Chapter 20:
Barristan:
The horse hooves clop-clopped with every step underfoot, the miles passing beneath, and with every step Barristan could see the war taking place in the two men that rode just ahead of him.
Every lurching trot of the horse had them second guessing. Every meter of road felt like it them him gripping the reins tighter and tighter beneath their fists. Barristan had no doubt that gloved hands were white knuckled under the leader, and his teeth were being ground down enough to know for certain that Robert Baratheon was indeed Stannis’ brother.
Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon, two men, undoubtedly friends, of completely opposite temperaments; equally embroiled in their own frustration and misery rode directly ahead of him.
At his back, the royal column stretching out for over a mile.
And all around them the endless expanse of white and grey that was the north.
Suddenly, the oppressive, tense silence was broken- words, slicing through the space like a wildfire explosion as the cold winds whipped through their lines.
“I know. I’m right there with ye.”
It was the King’s voice and Eddard turned looking to his oldest friend. “What?” The Northern Lord asked.
Robert took a heavy swig of his wineskin, the Baratheon monarch was drinking even more than usual, his features dour, dark circles hung heavy under his eyes, he must not have gotten much sleep last night; that was not an enemy Barristan could guard against.
If he were honest, Barristan doubted many of them had slept well.
Dimitri Baratheon was truly the best of Robert and Cersei, a Prince Barristan would go so far as to say was as perfect as a prince could be.
He too, and he was sure, most in the column, were worried.
“You always get that same look on your face, when you’re angry.” Robert explained to Lord Stark. “I’m angry too.”
Lord Stark didn’t seem sure what to say to that.
When Robert took another heavy pull of wine, and then offered the half empty sack to Ned, the Northman didn’t refuse.
He passed the wineskin back, Robert grunted. “Always thought that when my boy went off to fight I’d be right there next to him.” The King said. Barristan could hear the creak of his gloves as his grip tightened over the neck of the skin. “Not this. Never like this. Him headin off and my fat fuckin ass crawling back to that red shit hole!”
“I’d hoped my children would never see war.” Ned answered.
Barristan agreed more with the northman. But, Robert’s answer was uncharacteristically sober. “Not the world we live in.” The man let out a loud sound, something between a shout and a huff as he leaned back in the saddle. “Fuck! When did I get so fuckin useless!”
Ned turned, looking at the Black haired monarch’s profile. “Why did you agree?” He asked.
Robert looked sullen sitting in his saddle, shoulders hanging, head bowed it was not a look Barristan was accustomed to see on his King. “That boy never asks me for anything Ned. Nothing. Even when he should.” The man shook his head. “First time he asks me something with his full chest… and its the hardest fucking thing I’ve had to say yes to.”
The King looked pensive; “Why’d he ask it of me?” He seemed to ask empty air.
He shook his head. “And fuck. It’s just one son for me. You’ve got all three of your eldest boys goin. Here I am bein an ass.”
“One or Three, it’s no contest on concern.” Lord Stark shrugged.
“Love is the death of duty. Duty the death of love” Barristan found himself muttering the old adage that Commander Hightower had warned him of years and years ago. Back when there was a love that could have killed Duty for him.
He must’ve spoken louder than he thought however, because both Ned and Robert turned to look at him.
He found himself straightening in his saddle. “Forgive me your Grace, Lord Stark.”
Robert’s glare was dark, but he waved the apology off. “No… Nothin to apologize for.” He answered before turning around staring ahead once again.
“They’ll be alright.” A new voice joined in from Barristan’s right, but the Knight did not turn to look at him.
Forswearing Vengeance he was prepared to do, but it was still difficult riding beside the man that had slain the best men he’d ever known.
Ser Jeralt continued speaking, oblivious to Barristan’s feelings beside him. “Byleth, Alois, Stark, Baratheon, Lannister soldiers, Ser Jamie. They’re all there with them. They’ll protect them.”
Robert turned to look though. “Byleth. You’re not worried about your girl Jeralt?”
“Of course.” The Mercenary answered and Barristan continued to stare straight ahead as he did. “Every parent worries, regardless of everything.”
“Then why send her?” It was Lord Stark who asked.
“She’s the best person I could send to bring everyone home.”
