Chapter 643: Venturing Beyond The Wall Alone

"Do you remember this wooden bow? Lyanna used it for practice when she was young," said Eddard Stark, cradling the old, polished piece tenderly in his hands.

Within the dimly lit cellars of Winterfell, the flicker of firelight danced upon the face of Lyanna Stark's statue. The statue, with outstretched arms, seemed to gaze heavenward in a perpetual display of sorrow. Although Eddard had intended for the statue to portray Lyanna with a bow, poised to shoot, Maester Luwin had convinced him otherwise, leading to the current, more somber depiction.

"I remember," Benjen responded.

"This was Lyanna's practice bow, she once competed with me using it," Eddard reminisced, his voice a soft echo through the stone halls.

Benjen, examining the bow now held by his brother, noticed the smoothness where the hands gripped—it was a testament to countless hours Lyanna had spent refining her skill, devoid of prodigious talent but abundant in relentless effort.

He chuckled lightly recalling how he had once been bested by his sister, a defeat that led to a bout of tears and a period of teasing that seemed endless at the time.

"After Lyanna's death, this bow was stored away in the vaults of Winterfell," Eddard continued, his face a facade of calm masking the storm of memories within.

"It was lost in the annals of time, even I couldn't find it later on," he sighed.

Age had begun sketching its tale upon Eddard's visage. His dark brown locks now streaked with gray, the neatly trimmed beard also bore the hue of time, and wrinkles adorned the space around his gray eyes.

He paused, lifting his eyes from the bow to meet Benjen's gaze, his voice dropping a tone lower, "Then it resurfaced, all the way in Carlin Bay. Benjen, do you think Lyanna might have placed it there?"

Benjen, his face half-illuminated by the torch he held, furrowed his brows contemplating the likelihood of his brother's suggestion.

"But could she have been controlled by the Night King, losing her consciousness?" he queried, the notion sent a chill down his spine.

Wights controlled by the Others, and all Others under the dominion of the Night King—a horrid reality they had witnessed firsthand in the battles fought. Humanity, ever so adaptable, was learning with every confrontation, probing for weaknesses among their foes.

Their conclusion was simple yet daunting—the entire undead army and the Others were puppets, with strings pulled by the Night King. Kill the King, and the endless waves of death would crumble.

But to reach the Night King, one had to cut through the hordes of death surrounding him—a futile endeavor leading them back to square one.

This was why the Others had swept through the realms of men like a tempest during their southward march. Despite the heavy toll, mankind had yet to discover a means to vanquish the Night King.

Unless, by some stroke of fate, the Night King grew careless, venturing forth from the veil of undead protectors. In such a scenario, a master of assassination lying in wait could strike true with a blade of Valyrian steel, ending the King and saving the realm.

The scenario wasn't entirely impossible, but it heavily depended on the Night King's cooperation.

And from the last encounter where Viserys faced the Night King in single combat, it was clear that the King valued his existence, retreating at the slightest hint of danger.

"But the significance of this bow is known only to Lyanna, you, and me," Eddard's voice brought Benjen back from his thoughts.

Eddard Stark fell silent for a moment before continuing, "Father didn't know, Brandon didn't know, and neither did Catelyn."

Benjen paused, sinking into contemplation. Indeed, the essence of this bow was a secret shared only among the three Stark siblings. Even their eldest brother, Brandon, was oblivious, being engrossed in the affairs befitting the heir of Winterfell while they ventured out in youthful escapades.

Hence, the notion that Lyanna might have transported this bow all the way from Winterfell to Carlin Bay wasn't entirely implausible.

"For only her name is etched upon it, yet the meaning it holds goes beyond mere letters," Benjen whispered, the realization igniting a spark of hope within him.

"Could it be true?" he wondered aloud, "Does Lyanna still possess consciousness?"

The implication stirred a tide of emotion within Benjen. During the Rebellion, he had stayed in Winterfell, and post-war, he had joined the Night's Watch at the Wall, never getting a chance to bid farewell to Lyanna—a regret that haunted him.

"And if so, what about Father and Brandon?" he quivered at the thought.

The cataclysm beneath Winterfell had awakened the past Lords of Winter, including their father Rickard and brother Brandon. A claim once made by Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor about sighting Rickard Stark had been dismissed by the coalition as mere folly.

However, if the undead could regain consciousness, wasn't this a sliver of hope?

"We cannot confirm anything yet," Eddard's voice cut through Benjen's spiraling thoughts, grounding him back to the grim reality.

Contrary to Benjen's whirlpool of emotions, Eddard remained a stoic figure, bearing the weight of contemplation silently. Ever since he had acquired the bow, sleep had eluded him. Nights were spent pondering, deliberating until a resolution solidified within.

"I am planning to venture beyond the Wall myself, Benjen," Eddard declared, his words echoing through the ancient stones of Winterfell.

"What?" Benjen was taken aback, yet before he could muster a response, Eddard continued.

"I intend to trace Lyanna's steps, to unravel the truth behind this enigma," the determination in Eddard's voice was unyielding.

Over the months, Eddard had mulled over this matter tirelessly, and finally resolved to act. Once the Wall was reclaimed, he would fulfill the duty of the Night's Watch. Alone, with just his horse and sword, he would traverse into the unknown lands beyond the Wall, tracking the Others and investigating Lyanna's fate.

This matter had knotted his soul, tying his thoughts in an endless loop.

It was a matter of family—his father, brother, and sister. Eddard Stark had lived a life of honor, safeguarding his family. But now, donning the black, with Winterfell entrusted to Robb, he chose to live for himself, if just this once.

It was a reminiscent of the dreams he and Robert had harbored as young lads—riding along the King's Road, their swords carving tales into the annals of time, never to return.

"No, Ned!" Benjen's voice resonated through the halls.

But Eddard's decision met staunch opposition from Benjen. As a ranger, Benjen had endured the harsh life beyond the Wall. Every day was a battle for survival—scouring for food by daylight, seeking shelter to sleep without being mauled by wolves at night. And always, there was the looming threat of wildlings.

Now, even though the wildlings were gone, the peril of the Others was far more terrifying.

Sending Eddard alone into the icy grasp of death was akin to sending him to his doom.

"If you are adamant about venturing beyond the Wall, let it be me instead!" Benjen pleaded, the words quivering as they left his lips.