Month 7 of 299AC
Winterfell
The reign of terror of Theon's band at Winterfell was brief but bloody. Most of the miniscule garrison had been slaughtered – a large part murdered in their beds. Several servants were murdered as well. A few women had been raped, the shortness of the Ironborn's presence sparing most women of such a fate. The Septon Chayle was sacrificed to the Drowned God; drowned in the Godswood's pond by pious reavers seeking Divine Favour for their enterprise.
All these deaths weighted on Jon's soul. But he was never to forgive himself for Bran's and Rickon's deaths. He gained his first silver-grey hairs that day. Thankfully his goodbrother Walder, as well as the other Frey ward at Winterfell, Big Walder , both survived. At least Walda had been spared the loss of kin.
Jon stood in the Godswood before the still remaining Winterfell staff. All those assembled gave the bound Ironborn cold stares. Theon's thugs had been whittled down to fewer than twenty; not all had surrendered and not all those who tried to lay down their arms had been given that opportunity. And only Jon's promise that the Ironborn would be executed stopped Winterfell's staff from killing them on the spot. Besides what they had done to the smallfolk, the Little Lords were both dead at their hands making the Northmen wroth with anger. The Stark servants' gaze held as much mercy for the Ironborn as these had held for the Northmen – none.
His homely features set in an expression hard as ice, Jon spoke in a flat voice, which helped him keep his voice under control, kept him from screaming out his rage and bereavement.
"When Brandon Ice Eyes Stark had cleansed the Wolf's Den of slavers hundreds of years ago these had been given to the Old Gods. The Ironborn are no more than slavers and bandits and not fit to live. Let us treat them the Old Way."
Jon turned his cold grey eyes, shining under his mop of greasy hair, a hallmark Stark feature, at the four women of disparate ages standing at his side. "Ladies", he nodded, indicating that they were to commence the ceremony.
The women representing the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone began to perform the pertinent rites. They had been chosen for their roles after a thoughtful vetting process assessing their suitability. Well, there had been no real competition for the post of Crone – Old Nan was a shoo-in for the role. Serena, one of the cooks, was selected for Mother. After all Serena had brought sixteen healthy babes to this world—most of whom had reached adulthood—and was currently pregnant and not afraid to show it. Having a carrying mother onboard was considered to be Good Luck and Auspicious Beyond Measure. Jon had loyally put Walda forward for the Mother but she was disqualified on the grounds of not being a mother YET. Expecting was NOT Good Enough. Walda looked relieved, though.
The impromptu pageant held for Maiden stand-in candidates produced a tie between the twins Bandy and Shyra and was decided by a toss of coin. However, the sniffles, teary eyes and quivering lower lip of the devastated loser of the tie-breaker led to both being chosen to officiate in the ceremony. A few members of the selection committee argued that Bandy was the better candidate, disqualifying Shyra on the grounds of the red eyes and blotchy cheeks left by the sniffling and pouting, yet were ultimately outvoted. Nobody begrudged the barely-teenage girls their eagerness – it could have been a once in a lifetime chance! Officiating as Maiden in such a ritual was held to be a guarantee of a problem free birthing bed later in life.
The women used bronze knives to slit the Ironborns' ballsacks. Amidst the screams they then yanked the contents out and threw them into a bloody puddle front of the Heart Tree. Or, for a change of pace – they snatched the whole thing off. The sacrifices were then led away with blood streaked thighs towards suitable weirwoods for the next part of the ceremony. Their stomachs were slit, their entrails dragged out and draped over the branches. They were chased around the trunk once or twice for good measure and left to bleed to death.
Jon had been informed of the presence of the Bolton Bastard's servant Reek – apprehended when he and his Master had been caught by Ser Roderick doing unspeakable acts to the body of a girl they had just raped and murdered – in Winterfell's dungeons. It was a firm belief in the North that prison was Cruel and Unusual punishment. If a person could not be punished by a fine, by flogging, or loss of body part, then the only proper sentence was death. Hence the Bolton Bastard's servant inclusion along the Ironborn.
This Reek fellow initially was to be the last to be executed. However, Reek was visibly enjoying the proceedings. He shouted out encouragement to the women and was brimming with "helpful" suggestions focused on eliciting more pain from the sacrifices. His evident experience and expertise made those present wince in disgust. With the unexpected and singular exception of Little Walder who revelled in Reek's verbal contribution. An unspoken decision was made for the bestial Northman to jump the cue. In spit of his screams "You can't do this!", "I'm made for greater things!", "I am the Bolton Heir!"