There was no boast in his words, no bravado, no jest and it made Barristan recall the conversation he’d had with Ser Jamie just two days ago.
“You don't understand; I can accept better but this wasn’t that it was… she was barely even human.”
“I’d prefer to have you there Blade Breaker.” Robert answered, some of his old countenance returning, even as the name caused a twinge of discomfort to coil around Barristan’s chest.
But out of the corner of his eye Barristan saw Ser Jeralt shake his head.
And then he said something that made Barristan pull his horse to a stop.
“I haven’t been able to defeat my daughter since she was fourteen.”
—
Robb Stark:
The heavy trod of riders galloping close made Robb turn where he sat in his saddle looking over his shoulder at the cadre of approaching Winterfell men. “Anything?” He demanded.
“Nothin yet my lord.” The lead man said.
Hounds barked in the distance. The entirety of Winterfell’s kennels had been emptied. Grey Wind too was out there, trying to catch a scent.
“We keep looking.” He practically snarled.
“They cant have gotten much farther than this. They’d have needed to grow bloody wings.” Theon said beside him.
He was right. They were at the south western tip of long scouring the western banks for any trace of the Wildlings. Lord Bolton had ridden to all haste towards the dreadfort to hastily organize a party and ride them up and down the eastern bank
Last Hearth no doubt had received his raven already, the Umbers would have spread far and wide across the north around Queen’s crown, Karhold as well would be joining them soon. And the Manderly force that was no doubt riding hard north would no doubt be searching to the south of everyone as they moved.
It should have been reassuring. So many people so many soldiers and hunters and trackers, hounds and hawks and all of the greatest houses of the north combing the wilds for one band of Wildlings.
And yet Robb couldn’t help but feel uneasy, couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t enough.
Because even if he emptied the whole of Winterfell, The Dreadfort, White Harbor, Karhold, Last Hearth and even the whole of the Blasted Night’s watch…
It wasn’t enough.
The North was simply too vast. Too enormous to search like this. They could search a hundred miles a day. And there would be a thousand more they simply hadn’t the men to cover.
“It’s Marianne.” He half whispered, half cursed under his breath. “We have to find her.”
“Keep your head Stark.” Theon’s words and tone were blunt, but even as Robb glared, he could see the veiled concern in the Kraken’s eyes and expression. “We’ll find her.”
“Rider approaching my lord.” One of the guards said behind him and Robb found himself turning again, looking.
The Rider was galloping hard from the south west. Some word from Winterfell?
Robb turned his horse, moving to meet the man, part way.
By the time they came close enough to speak Robb could see that the man’s horse was breathing hard, he’d pushed the beast.
“What is it? What news.”
“The Royal party my lord!?” The man declared. “Raven arrived in Winterfell just yesterday, Royal party with damn near a hundred more men just turned around! Prince Dimitri, along with your brothers, Felix Stark and Snow, they’re on their way back with all haste to help in the search. Yer lady Mother sent me, to tell ye; The Prince says he’s spreading his party out to cover as much ground as he can to the east of Long Lake.
That was good enough. The white knife was impossible to Ford, unless you wanted to freeze to death. So odds were that the Wildlings were indeed to the east; Robb and his men were west of it because they couldn’t completely discount the possibility the Wildlings had some way to cross or had done so before word had reached Winterfell and their guard was sent out to cover the crossings.
So another party, the royal party, with two Direwolves combing through the area could only be a good thing.
“Theon.” Robb said quickly “Give him your horse.”
Theon grumbled and cursed but he didn’t protest, not when he knew the man needed a fresh mount more than any of them.
“Get word to Winterfell and royal party.” He commanded as the man dismounted and ran to take Theon’s horse. “Our men will continue north along the western bank. We make for Last Hearth. If the search takes us beyond to the wall, we’ll keep going even beyond there. I’d like for the Prince to join us if he can, but I cannot afford to wait.”
“I understand my lord.” The man said as he heaved himself up, Theon taking the reins of the exhausted riding horse to give the animal time to rest without a rider.
“Good, go n-” Robb trailed off a sense, a feeling tickling the back of his brain like an itch.
“Robb?” Theon asked, even as some of the guards looked at him in concern.
