Starks No More

In the grand hall of the citadel, Sinclair Snow, the revered Godking of the Winterborne, sat upon his throne, flanked by his most trusted advisors. The atmosphere was tense as they awaited the arrival of the Starks, who had overstayed their welcome in their blessed home.

Sinclair's icy gaze swept over the assembled Winterborne elite, his expression betraying no hint of emotion. "We have tolerated the presence of the Starks within our midst for far too long," he declared, his voice ringing out with authority. "Their self-righteousness and arrogance have become intolerable, and it is time for them to leave."

The advisors murmured in agreement, their faces set in grim determination. They knew that the Starks' continued presence posed a threat to the delicate balance of power that Sinclair had cultivated within the spiritual realms, and they were prepared to take whatever action was necessary to see them gone.

As the Starks were ushered into the grand hall, tension crackled in the air. The Winterborne elite regarded them with thinly veiled disdain, their eyes glittering with malice.

"Lord Stark," Sinclair addressed Ned Stark with a coldly polite nod. "It has come to our attention that your presence here has become... problematic. It is time for you and your family to depart from our blessed home."

Ned Stark's jaw tightened, but he maintained his composure. "We have no intention of overstaying our welcome, Your Grace," he replied evenly. "But I must ask—what has prompted this sudden change of heart?"

Sinclair's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Let us just say that certain... concerns have been raised about the impact of your prolonged stay on the harmony of our blessed home," he replied cryptically.

Ned exchanged a meaningful glance with his family, sensing that there was more to Sinclair's words than met the eye. But he knew better than to press the matter further. With a gracious nod, he bid his farewells and led his family out of the grand hall.

As the doors closed behind them, Sinclair turned to his advisors, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "The Starks will trouble us no longer," he declared, his voice laced with quiet menace. "Our blessed home is secure once more."

And as the Starks made their way out of the grand halls of the citadel, a sense of relief washed over them, mingled with a tinge of sadness. Memories of their time within those opulent walls flooded their minds, each one serving as a stark reminder of the flaws that plagued Winterborne society.

Robb couldn't shake the image of a young Winterborne boy he had encountered in the underground—a child no older than Rickon, scavenging for food amidst the filth and decay. The look of desperation in the boy's eyes haunted him, a haunting reminder of the stark divide between the haves and the have-nots in Winterborne society.

Jon, too, found himself haunted by memories of the Winterborne elite's callous indifference to the suffering of their own people. He recalled a conversation he had overheard between two Winterborne nobles, laughing and jesting about the plight of the poor in the underground as if it were nothing more than a game.

Ned's thoughts drifted back to a meeting he had attended at the citadel, where the Winterborne elite had gathered to discuss matters of state. He had listened in disbelief as they debated the fate of the denizens of the underground, their words dripping with disdain and indifference.

Bran remembered the extravagant parties he had attended, where the Winterborne elite indulged in excesses beyond imagination. He recalled the sight of Winterborne nobles, lost in a haze of drugs and alcohol, their laughter ringing hollow in her ears.

Theon's mind flashed back to a moment he had stumbled upon, hidden away from prying eyes—a Winterborne noble injecting themselves with a syringe filled with a strange substance, their eyes vacant and their movements sluggish.

With each passing moment, the weight of their experiences weighed heavily on the Starks' hearts, filling them with a sense of sorrow and regret. But as they reached the gates of the citadel, a determination flickered in their eyes—a resolve to use their newfound knowledge to bring about change in the world beyond.

"It's time to go," Ned said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "We have our own responsibilities to attend to, and we cannot afford to be drawn into the darkness of Winterborne society any longer."

With one last glance at the citadel behind them, the Starks stepped through the gates and into the unknown, their minds filled with memories of a society that was as beautiful as it was broken. And as they disappeared into the mist-shrouded landscape, they carried with them the hope that someday, Winterborne society would find the redemption it so desperately needed.