They'd stopped marching for the night. Lord Cregan Karstark was sitting in his tent alone, as usual when on march. Lord Karstark had grown fond of the quiet, he felt it was necessary to sit in silence in these troubled and violent times.

Barthogan, the last of Cregan's living children, quietly stepped in.

"Father," Barthogan started, only for Cregan to cut him off, "Theon Stark is Lord in Winterfell now."

"Yes," Barthogan said, trailing slightly, then asked, "What are we going to do?"

"What do you mean?" Cregan asked.

"I mean, when this is over."

"Return to Karhold, to peace," Cregan said matter-of-fact.

"Well don't you think we ought to be doing something ?" Barthogan asked, taking up a chair, sitting across from his father in the cramped tent.

"Do something ?" Cregan asked, then snorted, "What is there to do ?"

Barthogan tapped his hand on the table, "The King is dead, there is a new Stark in Winterfell, everything is changing. There is opportunity here, for us."

Cregan laughed, "You see opportunity ? I see chaos, I see a land torn and burned. I see fields that need sowing, homes that need mending. We do not need another fucking war or fight. We need peace."

"Yes, but," Barthogan tried to speak, only for his father to cut him off again, "Do not speak, boy."

Cregan stood up, walking to the tent's entrance, beckoning his son. Barthogan rose up and followed his father out into the camp. The two walked until reaching a hill overlooking the assembled armies.

"What do you see ?" Cregan asked.

"An army," Barthogan answered.

"What else ?"

"Banners."

"Look around, what else is there ?"

"Dirt, trees, bushes, um," Barthogan went on, describing the environment, puzzled as to what his father was trying to say.

"Look up, boy," Cregan commanded, and Barthogan looked up. He quickly covered his eyes as his gaze neared the sun.

"Do you see that ?" Cregan asked, pointing to the sun, "What is it ?"

"The sun, father."

"No, it is more than that. Think of the sun, what does it have that nothing else does ?"

Barthogan was silent for a moment, thinking. He remembered talking with old Maester Raynald, taking his lessons. Then he spoke, "The sun does not age, it does not die."

"Indeed," Cregan said, then grabbed his son's shoulders, turning him so that the two Karstarks looked each other in the eye, "The sun is eternal. It does not change, does not shift. No matter the goings-on of the world below. That is our banner, our symbol. 'The Sun of Winter' are our words. Remember this, if nothing else, son: where wolves may die, flayed men may rot, where helms and crowns and axes and swords may rust and castles may crumble. Where the seasons come and go and all other things may fade, the sun does not. We, Barthogan, are the sun. Karstark men must always remember this and hold it in their hearts. While others will come and go, we will maintain course. Do not trouble yourself with thoughts of loyalties beyond those which Karl Stark pledged when he built our home: we are pledged to Stark and no other. We follow the true sons of Winterfell, never trouble yourself with anything else."

"Do you understand ?" Cregan asked after a minute's silence.

"Yes father," Barthogan said, nodding. The boy was twenty years old and Cregan knew he was late on these lessons, ones that his father had taught him. But still Cregan hoped, prayed to the Old Gods, that Barthogan would be better, would bring some honor back to his namesake, and restore, in some part, the piece of the Karstarks that his forebears had discarded in the game of politics.

The two separated and made their way back into the camp.