But without a word of explanation or warning, Robb pulled on the reins of his horse, turning the beast hard enough to make it rear up before he kicked hard at its flanks, his steed bellowing out a complaint before it galloped forward with all haste.
“MY LORD!”
“LORD STARK!”
“Fucking shit!”
He barely heard the shouts of concern or Theon’s hasty complaint as he rushed to get on his exhausted horse to follow. Wind whipped at his body and clothes as he pushed the beast onward with all speed.
Greywind had a scent.
—
Dimitri
By the old gods and the new he was a fool.
A fool that in another age, they might sing songs about.
Sing praise to the fool prince Dimitri Baratheon, famed knight and beloved prince cut down before his time because he went to the far north!
He’d heard the superstitions, that kings don’t do well in the north beyond the Starks of Winterfell, and he was starting to see why.
Because no book, no story, and no song, prepared you for the simple bone deep cold that the north had for them.
They’d already traveled to Winterfell once, and the summer snows had beset them, but Winter truly seems to have come early with the news of the Wildlings. And now, outside of the warmed halls of Winterfell, it was biting. Every step was a reminder that the south had never known cold compared to the lands that some in King’s Landing called worthless.
Dimitri pulled his cloak tight, even as he pushed his horse to keep riding hard. They were already too far behind.
Snow was dealing with it better than him, same with Felix, their northern blood burning hot in their veins as they pushed their mounts forwards. Their Direwolves quite literally leading the pack.
Claude and Lorenz however were much like Dimitri himself, doing their best to push through the winter chill. Even the always jovial Alois was bundled up in so many furs he looked damn near ridiculous on his horse.
Outside of the Northern Starks; Byleth too seemed to fare best. The woman didn’t even bother covering her face as she rode on that monstrous bloodsteed like normal. The daughter of the Blade Breaker was at home in these frozen winds as Dimitri was back in King’s Landing.
She rode near the front alongside Alois. Jamie’s uncle in “the rear” though the rear was more at the back of the ‘royal party’, the true rear was the column of riders, Lannister, Baratheon and Stark men riding at their heels.
What kind of upbringing made such a woman like this? Yes her father was the Blade Breaker, the man that took down the great Sword of the Morning, Gerold Hightower, and Jeritza Velaryon practically single handedly if the songs were to be believed. Yet, Dimitri was trained by the greatest masters of arms and some of the greatest knights of the age.
So why did he feel like he wouldn’t be able to so much as scratch her armor? Or take a lock of her hair with his spear?
How could he know that was the truth? Was it just his insanity shining through? His own delusions?
“You know my prince, it’s rude to stare.”
Dimitri blinked, head snapping to Lorenz. His cousin’s rueful grin was quite wide, even with the redder than normal nose and cheeks. Even Connington, who looked absolutely miserable in the cold was laughing softly under his breath. .
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh no need to be modest, my lord, as beautiful a visage that the mercenary is, I cannot let you sully your reputation by looking at her like you’re some commoner.”
“I was not!” He protested.
“You were staring for quite a long time, I was almost worried you would end up unhorsed so intense was your concentration,” Lorenz pointed out.
“I was not staring.”
“You’re right my prince.” Claude’s laughter was carried in his voice. “I would call it- ‘Intensely admiring’.”
Dimitri glared at the two, then turned around towards Ashe, who chuckled nervously.
“You weren’t staring.” His pale haired friend said simply.
“He’s your squire; you pay him to agree with you.” Claude pointed out.
“He does not.” Ashe gasped.
“He doesn’t pay you!? My word. Slavery in the seven Kingdoms is outlawed my prince.” Connington cheekilly replied.
Lorenz took a breath, no doubt about to say something to add to Claude’s ribbing when Dimitri decided to cut this… whatever it was off.
“Whatever thought you were going to voice, say it to the Stranger alone, Cousin,” Dimitri cut off.
“Am I not allowed to jest to ignore the cold?” Lorenz asked innocently.
“Your jests aren’t staving off the cold for me, only getting on my nerves. So no.” the prince said bitterly.
Lorenz chuckled. “In all seriousness-” Claude pressed. “You have been watching her, since Winterfell. Why not speak to her?”
“Do not be absurd.” Lorenz shot back, all levity gone from him. “He is a prince of the realm, she a mercenary. Nothing could come of it.”
