Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin, other than my own the original character(s) in this story. This is purely a work of my personal enjoyment so don't expect anything worthy of GRRM. I fully welcome criticism/suggestions/questions. The story will eventually be finished (I hate leaving things unfinished) but I have no real schedule. Please review as I'd love useful thoughts :) feedback goes a long way to encouraging my writing.

Chapter 26: The Merman's Court
"We remain True to our Word!"
– Lord Wyman Manderly

They'd been at sea for near enough two weeks now, though the winds had been with them; they'd passed the Fingers and entered the Bite without hassle – far faster than Jon thought previous possible. The crew seemed to believe the strong winds were sent by the Old Gods to spirit them northward, but he doubted that.

"Sansa?" He stood outside her cabin doors, the only one who'd been able to get his sister to eat her food.

She'd ignored all the others. Arya had yelled and Bran hadn't had any luck, while the crew were strangers to her and Willam didn't seem to care if the girl 'sulked' as he called it. The Prince was acting colder by the day, it seemed, but men like Aedan avoided the topic when he'd the courage to ask about it.

"Willam has frost in his blood," is all the explanation he'd gotten when he asked.

Jon wasn't a fool though; he'd seen the look before on others. It was a look of regrets.

"Sansa," he repeated as he knocked quietly on her door. "I'm coming in…"

There was no protest. It was a marked improvement from weeks prior.

He entered the room to a familiar sight of his sister curled up on the bed with her direwolf, hugging the beast like her life depended on it – she didn't so much as stir to greet his entry; but Jon knew she'd heard him. He placed the plate of food on her bedside table and turned back around then.

"We're home soon Sansa," he told her as he made to leave. "You should get dressed and-"

"Stay," he heard her speak, quietly and faint as a whisper.

"Sansa?" Jon turned back around.

"Please," she muttered into Lady's fur.

At that, he rather nervously sat on the edge of her bed.

"Are-" Jon doubted his choice of words, frowning. "Are you okay?"

There was silence at that, and he could swear Lady's eyes were judging him.

"No," Sansa admitted, the word stuck in her throat.

"I-" Jon had no idea what to say.

"Just stay," she asked hesitantly. "Please…"

This was far out of his element, but what kind of a brother would he be if he refused?

"You must protect your sisters," the words of Eddard Stark rang against his skull and he had his answer. He'd made a promise.

"I'm here," Jon vowed simply.

A wave of silence washed over them.

"I-" Sansa managed to sit up, diverting her eyes. "We're almost home?"

"Almost," Jon answered with his best smile. "We passed the Finger's in the night and we're not far from White Harbor now…"

She held her bedcovers up to cover her chest, Jon noted; diverting his eyes uneasily – even if she was in her nightclothes.

"Prince Willam tells me that we'll arrive in a few hours if the wind stays in our favour…"

That was, apparently, somehow the wrong thing to say. Sansa visibly recoiled; as if she feared the name.

"Are you alright, sister?"

"P- Prince Willam doesn't like me…"

Huh? Jon was stumped, he didn't think Willam disliked anyone truly; except the Lannisters of late.

"That's silly," Jon tried to reassure. "Why wouldn't he like you?"

"I deserve it," she muttered, head hung as she clutched the covers.

"Don't say that," Jon said desperately, moving a tad closer.

"He spent time with everyone but me at Winterfell…"

"That's just him," he told her with a grin. "If it isn't holding a sword, I don't think he knows how to handle people…"

"He's so angry," Sansa muttered, her eyes watering.

The whole crew was angry, Jon wanted to say; but he thought it obvious why. They'd all felt loss of late.

"A lot of people died trying to save father," he mused aloud, frowning in thought. "It weighs on him, I think…"

"It's my fault," his sister muttered so low that he barely heard the whisper.

"What?" he shook his head in denial. "Don't say that San-"

"It is!" She barked, louder than he'd heard her in weeks. "It's all my fault…"

She was crying again, and as usual Jon didn't quite know what to do. They had never been close growing up, not since Lady Catelyn explained to her daughters what a bastard was; though he'd ever blamed Sansa for that. It had hurt him, truthfully, but such things seemed a lifetime away now.

