268 AC, Winterfell
The path to my father's solarium was... calm. Suspiciously calm. In a castle that usually breathed with its own rhythm — the sighs of wood, the rustle of cloaks, the sounds of boots on stone — it suddenly became quiet. As if the fortress itself was waiting for something.
Or maybe it was just my mood.
Today I didn't have training. This gave me more time than a six-year-old boy should have. And lessons with the maester? Easy. Memorizing the coats of arms of the northern houses and calligraphy. Boring.
Thanks to this, I had time. A lot of time. Too much time.
So I drew three new ship plans. Plus a sketch of a canal — how it should run, through which routes, through whose lands. Logistics, flows, everything.
And that's what I was carrying now. With a roll of sketches under my arm and an old book in my bag.
The stone beneath my feet was cool and slightly damp, as if Winterfell was trying to remind me that even with future plans, I was still just a child in a castle built by ghosts.
I stopped before the doors. Heavy, oak, with a carved wolf in the middle.
I raised my hand and knocked. Three times. Briefly. Evenly. Like someone who has something important to say but doesn't intend to beg for attention.
Silence.
I was about to knock again when a voice came from behind the doors:
„Come in."
I grabbed the handle and entered.
Lord Rickard Stark was sitting at the table, leaning over a map or a report. His fingers — long, strong — moved slowly across the parchment, as if reading something very important or very frustrating. His sword, Ice, was leaning against the wall in the corner. Always within reach.
He didn't raise his eyes, but said:
„Brandon, what do you want?"
I approached the chair and sat comfortably. Too comfortably, if seen through the eyes of a six-year-old boy.
My father raised his eyes. Just for a moment.
„I wanted to talk to you, father"I said calmly.„Lately, for a week, I've had the same dream. At first, I didn't pay attention to it. But always at the end of the dream, I saw a place in our Winterfell crypts."
My father didn't react immediately. He looked at me carefully, as if trying to assess whether it was a childish fantasy... or something more.
„The crypt?" he asked finally. His tone was neutral, but his eyes narrowed slightly. For Starks, that's almost an emotion.
I nodded slowly.
„Stairs down. Stone wolves. A niche between two sculptures. And something that was waiting there. Every time I dreamed the same thing. And today... I went there."
I fell silent for a moment. For drama. But also because the memory of the darkness, that sudden silence after the torch went out — was still sitting somewhere under my ribs.
„And I found this" I pointed to the book. „The Book of Runes of the First Men."
„The maester asked me what I needed an old, blank book for" I added quietly. „He doesn't see the runes. For him, it's just dust and parchment."
My father raised an eyebrow. Minimally. For Starks, that's like a cry of surprise.
„And you see them?"
I nodded.
„If you don't believe me, see for yourself."
I pushed the book towards him. The leather scraped lightly across the wooden surface. My father looked at it for a long time, as if wondering if it was a joke. Or a test.
Finally, he reached out. Opened the first page.
He froze, looking at the first page.
He quickly turned it.
Then the next one. And another.
„Is this real?" he asked quietly, without looking in my direction.
„It seems so" I answered calmly. „Since only we can see it. Additionally... it confirms that my dream was a prophecy. As if the Old Gods themselves wanted to convey it to me."
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Like snow that doesn't want to fall.
My father finally closed the book. He looked at me seriously and said:
„Then tell me about this dream."
I nodded. I sat up straight, as if I were about to give a report at a war council.
„It always starts the same way. A fog, thick as curdled milk, swallowing everything. In it — a wolf. Alone. And then... a dragon appears."
Rickard furrowed his brow. He didn't interrupt.
„The dragon takes the wolf. But two other wolves try to follow him... and they burn. They disappear in the fire. Then everything changes. I see a pack — a wolf, a stag, a fish, and an eagle. They all attack the dragon together. In the end, the stag kills the dragon.
I fell silent for a moment. I took a breath."
„Then the lion sees the dragon dying and kills three dragons. And at the end... the stag puts on the crown."
I fell silent. I looked at my father, trying to read anything from his face. But he was as always — stone. Only his eyes narrowed slightly. A sign that he was thinking. Deeply.
„The dragon takes the wolf..." he repeated slowly. „And then two others burn. The stag kills the dragon, the lion kills three others... and then the stag puts on the crown?"
„That was the dream" I said. „Always the same. Every day for a week. And it always ends the same way: stairs down, stone wolves, a niche... and the book."
Rickard Stark was silent for a while. Then he reached for a wine cup and took a sip. As if he needed something stronger than usual to digest this story.
There's something else in the book, Father. A line on another page.
"The Blood of the Kings of Winter, spilled by Ice, will reveal the secrets."
„Could I try?"
Rickard just nodded, saying nothing, lost in thought.
I stood up without a word. I walked to the corner where Ice was leaning. Its handle was cold but familiar. The weight of the sword — almost ritualistic in itself. I turned to the table. The book lay there, as if waiting.
My father didn't stop me. He didn't even twitch.
I raised my left hand over the book's cover. It didn't tremble. It didn't hesitate.
„Just a scratch" I said in a low voice. For myself. For justification. For principle.
I pressed the edge of Ice against the skin of my thumb and pressed lightly.
The cut was clean. Too clean.
A drop of blood appeared immediately. Red. Dark. Heavy.
It fell on the cover.
And then... the book began to glow.
Not violently. Rather as if awakening after hundreds of years of sleep.
I opened it to the page where the instructions were previously.
And I saw the words:
"Instructions for descendants."
And underneath, like a signature. Or a warning:
Brandon the Builder.
I froze.
This... wasn't supposed to be such a book.
This was supposed to be a simple book of First Men runes.
Unless...
That apprentice must have messed something up again.