enormous wingspans. My eagles.
They descended like falling stars, swift and graceful, their wings slicing the air with thunderous force. Shadows swept over Winterfell as they soared overhead, circling once before diving down.
Their talons gripped the stone yard as they landed with precision beside me. Wind exploded from their wings, ruffling cloaks and sending the children's hair flying. The yard fell utterly silent, in awe.
I walked to them and placed my hand gently on one of their heads. He chirped low, a deep, guttural sound of affection. I smiled.
"Come, my friends," I whispered to them. "Let's show them."
They didn't need names. We were bonded in ways words couldn't capture.
With a practiced motion, I climbed onto the back of the larger eagle. His feathers were warm beneath my hands, his muscles coiled and ready.
"Ready?" I called.
He launched upward.
The force of takeoff was like being flung by the gods. The air cracked beneath us as we shot skyward. The world below shrank, Winterfell turning into a small, stone sculpture. The sky enveloped us.
Gasps and cheers erupted below.
I looked down to see wide eyes and open mouths. Arya was dancing with excitement. Bran and Rickon pointed to the sky. Even Sansa was smiling, awestruck.
I guided the eagle in a wide arc, letting him glide with the wind. It was freedom like no other—the rush of the wind, the infinite blue sky, the strength of a creature I had raised.
We soared above the towers, the godswood, the ancient walls that had witnessed centuries of Stark blood.