I think it goes without saying that none of us like what D&D did with House Umber. So just like my other Story Shattered, time to Redeem this family
Daragh Umber never thought he could be more angry in his life as he stared into the fireplace grumbling. "I can't fucking believe it?" He thought. "How could my father do this to our house."
For two years now Rickon Stark had been their guest in their home. They knew the Boltons were looking for him and they all knew the repercussions for housing a fugitive Stark. But his grandfather did not care, like a true Umber, he kept the vows his house made to the Starks thousands of years ago. He would protect who might possibly be the last living stark even if he had to take on the entire Bolton to do so.
Everyone knew the Boltons, what kind of people they are. Honestly if there was one fault the Starks had it was their mercy. The Boltons rebelled twice and the Starks forgave them twice. House Bolton should have been driven to extinction just like the Greystarks. Now look at what has happened, the Bolons betrayed the Starks once again and their lord Roose became the Warden of the North.
Yet as bad as he was, his bastard Ramsey Snow was worse. He is still a bastard no matter what the boy in the iron chair says. You can put silks on a pig but that won't make it royalty. We all heard the stories, Lady Hornwood, Lord Cerwyn, Sansa Stark. The idea of Ned Stark's beautiful daughter being ravaged by that savage was enough to make his blood boil hot enough to cook bacon. Doubtless these rumors were true, and Daragh was certain the rumors were not close enough to the truth
Now his father intended to go lick that bastard's decrepid ass. My grandfather would sooner let hell take him before he ever bowed to a Bolton, especially a bastard. Yet this could have been forgiven, Daragh understood that their need for swords was great. An army of wildlings had passed the wall, they needed men and the Boltons had plenty.
Yes if bending the knee to the Boltons was his sole action Daragh could easily have forgiven his father. But declaring for Ramsey was not enough for father, he also intended to give Rickon Stark to the Boltons. Of all things, that was what angered him the most. The boy was their guest and father intended to give him over to those that would harm him. This was a violation of the guest right and their house's good name will be tarnished forever.
His great uncles Mors and Hothor also disapproved of SmallJon's decision and expressed their feelings about it more strongly. They raged and protested cursing his father until he stormed off angrily. But Daragh kept his opinions to himself, he won't listen to my uncles why would he listen to me.
His father had visited him earlier Daragh was still staring into the fire. Smalljon let out a deep sigh, "Daragh."
His son's face remained on the fire expressionless, "father."
"I'm sure you know what is about to happen?" He said grimly
"I'm sure everyone in Last Hearth is aware father, including our ancestors." Daragh replied turning to him.
SmallJon sighed, "you must know son that if there another way I would take it. I didn't want- "
"He's going to die," Daragh cut over him. "You give Rickon to Ramsey and his fate will be sealed."
SmallJon shook his head, "that will not happen, Ramsey is not stupid, he knows how valuable a Stark is."
"Yes he does know this," Daragh agreed, "and he doesn't care. Just ask Lord Cerwyn how he's doing these days."
"What would have me do then?" SmallJon asked.
"Why ask me?" Daragh wondered, "you clearly won't listen to your older and wiser uncles so why would you listen anything I have to say?"
SmallJon shifted uncomfortably, what bothered him was his son didn't seem angry at all yet the disappointment was clear as day. "When I return you will see that this was for the best," he said simply before leaving his son to brood.
"No," Daragh determined, "this must not happen, it WILL not happen," For the honor of his house and for the Starks, he made a decision. Daragh bowed his head, "damn you father for what I must do." He sighed, 'mother would cry if she could see us now.'
Later while SmallJon Umber was meeting with the maester. Daragh slipped into the Maester's chambers, to avoid detection he went barefoot across the cold stone floor. It was a discomfort but it was a small price to pay for what had to be done. He looked through all the bottles until he found the one he was looking for. After taking the bottle he then crept into his fathers chambers.
Smalljon like his father before him was a heavy drinker. It was likely that after a very heated discussion, he will want to drown his demons in wine. Daragh sighed, this may be the cowards way, and perhaps I am a coward and worse. but this is the only way. He uncorked the bottle and poured ten drops into the jug. He was going to leave when he stopped. 'What if it's not enough,' he thought, 'I have to make sure.' So going back he poured the entire bottle of contents into the wine jug. Once it was done Daragh returned to his room. Now all he needed to do was lie there and wait.
Later that night, Daragh crept out of his room and tiptoed towards his father's wearing a roughspun cloak. He knew the castle well enough so he didn't need a torch to find his way around. He cautiously opened the door and slipped inside. He neared the bed and looked down at his father, then he began to speak.
"If by some god given miracle your still in there father I want you to know that I understand why you wanted to do this. You believe you are safeguarding our house, our future." Daragh sighed and placed a hand on his father's chest. "But I let you go through with this our house will be shamed forever. They will look down at us as the riverlords do the Freys. Worse off you will be condemning a innocent child to death, a child that has eaten out bread and slept under our roof. A boy we swore to protect, and as long as this Umber draws breath that is how it will stay."
Daragh placed the knife slowly on the other side of his Father's neck and with a bitter heart he quickly drew the blade along to the other side. SmallJon's body lurched as it gasped for air and blood gushed out with every beat of his heart. He layed there on the bed thrashing weakly until finally he was still.
Daragh bowed his head, "it is done. there's no turning back now, mother forgive me." He opened the window and tore a piece of the roughspun cloak and latched in on the window. he also discarded the tainted wine. After that Daragh quietly crept out of his father's chambers and slipped back to his room. he threw his bloodied clothes into the fire along with the remains of the roughspun cloak then by the light of the fire he took a basin of water and started wiping the blood from his skin with a rag.
Once he was clean and his tracks covered, Daragh returned to bed. "My ancestors are likely cursing me now but need not worry about my punishment. When this is over and the Starks once again sit in Winterfell, I will turn myself over to them and accept whatever judgement they deem fit." With those thoughts in his head, Daragh fell into a dreamless sleep.