"It's the Lannisters fault Sansa," he tried to comfort her, a hand outstretched.

"NO!" She batted his hand away as more tears wept.

She'd clung to him then, wrapping her arms around him and near squeezing the breath from his lungs; muttering "No, No, No, No..."

If the Lady Catelyn could see her daughter now Jon thought she might die of shock.

"It's my fault Jon," Sansa insisted, her head buried in his shoulder. "I-"

"What are you talking about? It's not your fault; if anything, I should have done more to-"

"I warned her," Sansa muttered, barely a whisper. The words seemed to halt the tears, as if the fear had scared them away.

What did that mean? Jon sat still on the bed, nervously holding his weeping sister; wholly and completely at a loss.

"What do you mean sister…"

"The Queen," she mumbled. "I didn't want to leave…. father was going to send us away and I didn't want… want to…"

She'd warned her? Who did she mean by-

"You told the Queen fathers plan?"

"I didn't know," she looked up at him, her Tully blue eyes red from crying.

"Sansa," Jon managed, his thoughts swimming.

How many were dead because Sansa Stark wanted to be Queen?

Jon wasn't sure how long he'd been quiet.

"You hate me…"

Did he? The answer came easily enough.

"No," he said with a deep frown. "I- I don't hate you…"

She was just a girl, his thoughts told him; just a silly girl with her head in the clouds.

"B- But I told her," she buried her face back into his shoulder. "I told her father wanted to leave…"

"Sansa," Jon opted, steeling his features. "Look at me…"

She did, but only after a moment; she looked up at him with her bloodshot eyes.

"Did you know about the Goldcloaks?"

Sansa shook her head, mumbling "No" once or twice.

"Then it's not your fault," he insisted, burying his doubts. "You hear?"

"I-" She whimpered, drying her eyes with her sleeve. "But I-"

"Shush," he managed a smile for her sake. "We're alive, okay? That's what matters."

"B- But the others," Sansa's eyes threatened to water again. "Father…"

"We'll rescue father, you'll see – Willam says that Robb has already called the banners."

At that, her eyes went wide all of a sudden.

"You mustn't tell the Prince!"

"What?" Jon looked confused, that was a common thing of late.

"You mustn't!" Sansa pleaded. "He'll hate me, I know it! He'll- he'll-"

Jon frowned. "It's okay, nobody can hurt your Sansa…"

She looked at him then, all blue blood-shot eyes, frowning.

"Why have you been so… nice…"

"I- Um…" Jon looked blankly at her. "What?"

"You've been so nice," she said with some edge of steel; though it faltered.

"You're my sister," Jon replied as if it were a simple thing.

She looked at him like he was a complete idiot.

"I don't deserve it," Sansa said, hiding wrapping her hands together in her lap.

And why not? Jon really didn't understand women. Or maybe he was just rather dense…

"I've treated you poorly," she told him then, head hung. "For being… you know…"

"A bastard," Jon said it without any hint of care. One thing he'd learnt from Willam Stark was to not let words cut him so easily.

He was a bastard, aye, a few years back he might've bristled at the word. Not now though.

"It's not important," he told her with a more genuine smile. "We're still family, right?"

She looked at him like he was an idiot again, but a grin cracked the surface for but a moment.

"Yes," she decided after only a brief pause. "Family…"

House Tully's words echoed in her thoughts then.

Family, Duty, Honor. In her head the voice was her father's.

Lady moved closer then, resting her head peacefully on Sansa's lap.

"Father had a message for me," Jon decided to tell her, unsure what else to say to break the awkward silence.

"A message?" Sansa asked, finding some comfort in stroking Lady's fur gently.

Jon gave a nod. "Prince Willam told me after we left Dragonstone. I think my mother is at Greywater Watch…"

"Your mother," Sansa seemed to test the words for a second. She could practically feel her own mother scowling but ignored it. "That's good, isn't it?"

"Aye," Jon hummed, as conflicted as he was nervous over the thought. "It's good…"

In truth, he wasn't sure what to think – according to the Prince they had been among his father's parting words, to seek out Greywater if he wished to learn about his mother. It was no secret that Lord Reed was a close personal friend of his fathers… so maybe the man knew his mother? Maybe she was living there?

