The North, Winterfell
The King's procession was magnificent and grand. An endless stream of soldiers clad in golden armor with longswords at their waists poured into the castle gates. It was truly a scene of the King's arrival!
There were at least a thousand of them—some were vassals, some were Kingsguard, and others were guards and servants.
The continuous cold wind howled, incessantly whipping the golden banners held high above their heads, which were embroidered with the crowned stag symbolizing House Baratheon.
The history of this banner is incredibly ancient, dating back as far as the time of Aegon the Conqueror.
Eddard watched the procession beneath the banners, familiar faces surfacing in his mind.
The most eye-catching among them was Jaime Lannister; he was the kingslayer, a man devoid of honor. However, Eddard had to admit that the knight's appearance was indeed impressive.
Beside him, the man with a large burn mark on his face was Sandor Clegane, the brother of the Mountain.
Next to him was a tall, golden-haired, handsome boy; Eddard knew this must be the Crown Prince.
And behind them, the ugly dwarf with his hand tucked into a maid's bosom for warmth was undoubtedly the "Imp," Tyrion Lannister.
Standing at the very front of the procession was a pot-bellied, crowned man. He was the King of the andals, the rhoynar, and the first men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, the founder of the Baratheon Dynasty—Robert Baratheon.
His appearance now was just as described in the original work: "A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his fat double chin, but nothing could hide his protruding belly and the dark circles under his eyes."
In Winterfell's welcoming party, Eddard Stark looked bewildered, thinking: "Why does this fat man leading the way look so familiar?"
He and Robert hadn't seen each other for over nine years. The Robert in his memory had some significant yet subtle differences compared to the fat man before him...
In his youth, Robert was a clean-shaven man with clear eyes, the kind of fit man a young girl would dream of. He stood six-foot-six, towering over everyone like a great stone tower.
When he donned his battle armor and his great horned helm, he became a giant in his own right. His strength was no less than a giant's; even Ned could barely lift his customary spiked warhammer.
In those days, the scent of leather and blood followed him like perfume.
Now, Robert is so damn fat he's taller lying down than standing up!
The entire House Stark knelt on the ground, welcoming the King's arrival with grand ceremony.
Robert, with his big belly protruding, walked with a splayed gait. This was likely because he was too fat; if he didn't walk with his legs wide apart, he'd easily chafe his 'little Robert' between his thighs.
He walked up to the kneeling Eddard and gave a subtle flick of his right hand. Eddard immediately realized Robert was telling him to rise, and so he did.
"Your Grace, Winterfell awaits your..."
"To hell with 'Your Grace'! There are only brothers here, no 'Your Grace'! Ned, if I don't drink you under the table, my name isn't Robert! Hahahaha!"
Robert's large hands hugged Eddard tightly, his bold and hearty laughter echoing through the air.
Eddard smiled helplessly; it seemed his good brother hadn't changed a bit. He was still as disregardful of etiquette and as boisterous as ever.
Eddard couldn't help but recall the scenes of the two brothers eating large portions of meat and drinking from great bowls in their youth. Back then, they weren't kings or Wardens of the North.
Afterward, the two parties exchanged pleasantries, engaging in the usual polite praise of their respective relatives.
Joffrey, following behind Robert, saw Sansa Stark for the first time—the fiancée to whom he had been betrothed by Robert and Eddard.
Unlike Arya Stark, who was naturally very tomboyish, Sansa looked very lady-like and dignified. She had the high cheekbones of House Tully inherited from her mother, Catelyn Tully, making her features more defined.
She had a pair of expressive blue eyes that, along with her fluttering eyelashes, inspired immediate affection. Her thick, auburn hair fell loosely, drifting in the wind. Her figure was slender and graceful, and her every smile seemed slightly playful.
While Joffrey was sizing up Sansa, Sansa was also sizing him up.
Looking at Joffrey's handsome face, Sansa's heart couldn't help but stir. She was certain this was her destined prince. Since childhood, Sansa had been obsessed with stories and songs; just like the ballads sang, beautiful princesses often received jewels and floral crowns from handsome princes and noble knights.
