Okay guys, so I'm not writing any chapters in Essos until I get some more characters over there. I've just travelled across the country, so I did this on the train. So, I need Essos characters and Bolton bannermen.
Again, repeat, if you want me to show Essos, you need to send in some characters. I've got a great idea for the storyline there as well…
Margareth Stark – Winterfell
Evie looked beautiful. Maybe not by the standards of the Southnors, who prized delicacy and a coy little smile, wrapped immodestly in silk. But she was beautiful in the Northern way. Not just in her flint-grey eyes and pale skin, but in her spirit. While the Southnor women would sit idle and let their men fight, Evie had taken to reading tomes and volumes on healing and medicines. She was strong, just like her brother. Just like her father.
I may not have been born a Stark, but you wouldn't have been able to tell. My eyes were dark, my face long and my hair that russet brown that Starks were known for. All of the children bore these features. At least, all of my children did. The Stark children.
The bastard Finn had always looked more like a Stark. With his long, pale face, dark leathery brown hair and darker eyes. A cocksure rowdy. It seemed only Ben's true-born sons grew out of this. Markas now heeded my advice, and knew I held his interests at heart. Tylan, on the other hand, was still young. He would soon mature. At least, he would if we emerged from this dreadful war.
I finished with Evie's hair, trying to pretend I couldn't hear her sobbing quietly. It was even harder to pretend there weren't tears in my eyes. "You're going to be the Lady of the Stormlands," I tried to keep my voice chipper, "and you'll be married to Ryleigh Baratheon, and you'll have a large wedding, where all will look upon you…"
"Will Finn be allowed to come?" Evie croaked. I paused, still holding the loose strands of her hair. It was understandable – she had been brought up with him, but she was too young to understand. Finn was a bastard.
"No, my love," I continued to plait her hair, "he will not."
"But why not? If I am the Lady of the Stormlands…"
"He was exiled by your father."
"But father's…" Evie stopped, picking at her nails, "Markas is Lord of Winterfell now."
"No-one knows where he is." I explained.
"I was talking to Markas! Finn-"
"Finn Snow was a brash boy. He was hot-tempered and… boisterous. And you'd do well not to think too much about him. He's on the other side of the world now." That is, if he wasn't dead already. I knew it was wrong to think such things, but there was little he had ever done that hadn't hurt or hindered our family's name.
"Mother?" Evie asked after a moment.
"Yes, my love?"
"Why was he like that? I mean… boisterous."
"Bastards are born of lust and envy," I explained, "conceived in sin. Blood will tell. He's the bastard son of a traitor," I explained. "It would be as if inviting a Bolton to the wedding."
"But… how can he be a Bolton if he can't be a Stark?" I placed the brush on the table and held her hands, looking her in the eye.
"You're too smart for your own good sometimes." Evie gave me a small smile before I kissed her on the head. I suppose that, aside from all the trouble he'd started, Finn was a reminder. A constant reminder that my sweet, honourable Ben had loved another woman. Yes, most men had bastards, and frequented whores, but that wasn't Ben's way. The only one he had known had been Maryana Bolton. It was her that Finn inherited his pale skin and bloodthirsty nature. I didn't want to, but I often found myself overhearing the scullery maids talking about how often Ben and Maryana saw each other. No-one had ever known about the two of them, until Ben returned back to Winterfell with Maryana Bolton, and a baby boy.
Perhaps I could have overlooked Finn. Perhaps I could have overlooked a dozen more of him. But Bennard was a Stark, and lived by a Stark's code of honour. He would not let the boy be raised in Crofter's, or in any keep other than Winterfell. No matter how much I reasoned, argued or pleaded with him, he always kept his first-born close.
Evie and I walked out into the courtyard of Winterfell, where the rest of our family had gathered. Markas stood there, brows screwed together in pain. I knew this decision weighed heavily on him. My darling boy. As I came closer, I recognized the cloak draped over his shoulders – it was Ben's old cloak. The dark grey fur nestled against his jaw as he stepped forwards to Evie.
"Evie…" He clenched his jaw, trying to find the words to say. But, Evie just flung her arms around his neck tightly. Markas wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up high so that her feet dangled off the ground. Their cloaks wrapped around each other, and for a moment, they were one and the same. A Direwolf. A Stark.
"I'll do what's required of me." Evie promised as Markas gently lowered her back down to the ground.
"I know you will." He told her, placing one gloved hand behind her head, "no matter what happens, you're a Stark of Winterfell. This will always be your home."
Evie tried to smile, but I saw the tears flee from her eyes. I remembered being the same when I left my family. But, I stayed in the North, marrying the Lord of the House we served. More to the point, I was in my third decade by the time I married. Evie was a full ten years younger than I had been, and was being sent off to the other side of Westeros. A Kingdom she didn't know, with people she didn't know.
Evie moved towards Tylan, who stared determinedly at the ground, little fists clenched in anger. Gods, bless him – he was too young to understand. This was what every woman was destined for.