"Do you think your mother is a Reed?" Sansa asked quietly, curious.

"I don't know," Jon said honestly. He really didn't know what to expect from the future anymore.

They'd doubtlessly pass by Greywater when Robb marched south. He'd find his answers then, Jon silently vowed.

"Jon?" Sansa asked him then, stroking her direwolves fur softly.

"Aye sister?"

"Thank you," she said simply

It was more like the polite noble lady that he'd come to expected; at least to others.

"Thank me by eating more," he got up from the bed. "You're looking a little skinny Sansa…"

Sansa looked scandalized for a moment but giggled somewhat. "I promise," she told him with a kind smile.

He left her with that, content that she'd reached for the plate and taken a bite as he closed her cabin door shut.

Outside the quarters Ghost was waiting patiently as stone on the crew's desk, an assortment of bunks and storage that Jon and his white shadow quickly left behind as he ascended to the Wanderer's top deck. The sun was raising high in a cloudless sky and the northernly winds were beginning to blow through the air.

"High," Syrio Forel called out, slashing at Arya's head. The stick swords clacked as Jon halted to watch Arya parry the strike.

Arya handled her anxiety andgreif over their father far different than Sansa, it seemed – though that was no surprise to anyone that knew her.

"Left," Syrio shouted, and his blade came whistling. Arya's darted to meet it. The clack made Jon click his teeth together.

"Right," he said, and "Low," and "Left," and "Left" again, faster and faster, moving forward. Arya retreated before him, checking each blow.

"Lunge," he warned, and when he thrusted, she sidestepped, swept his blade away, and slashed at his shoulder. She almost touched him, almost, so close it made Jon smile to watch. A strand of hair dangled in his sister's eyes, limp with sweat. She pushed it away with the back of her hand.

"Left," Syrio sang out. "Low." His sword was a blur, and the air rang to the clack clack clack. "Left. Left. High. Left. Right. Left. Low. Left!"

The wooden blade caught her high in the breast, a sudden stinging blow that hurt all the more because it came from the wrong side. "Ow," she cried out. She would have a fresh bruise there by the time she went to sleep again. "A bruise is a lesson," she told herself. "Each lesson makes us better…"

Syrio stepped back. "You are dead now."

Arya made a face. "You cheated," she said hotly. "You said left and you went right."

"Just so. And now you are a dead girl."

"But you lied!"

"My words lied. My eyes and my arm shouted out the truth, but you were not seeing."

"I was so," Arya said. "I watched you every second!"

"Watching is not seeing, dead girl."

Jon chuckled from the side as Arya pouted.

"Jon!" She saw him and rushed over. "I almost had him, did you see!?"

"Oh yes," Jon was all smiles now.

"Still a dead girl," Syrio Forel said.

Arya frowned at him, getting back into her pose despite her sweating brow. "Again!"

Jon left them to their lessons, finding his mood lifted somewhat – the distant worries of Sansa a touch faded.

He found the Prince on the upper deck at the bow of the ship, passing by several Greycloaks as he walked up the short steps; though they paid him no mind and let him pass with mutterings of "Lord Snow" from one of them. It wasn't a title he minded, though years before knowing Willam it may well have ruffled his feathers.

"Lord Snow," Prince Suko noticed him first, leaning casually against the ships railing taking a bite out of some fruit.

"Jon," Willam turned to him then, a blank look on his face; though he seemed somewhat less broody this morning.

The pair of Princes were at the bow of the ship, chatting on the railing as the crew went about its business in preparation for their arrival at White Harbor. Notably, beside Prince Willam was the fat red priest in his usually wine-soaked robes, oddly sober from what little he'd expected of the strange priest.

Jon could see the northern shoreline in the distance to the north of them. He felt safer already, so far from the Lannisters.

"Not throwing up your guts this time eh Snow," Prince Suko remarked with a grin.

"Who told you about-"

"Guilty," Willam admitted, one hand lazily raised.

Jon scowled at him then as Ghost silently bared his fangs.

Wraith was at the Prince's feet, uncaringly glancing at Ghost's half-hearted warning.