"So – was it Reek – or was it actually Ramsey? It did not matter which of the two he had been – master or servant, the monster deserved only death," Jon finally decided and the protesting man was castrated and gutted after less than half a dozen Ironborn.
Theon Turncloak was forced to watch all his men go before him. When his turn came he was visibly pale face and green around the gills. The heavily bruised Greyjoy Heir tried to grovel in the dirt before the Regent in the North and simpered about being sorry but was dragged away.
"You were the leader so you earned the dullest knife," Serene hissed and smiled as she sawed at his scrotum. Being well accustomed with slaughtering various animals intended for the pot she had no problems in accomplishing her fel errand in spite of his screams, squirming, and bucking.
Jon promptly sent out ravens informing the Lords of the North about the Red Dawn at Winterfell, as the Ironborn's attack was quickly becoming infamous in tale and song. Naturally he also informed Robb and Lady Catelyn of both the attack and the grievous losses to the Stark family, weeping as he penned the missive. He also sent the acting Lady Mormont – Alysane - a special message about his plans of action against the reavers at Deepwood Motte. The missive to Bear Island went out by a circuitous route Maester Luwin had recommended - through the Northern Mountains - as otherwise the bird would have to pass above Deepwood Motte itself, thus exposing the bird to interception or being skewered with arrows.
On the next day after the execution of the Ironborn Jon took all the horses he could and set out for Deepwood Motte with threescore men, each with two mounts. Even with spare horses it would take him about a week to get there through the vastness of the Wolfswood. He wished to deal with Asha Greyjoy's army as fast as he could. Jon hoped to pick up some riders from the Masterly Houses of the Wolfswood. In his absence, it was the babe barely quickening in Walda's womb which was to serve as the Stark in Winterfell.
Master Luwin had also briefed him of other developments in the North, including various Ironborn attacks. Jon was certain that Ser Roderik was more than competent, and had enough men to deal with the reavers at Torrhelm's Square.
A few days later in the Riverlands.
When Catelyn returned to Riverun after her failed mission at Storm's End to make an alliance with one of the Baratheons, a grim-faced Brynden presented her with a missive from Winterfell.
"The bastard wrote that WHAT?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"Why them?! Why not him?! My babes! Why didn't he save them?!"
But deep down Lady Catelyn knew that the Bastard was not to blame. Nevertheless she still recoiled from assigning the blame where it belonged. It was only a tiny voice at the back of her mind which whispered, "Oh Robb, you foolish boy! You killed Bran and Rickon by sending Theon to Pyke! I TOLD YOU that it was a bad idea!"
And the Bastard also had advised not letting Theon out their eyesight.
Family.
Duty.
Honour.
The Lady Catelyn knew that she had to do. She had to get her still-remaining children back. She decided there and then that she must trade the Kingslayer for her daughters – and throw in any other prisoners if necessary–consequences be damned. She needed them with her, with her the girls would be safe! She would bide her time and then release the Lannister – after making him swear upon the Seven and his honour as Knight – so he could go to Kings Landing and send her daughters to her!
Family.
Duty.
Honour.
She would even bed him if he wanted. As all men were sex obsessed swine - even her Ned had strayed - that was highly likely. And she was no hag (she subconsciously patted her hair and glanced at a reflective surface) if male gazes lingering on her figure – and after five children too! – were anything to go by. Yes, if necessary she would rut with him, pretend to like it, even cry out his name as she faked being "pushed over the edge" by his "skillful swordplay."
Family.
Duty.
Honour.
Her Duty was to Family.
What's keeping one's Honour good for when all you have to show for it are dead children?
.
AN:
I took the idea of women performing the rites related with the Old Gods from a wonderful fic "The Duel" by Aiur. I recommend it.
archiveofourown DOT works/4937815/chapters/11331502
fanfiction DOT net/s/11543139/1/
GRRM borrowed the idea of Maiden, Mother and Crone from various cultures in our world. As to the cult of the Old Gods using those three stages - could be parallel development, could be Andals borrowing from First Men - or the other way around. And this cultural cross-pollenisation could had happened a few thousand years previously.