By the time Bran stood upon Winterfell's battlements and saw the royal procession winding across the fields, the day was already nearing noon.
Three hundred riders advanced in a long, glittering column, like a river forged of gold, silver, and steel.
Free riders rode ahead carrying numerous golden banners, each embroidered with the crowned stag of House Baratheon.
Behind them thundered an enormous carriage, hauled forward by no fewer than twenty strong horses.
Bran gasped aloud at the sight—he had never imagined a carriage so grand—and his excitement burst into a cheer from the walltop.
His voice caught the attention of Galon and Jon, who were already heading toward the southern gate.
They looked up and spotted Bran.
"Bran, come down!" Galon called.
"The king is nearly here—we must greet him!"
"I'm coming!" Bran shouted back, and hurriedly scaled downward, using every stone and recess along the wall.
In an instant he dropped into Galon's waiting arms, who set him safely on the ground.
"Jon! Galon!" Bran panted. "I saw the crowned stag banners! And—and the biggest carriage in the world!"
"That is the queen's carriage," Galon explained with a grin.
"She is a Lannister—the wealthiest Lannister of them all."
The three set off together toward the gate.
Just as Galon predicted, they arrived at the southern entrance at the same moment Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn arrived with Robb, Sansa, Arya, and little Rickon.
"Lord Stark. Lady Catelyn," Galon and Jon saluted respectfully.
Ned returned a brief smile—while Catelyn instantly fixed her gaze on Bran. "Bran! You were climbing again? You promised me you wouldn't!"
Bran froze like a mouse before a cat, searching desperately for help. Robb, instead of stepping in, stifled a laugh.
Bran turned to his father next—only for Ned to quietly shake his head and intervene.
"Catelyn. The king is upon us—save your fury for later," he murmured. "Everyone, prepare yourselves."
Catelyn exhaled sharply but said no more. She ordered a servant to wipe the dirt from Bran's clothes while she composed her expression.
During that distraction, Galon and Jon shared an unspoken moment of sympathy and slipped into line behind Robb.
Galon nodded politely to Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik. Jon stood beside him.
Sansa stole a glance at Galon.
He noticed—and offered a gentle smile. She quickly looked away, cheeks flushing with shy delight.
Arya, for once, did not tease her sister. She was too busy asking Bran whether he had seen "the little dwarf."
The bells of Winterfell tolled in rolling echoes.
"The king's column has entered the town," someone announced.
"Ready yourselves for the king!" Ned Stark commanded, posture straightening with solemn duty.
Every face grew serious.
Galon stood tall, gaze fixed upon the southern gate.
Hooves thundered closer.
"They're here," Galon thought.
Two riders carrying crowned stag banners burst through the gate first—
followed by King Robert Baratheon himself, flanked by two white-cloaked knights of the Kingsguard.
"Your Grace!" Ned dropped to one knee.
All gathered followed suit.
While kneeling, Galon lifted his gaze ever so slightly, studying the king. Power radiated from Robert like a stormfront.
A longing stirred in Galon's chest.
'A man ought to be like this,' he thought.
Robert did not notice him. His focus was wholly upon Ned.
With surprising swiftness and strength, the king dismounted and hauled Ned into a fierce embrace.
"Ned! Gods, it's good to see you!"
Ned cracked one of his rare, sincere smiles.
"And you, Your Grace."
Their laughter warmed the courtyard as they stepped apart.
Everyone rose to their feet again. Galon watched the canon of history unfold, feeling something indescribable.
Robert looked Ned over critically. "Look at you—still frozen through, still that grim face. Not a day changed."
Ned glanced discreetly at Robert's thickened waistline and thought wryly,
"You, however, have changed quite a bit."
But aloud he simply said, "Winterfell is yours, Your Grace."
Queen Cersei arrived next, her children at her side, escorted by Ser Jaime gleaming bright as a golden lion.
Her carriage was too large to enter the castle, so she had continued on foot.
Tyrion came riding, leaping down with a servant's help to study Winterfell's stone halls with keen curiosity.
Ned knelt again, bowing to kiss the queen's ring.
Robert, meanwhile, pulled Catelyn into a familiar embrace. The children were then introduced in turn.
Joffrey stepped forward.
Sansa regarded him carefully—no longer through a young girl's romantic dreams, but with clear-eyed discernment.
'He's so thin… and looks so fragile,' she thought. 'And that arrogance… worse than Theon, even.'
Joffrey noticed her, attempting a princely smirk he thought charming.
Sansa responded with a polite—but distant—smile.
Galon's expression hardened, his cold stare fixed on Joffrey until Jon subtly nudged him in warning.
The tension did not go unnoticed—Ser Jaime's sharp eyes briefly studied Galon with mild curiosity before the moment passed.
Then Robert spoke once more.
"Ned. Take me to the crypts. I must pay my respects."
Before Ned could answer, Cersei interjected, "We have traveled for a month. Must we rush to see the dead—"
A single cutting glare from Robert silenced her.
Jaime squeezed her hand lightly, urging restraint.
Ned bowed to the queen in apology, then led Robert away into the depths beneath Winterfell.
As they departed, Catelyn stepped forward with flawless courtesy, arranging quarters for the southern nobles.
Suddenly, Winterfell felt alive—with movement, voices, and excitement swirling through every passage.
The king had come at last.
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