“A Prince of the realm can have a conversation I think. He doesn’t have to jump straight into bed with the woman.”
“Why are you two so interested in my love life all of a sudden?” Dimitri asked, a bitter edge to his voice.
“What love life?”
The crown prince whirled around, staring in utter betrayal at his uncle Jamie not four feet behind them as the man smiled impishly.
“Is this entire ride just going to be the people I thought my friends and family insulting me?” Dimitri asked.
“If the lord wishes for such things, I can gladly provide,” Claude offered.
Dimitri’s stare could slay a dragon, Claude’s smile widened.
“No.”
“I for one would love to hear what you think of our dear prince in this situation,” Lorenz said.
“If kin slaying were not a crime…” Dimitri grumbled under his breath.
“Gladly then!” Claude declared, “Why, if the prince were not looking so intently, I would think he would be more interested in Byleth’s ch-”
Dimitri spurred his horse forward; away from the gaggle of ‘friends’.
His horse grunted in protest as he pushed it to make way next to Byleth. The mercenary maneuvered her steed to give him more room on the path without looking. For a moment, they rode in silence, save for some of the laughter of the men behind them.
Approaching her, he was nervous. And it was a strange sort of nervousness, not unlike the typical nervousness of simply approaching a beautiful woman to strike up conversation but something far more intense as well.
Why?
“You’re not the first.” Byleth said suddenly. Her usual silence broken so abruptly it brought him up short.
He blinked, startled. “I’m sorry?”
“To stare.” She answered, and shrugged. “Many of you do.”
Dimitri felt himself flush for a second.
“I, er, my apologies, my lady, I meant no offense. And I… didn’t think you’d hear that.”
Infact, he couldn’t hear Claude and Lorenz. Or well, he couldn’t understand them. They were certainly talking. Ashe was too on occasion. He could hear their voices just not make out their words.
Her hearing must be particularly sharp.
She didn’t answer, content to return to her silence as another chilling wind forced him to put up his cloak again, his teeth rattling in his skull.
“Tell me.” He pushed, if only to distract himself from the bitter frost. “How does a woman grow up in a mercenary band? I immagine it must be much different from what I’m used to?”
“What are you used to?” She asked.
Dimitri tried not to snort. That was a question. Palace intrigue, politics, traveling the seven kingdoms to mend the wounds of a war made before he was born… dreaming of civic infrastructure to get rid of a pestilent smell over a city that should have had proper sanitation made ages ago…
Useless damn Targaryens…
“Servants.” He said simply. “Traveling, visiting all the lands of the Kingdom-” Except for Pyke because… well… it was Pyke. “Learning of the greater and Lesser houses. Preparing for the realm I will need to rule one day.”
Byleth shrugged. “I grew up with Father.” She said simply. “I trained. Fought. Learned. I go where he asks. Help where I can. Is that different?”
Hmm.
“I suppose not.”
They fell into silence again.
“We’re catching up,” Byleth finally said after a moment.
“How can you tell?”
Suddenly; Felix Stark, riding just ahead and to their left shouted clear across. “Jon!” He called to his Bastard half brother.
“Aye!” Jon shouted back, the Stark baseborn turning to look at Dimitri.
“My prince!” He called. “Ghost and Glenn have a scent! We’re near Robb!”
—
Marianne:
As the wind cut through her, deep into the marrow of her bones, even through the furs and the layers of dress Marianne felt the cold of her own sweat beneath the layers as her breathes emerged harshly through a burning throat.
“Move!” The wildling… Leonie demanded, pulling harshly on the rope that bound Marianne’s hands, partly to urge her to go faster, but partly to actually help pull her up the steep slope of a near ice covered hill, the brambles and frozen branches of trees offering little in the way of handholds or firm ground.
As she climbed, even through her exhaustion, Marianne had the presence of mind th snag the hem of her dress on a sharp, broken tree branch, the knife like tip tearing the blue fabric that little bit more; the wear and tear almost going unnoticed as it was added to the hundreds of tiny cuts and rough edges brought on by miles upon miles of rough wilderness they’d already trekked through as they kept moving north.
As she reached the lip of the hill, and Leonie grabbed hold of her wrist binds to haul her up the last bit of distance along with her fellow wildling, she tried to deduce where, by all the grace of the gods she might be.