Joffrey looked at Sansa and nodded with a smile, signaling their introduction. Sansa also nodded shyly; in her eyes, this was the princess's acceptance and reply to the prince's invitation, and her heart kept saying "I do."
After the pleasantries, the King said, "Ned, take me to your family Crypts. I want to pay my respects."
Eddard helplessly called for a guard to bring a lantern, though he admired Robert's loyalty to his feelings.
At this moment, Queen Cersei Lannister spoke up in opposition, quite the mood-killer: "We've been traveling since early morning, and by now we're all exhausted. We should be shown to our quarters to rest first. There's no need to be in such a hurry even if you want to see dead people."
She tilted her noble head back, her nostrils flared at everyone.
Just as she said this, Robert turned and stared at her coldly, his eyes red and filled with murderous intent. Jaime pulled at her clothes from behind, and only then did she huff and stop speaking.
Seeing this scene, Joffrey could only give an awkward smile. He could see that the grievances between House Lannister and House Stark likely ran deep, and the conflict was nearing a point where it could no longer be reconciled.
Their only point of balance was Robert. If Robert were to pass away one day, it was hard to imagine what kind of war they would wage against each other.
Eddard accompanied Robert through the deep and narrow Crypt. The spiral staircase almost caught Robert's large belly, which made him somewhat uncomfortable.
By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the Crypt, our King Robert was already gasping for breath, and Eddard had to pat his back to help him catch it.
Otherwise, if the great King were to pant himself to death in his own family's Crypt, where would he go to find justice?
They walked among the dead of House Stark from generations past. The statues on the closed sarcophagi were carved with their likenesses from life. No matter how glorious they were while living, after death, they would all sleep forever in this dark Crypt accompanied by the shadows.
As Eddard was lost in thought, Robert stopped. He recognized the three statues ahead.
The one in the middle was Rickard Stark, Eddard Stark's father. He had a stern face and a tall stature, gripping a longsword tightly. Eddard had inherited his father's looks and build well.
On the left was Brandon Stark, Eddard's elder brother. He was the true heir to Winterfell and would have been the true King in the North. However, he was cruelly burned to death by "The Mad King" Aerys in his teens, just as he was about to marry Catelyn Tully of Riverrun.
The last statue was Lyanna Stark, Eddard Stark's sister, Robert Baratheon's fiancée, and the love of his life.
Robert touched the statue, remembering the past—Lyanna riding a horse past him, those soulful eyes, that grace, that charm he could never forget. His lips trembled as he spoke:
"You're not as beautiful as she was..."
"Robert..."
Eddard didn't know how to comfort Robert. Lyanna Stark was supposed to marry Robert but was taken by Rhaegar Targaryen, even though his sister Lyanna told him before she died of childbirth that she and Rhaegar Targaryen were truly in love.
But how could he let it go? His father was dead, his eldest brother was dead, and his sister was dead. At that time, Eddard could only lick his wounds and grieve in secret.
Every time he thought of his sister clutching his hand before she died, using her last strength to repeatedly say, "Promise me... promise me, Ned," his heart grew even more conflicted.
Robert looked at the statue, tears flowing freely as if they were worthless.
"Ned, she should have been mine. Rhaegar stole her from me. She shouldn't be here; she loved flowers. I wanted to give her fields of wildflowers. Damn Rhaegar!"
"Rhaegar has already been killed by you."
In the Battle of the Trident, Robert, wearing his antlered helm and wielding his warhammer, had crushed the armor on Rhaegar's chest with a single blow, also shattering the last of House Targaryen's luck.
The ornate rubies inlaid on that armor were hammered everywhere. Soldiers abandoned the slaughter and rushed into the river to scavenge for the gems.
This could be seen as a 'Pure Love Warrior' brutally slaying an 'NTR-er', a tragic victim crushing the 'blonde-haired homewrecker'...
"Not enough, I only killed him once. He stole her, he stole her from me, and even a realm as vast as the Seven Kingdoms cannot fill the void losing her left in my heart..."
...
(Lastly, a quick note: Ned is Eddard Stark's nickname, used by those close to him. His younger brother Benjen Stark's nickname is Ben.)