"Harwin, Winterfell is ahead!" Harris said, pointing to the distant towers rising above the surrounding woods.
"I see it. A mighty sight. Far larger than White Harbor," Harwin replied, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he studied the castle.
"It is. After all, it's the seat of the ruling house of the North. By the way, I almost forgot… Ser Jory Cassel said that Lord Eddard decided to call you into service after hearing of your exploits. In White Harbor, all they talk about is your skill with the bow—which, they say, has no equal," Harris added, with a hint of awe in his voice.
Harwin smirked subtly. Fame was always a tool, and knowing people already whispered of his skills would make his job easier. "I never imagined my… modest deeds would travel this far. I'm flattered." He said it lightly, knowing perfectly well that people underestimated a man who feigned modesty.
"Modesty is good," Harris continued, "but in the North, excessive modesty borders on weakness. If you want to prove yourself in Lord Stark's guard, you'll need to show your worth, not just talk about it."
Harwin's eyes gleamed with quiet cunning. "Thank you, Harris. I intend to do exactly that—and more."
The riders soon reached the gates of Winterfell.
The wolf banner, coupled with Harris's presence, allowed them to pass without delay.
They rode straight to the main citadel, dismounted, and stopped at the entrance.
"Come, Harwin. First, let's introduce ourselves to Lord Stark. Take your sword and gifts. Hill will tend to the horses and carry your belongings to the barracks. There are about two hundred guards here, all stationed near the training yard. You can stay with us," Harris instructed, handing the banner to Hill.
Harwin strapped his sword to his belt, grabbed the carefully packed bundle from his saddle, and, leaving the horses in Hill's capable hands, followed Harris into the main tower.
Inside, Harris spoke quietly with a servant and led Harwin into the audience chamber. They waited in the center of the room, Harwin's posture confident, eyes scanning for any potential advantage or information.
The servant found Lord Stark in the training yard, observing children practicing under Catelyn Tully and Ser Jory Cassel.
"My lord, my lady, your guard Harris and another man await you in the hall," the servant reported.
"Already? I expected a few more days before meeting this renowned archer from the Village of Rams," Eddard Stark said, clearly intrigued.
"Let's see him," he added, turning to his wife and Ser Jory.
The three walked into the hall. Harris immediately bowed upon entering. Harwin followed smoothly, bowing with precision that suggested both respect and calculated self-promotion.
"Greetings, Lord Stark, Lady Catelyn, Ser Jory," Harwin intoned, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of authority. He didn't just greet them—he ensured they noticed the confidence in his every movement, a subtle reminder of his reputation.
Eddard Stark studied him, eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you Harwin Redmoor?"
"Yes, my lord," Harwin replied, bowing lightly, though his mind raced with possibilities—how he could leverage this meeting, gain favor, and position himself close to power.
"When I look at you, I think of your grandfather and father. Your grandfather accompanied my father and brother to King's Landing to demand answers from the Mad King. He died in the fight, loyal to his duty. Your father fell heroically against the Targaryen army, alongside us. I hope you've inherited their valor, Harwin Redmoor, and will continue the tradition of loyalty by joining my guard."
Harwin bowed low, then raised his head, letting a faint, confident smile show. "My lord, I honor their legacy—and yours. I swear to defend House Stark and wield my sword for your bloodline until my last breath."
Eddard Stark's eyes softened slightly, a rare smile appearing. "Excellent. I accept your oath of fealty."
Harwin didn't hesitate. He presented his gifts, holding the large bundle with care, as though every motion were deliberate, projecting both competence and respect.
Eddard glanced at the bundle. Ser Jory stepped forward, inspecting the gift carefully before placing it before the lord and lady. Harwin watched every move, noting their reactions, storing information for later use.
Eddard's eyes lit up as he saw the thick brown bearskin, spreading it carefully across the table. It was enormous, flawless. Beneath it lay a smaller, blue-black pelt, equally unblemished—the shadow lynx.
"The hide of a giant bear and the hide of a shadow lynx. Both flawless. A truly precious gift. I've heard of your skill with a bow, but seeing this… impressive," Eddard said, approval evident.
Catelyn Tully examined the pelts, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Harwin Redmoor, your gift is exceptional. Perhaps he might train Bran and Rickon in marksmanship?"
Eddard considered, then nodded subtly at Jory Cassel. The pelts demonstrated precision, strength, and control—the very qualities a tutor should have.
"Very well. Harwin Redmoor, I appoint you as a guardsman of House Stark and as a tutor in archery for my younger sons. You will protect my family, train my children, and your salary will reflect your skill."
Harwin bowed, a calculating glint in his eye. "Thank you, my lord, my lady. Your trust will be well-placed. I will ensure my actions speak louder than words."
"You deserve it. I hope you will justify my trust," Catelyn nodded.
"Harris, take Harwin to the training yard, introduce him to the others, and find him quarters," Eddard commanded.
"It shall be done, my lord!" Harris replied.
Harwin followed, already planning his next moves, already evaluating who in the guard might prove useful or… dispensable.
Every glance, every action, every word he had shown in that hall had served a purpose. Winterfell wasn't just a castle—it was opportunity, and Harwin Redmoor intended to seize it.