They’d caught her and Bernadetta between Winterfell and white Harbor, to the east of the White River, a makeshift raft had carried them clear across to the east side, which had surprised her; the fact that the girl, Leonie had used it because she knew and had planned for the fact that the west bank of the River had four ‘Kneeler Lords’ to search; those being Bolton, Karstark, Umbers and her own family, and the east bank only had one in Winterfell, had been disconcerting.
Wildlings were not supposed to have minds for long term planning or strategic thinking. It’s the weakness that always saw them fail whenever they tried to march on the wall.
Leonie sighed, the red head’s own breath fogging the air. “It’ll be dark soon.” She said, growling. “We shoulda been farther than this by now.”
“You stole a man before we left?” One of her men grunted “We couldn’t travel much faster if we had wings.”
“We have two days-” She shot back. “Likely less before all of these fuckin kneelers are swarmin round the place. If we’re caught we’re fucked Hev.” She pulled at the rope, Marianne’s wrists were an angry red as the coarse material rubbed and chafed, but she didn’t complain with anything more than a grunt as she obediently marched forward behind her.
“Can’t do more than put one foot infront of the other.” The one that, Marianne assumed was called ‘Hev’ answered as he ambled on down the hill. Spear doubling as a walking stick to help him keep his footing.
Marianne noticed the third one, another wildling man, eyeing her, a dark look on his face.
A look that didn’t go unnoticed. “Don’t even fuckin look at her Ob. She shows up whole at Mance’s place or everyone’s fucked!”
“I don’t like it.” Ob bit out. “Kneeler women are weak, bitch and moan about everything. Their Kneeler Lord women specially. But this one.” He frowned. “Heard a winter mouse louder than her!” Think we let go of the actual Kneeler Lord woman and we’re left with a fuckin doll.”
“What would my complaining accomplish?” Marianne asked, her voice a near whisper caught in the wind.
Ob shook his head. “Somethin aint right. Touched in the head.”
“Touched or not.” Leonie, again pulled at the rope, hard, making Marianne stumble forward and, briefly, as the light caught in the woman’s red hair, the winter winds and heavy furs disappeared, replaced in Marianne’s minds eye with the flash of armor, a bow, or sword in her hand.
And then the vision was gone.
“We’ve got ground to cover. So keep it fuckin movin, I want ta at least see the passing shadow of the Wall by the time the sun sets.
At the mention of the North’s northernmost border, the Wonder of the man made world; Marianne felt her heart stutter, fingers clenching tight, even as she held her silence.
The wall.
If she crossed it; her odds of rescue, of survival, were all but gone.
…
At least… I was able to get Lady Bernadetta away.
—
Catelyn Stark:
“Here you go, child, drink and be well.” Luwin offered kindly.
Bernadetta took it with shaking hands. “Th-thank you,” Her voice was barely more than a tremulous whisper and Catelyn could not blame her.
The poor girl had barely stopped shaking since she’d been brought back to Winterfell by a patrol of outriders. It was understandable, few, even men, would have the fortitude to endure what she did and not be shaken.
While Bernadetta seemed to want nothing more than to be left alone in her room, Luwin had advised against it; and Catelyn was inclined to agree, especially after the guards she stationed at her door for the girl’s own peace of mind (and Catelyn’s too) reported back some of the girls quiet mutterings in the night. Things that spoke of how little self worth Bernadetta had in herself, along with the nightmares that had made the girl wake, screaming in the night.
Right now, Bernadetta looked better compared to her appearance when she arrived after her harrowing escape, but she was still far from any semblance of nobility. Not that her own daughter was doing much better, more stabbing her knitting utensils instead of actually sewing, scowling darkly as she worried about Marianne.
In fact, Bernadetta looked closer to the men that she’d seen return with Ned from his wars. Hollowed eyes, twitching at every sound, more so when any of the guard were around.
Luwin nodded, “Should you need more dreamwine, let me know my girl”
“Thank you, Measter,” Catelyn said, taking a spot next to Bernadetta.
She did her best not to notice the flinch the girl did as she got close.
“S-sorry.” Bernadetta mumbled, her voice so quiet even sitting next to her Catelyn couldn’t really make out the words, only catching a snip of ‘wasting medicine’ on her. Which made Catelyn’s concern, and horror flare, though she did her best to keep her composure.