"Tylan?" Evie asked, clasping her hands. Tylan turned away from her, shoulders heaving gently as he tried not to sob. "Tylan, I promise I'll come back soon." Still, he didn't respond, looking at the dirt. "Can I have a hug?" She asked. Tylan still refused to move, until Evie turned to walk to her horse. Tylan grabbed her arm, and walked along with her. I smiled at the sight, though it wasn't a happy smile. Tylan was becoming a proper Lord now – escorting his Lady sister away.
I walked next to Markas, watching Evie mount her horse, next to a garrison of twenty soldiers. "She'll be safer there." I informed him.
"Aye." Markas nodded.
"The Boltons can't touch her there."
"I know." Markas sighed, and began to pull on his gloves. "I'll be in the Hall with the Lords."
Markas Stark – Winterfell
"What about the Targaryens?" Lord Reed pondered aloud. "Rhaegon and Vysella have always treasured the North. Every year, they put forth five thousand men to the Night's Watch-"
"Rhaegon is an old and dying man!" Cedric 'Redbeard' Glover responded. "And Vysella was fond of Ben Stark, not the North."
"Regardless, marrying a Targaryen would cement our hold on the North for a thousand-"
"The wolf does not need the dragon to fell a flayed man." Everyone turned to see which Lord had spoken – Ichabod Cerwyn. A tall, intimidating man; all muscle and withering glares. His nose was long, though the eye was drawn to the large scar that ran across the length of his face from hairline to jawline. His auburn hair fell past his shoulders in tangled knots. "But I'm not sure I see any wolves here."
"Lord Cerwyn," I greeted him, "we didn't know whether you would come."
"I didn't either…" Ichabod drifted his eyes over the rest of the men, "it's not often I ride in the wrong direction. I'd sooner turn my horse towards the Dreadfort."
"We're not to march yet, Lord Cerwyn." I picked up the wooden wolves, moving them on the map. "If we assemble all of our forces, we can march East, and besiege the keep on all sides."
"A siege?" Redbeard growled, standing up. "A fucking siege? I thought we were riding into battle!"
"If we besiege the castle, Lord Bolton's men will turn against him." I reasoned. "It won't take long. Mother always said that the Boltons would never assume anyone would besiege the Dreadfort. They won't have the supplies."
"Did your mother also tell you about how the Dreadfort got its name?" Lord Cerwyn moved forwards. "Do you know about the cloaks that the Red Kings would fashion for themselves?" Cerwyn turned around to face the other Lords, "The Boltons earned their sigil. Northerners are not meant to sit idle and watch men starve. It's how the Southnors wage war, but not us." The men murmured in agreement. I tried to swallow my anxiety, watching them all rally behind Cerwyn. I took a drink to try and hide this, as well as steady my nerves. "We should storm the Dreadfort. Rip them all out root and stem!"
"If the Boltons were in power, they'd surely do the same to us. Terror only inspires terror," I repeated my father's words, "and it is my duty as a Stark to be better than our enemies. It's no secret that my father took Maryana Bolton here…" The men started to hiss, "and if it were the Boltons who had taken my sister, I would act just as they do."
"We can debate about what we would do," Lord Cerwyn walked back to his seat, "but the Boltons are our enemies. Would you have us make peace with them?" The men immediately broke out in yells and arguments:
"I won't break bread with any Bolton cunt!"
"Fuck the Boltons!"
"Oathbreakers!"
"Traitors!"
"My Lords!" I tried to call them to reason. "My Lords, please!" It was no use – they were all screaming for Lord Bolton's head, as well as his family's. But then, the doors opened, and all the shouting and bluster subsided. In walked my mother, clasping her hands and traversing down the length of the hall, with each man bowing their head to her. Her face remained stone and unmoving. The Lady of Stone.
"My son is Lord of Winterfell." My mother spoke, "Where are you, Lord Cerwyn?"
Cerwyn looked around, as if someone would tell him why he was being asked this question, "Winterfell."
"My son's word is law here. You swore a sacred vow to protect your liege lord, did you not?"
"I did." Cerwyn shifted uncomfortably.
"You hold no great love for my family, Lord Cerwyn." Mother spoke. "I hold very little for you. You're a bloodthirsty beast, and loathed my husband." She looked around at the men, who had fallen totally silent. "It may be Spring, but winter is coming. This is the only certainty. And when Winter comes, we cannot be at war with the Boltons. We do not all need to love each other," my mother made her way to the seat next to me, "but we need to work together. If only to keep each other alive." The men grumbled in agreement. The Redbeard, Glover, stood up and looked between mother and I with a smirk.
"What a leader you are, Lord Stark." He rolled his eyes as he pulled into a deep, melodramatic bow. A couple of the men snickered. My fist clenched, and I got the urge to hang the man immediately. Or behead him. Whichever was quicker. But my Lord Father taught me that being Lord was like having children.
"Thank you, Lord Glover." I said through gritted teeth.
So, send in those Essosi (Essosini? Essosoni?) as soon as you can. Because, as soon as I get more characters, we're going across the Narrow Sea, to Essos.