Bernadetta had always seemed timid, but this seemed far far worse than mere ‘timidness’.
What had the Lannister’s done to this girl? How had Jon Arryn and Lysa not intervened? If it truly had gotten that bad Lysa could have sent her here years ago, she should have known Catelyn would have helped. Family, duty, honor.
“It is not waste,” She soothed, “Worry not, you’re safe here, nothing will harm you.”
“Robb will kill those Wildlings.”
“Arya!” Catelyn screamed.
“What?” Arya complained, “They will! And they’ll get Marianne back too!”
She heard Luwin sigh under his breath, but he took a seat next to his charge, Tommen, who sat not very far away attending to his daily lessons, tried very hard to look attentive to said studies while what he was actually doing was watching the four of them. Luwin quickly got the boy to refocus; bringing the young Prince’s attention back to what he was meant to be learning.
“A lady doesn’t speak of such things.” She chastised.
“Why? They took Marianne!” Arya scowled. “I hope Robb guts them all.”
Most days, Catelyn feared that Arya, like Felix, would be a child she never understood or connected with. Did any other parent in Westeros have children so alien to them? “Do not make me repeat myself!” She warned.
“I’M SORRY!”
Both Stark’s startled. The scream so visceral it made Catelyn feel cold and not from the winter chill. Even Luwin and Tommen stopped what they were doing. Bernadetta was crying, shaking more than anything. It was worse than when she’d arrived, shaking into the chair, the medicine that Luwin had prepared spilling onto her lap.
Luwin stood, moving to rush over even as Bernadetta’s mumbling reached Catelyn’s ears.
“Don’t fight over me don’t fight over me don’t fight over me-”
The mindlessly blubbered to herself, repeating the words over and over like a mantra. Nymeria moved away from Arya, who herself was looking almost genuinely frightened; more than any time that Cateyln had seen her in years, to prop her head on Bernadetta’s lap. The girl stiffed again, yet she slowed, and almost on instinct, put a hand on the wolf’s head.
Luwin held still, hovering at the girls side for a moment, but Nymeria’s presence seemed to be calming her somewhat.
The old Maester gave Catelyn a look. “My lady Stark, a word?” He pleaded.
Catelyn nodded, standing up and following the Maester to the far side of the study hall, out of earshot of the children.
“My Lady.” The grey robed man whispered. “I did not wish to make assumptions, but with this…” The man’s lips pursed. “How aware are you of the lady Arryn’s… family relationships?”
Catelyn’s brows and features scrunched. “I don’t understand the question?”
The Maester looked increasingly uncomfortable, which Catelyn knew was unlike him. “I mean…” He trailed off, and then sighed. “I have a strong suspicion that young Bernadetta has been… treated poorly in her home.”
Catelyn frowned, but nodded. “You read Lysa’s letter Maester. The Lannisters have all but held her hostage.”
Luwin looked at her gravely. “Forgive me, my lady if I speak out of turn. But I don’t believe the Lannisters are the one’s responsible for what I see in young Bernadetta.
Robb
The scrap of blue dress was placed gently in his hand, barely even a smidge of saliva on the edge of it as Grey Wind delivered it.
“Good boy.” Robb declared.
The men had gathered and they were scoring the hillside.
Finally Donnel, one of their best Trackers stood, shouting from atop the hill.
It was a wide, bramble covered monster, No man would travel through it willingly rather than take the long way round, if Grey Wind hadn’t sniffed it out, they’d have rode right by.
“Lord Stark!”
“Speak!” He shouted up at him
“Tracks lord! But we’ve got to hurry. They’re at least a day old.”
A day, at a minimum.
Robb grit his teeth, fingers clenching over the fabric as he looked around at the men at arms that surrounded him, twenty solid men.
He’d take those odds.
“We don’t stop! We don't rest. I don't care if we ride into the nine blasted hells for three days straight, we follow those tracks!”
“Yes Lord Stark!”
(X)(X)(X)
We're goin North Kids! Where there are NOT Ice zombies or any monsters to speak of. No sir-ee. Its not like the other Kingdoms all have their own supernatural beasts now. Why would the lands beyond the wall have any surprises? :3