"Suko was pestering me," Willam explained with a weary sigh. "I had to give the fool some other target for his whimsy…"

"Target?" Suko feigned shock, a hand on his heart. "Perish the thought Stark, you make me seem so very evil!"

"We should've left you on Dragonstone, might've cheered Stannis up somewhat with your musing my friend."

"Mercy," Suko visibly shuddered at the prospect. "That man makes you look like an amateur brooder…"

Jon could agree there, the 'Rightful King' of Westeros didn't seem a joyful man, though one supposed there was little to be joyful about.

"Stannis is stone," Ser Thoros muttered, his crimson robes bellowing gentry in the breeze. "Ain't no making that one smile, friends."

"You could've stayed behind too priest," Willam's eyes darted to the man. "Lord Beric would've taken you, doubtless."

"And rid you of my company!?"

"I for one think the mage makes a fine addition to our company, Stark!"

Willam glared something fierce at Prince Suko for that remark, silently judging…

"Are we far now?" Jon opted to ask, splitting up the staring match between Princes.

"A few hours away," Willam said simply, turning his eyes back to the shore.

"If the winds hold up," Suko added; leaning back on his railing without a care.

Gods willing they'd be off the ship quickly enough. The sea sickness hadn't struck him so hard as before, but Jon still detested the sea.

He wasn't entirely sure why the red priest had joined them honestly, but the man seemed to cling to Prince Willam like he expected him to vanish at any moment.

"Robb should be at the Moat by now," Jon mused aloud, absently stroking at Ghost's fur to his side.

"Your brother called the banners some time ago aye," Willam supposed, his back to Jon and the others as he kept his gaze out on the open ocean. "He'll be at the Moat by now; or he'll have passed it. He's had enough time. We'll find out more from Lord Manderly no doubt…"

"What about the whelps?" Suko asked, vaguely motioning towards the deck.

"They'll go to Winterfell as planned," Willam answered easily. "War is no place for children."

That seemed wise enough. Bran and Arya would protest, doubtless; but they were still too young.

"I could take the boy as my squire," Thoros suggested suddenly.

"No," Willam shot the idea down within a second. "We didn't save them to risk their lives on a battlefield…"

"I'm coming with you," Jon declared rather bravely, grabbing the attention of them all. "I won't be sent back to-"

"Are you a child, Jon Snow?"

He blinked, frowning at the question.

"I never said you'd be joining the children, lad – you're a son of Winter. You'll fight with the rest of us."

"I was hunting Shrykes when I was twelve, so lions are nothing Snow!"

Willam sighed as Suko said that tall tale, all bluster and smiles.

"They breathe fire you know," Edwyn Fisher's voice came up from the deck.

"Cousin," Willam scoffed at the man. "By the gods, don't encourage the man."

"I've seen them spit poison," Suko was grinning, noting Jon Snow's visible confusion.

What in the seven hells was a Shryke? He'd never heard of such a thing…

"Imagine a man," Willam seemed to explain without being asked. "Only with scales and a maw full of razor-sharp teeth…"

The image wasn't exactly a pretty one to have floating in your head.

"And," Jon paused, an eyebrow raised in doubt. "They breathe fire and poison?"

Suko was barely trying to stifle his amusement, failing spectacularly in the half-effort.

"No," Willam insisted with a roll of his eyes. "Their bites can oft paralyze, but no fire or spitting acid…"

Jon simply gave a nod at that, mulling over the information of lizard-men with scales and bites that numbed a man's muscles.

"How'd the fair maiden doing," Suko asked then, still smirking at his own wit and whimsy.

"Sansa is fine," he knew without asking who the man was referring to exactly. "She's eating now…"

"Good," Willam said with a hum. "That's good at least. The girl should perk up now we're back in the North…"

Jon thought of telling them what she'd told him about Cersei… but he'd promised her; and it wouldn't help anyone to air the past…

The Wanderer stole into White Harbor on the midday tide, her sails rippling with every gust of wind.

White Harbor's walls of whitewashed stone rose before them, on the eastern shore where the White Knife plunged into the firth. Some of the city's defences had been strengthened since the last time Willam had been here. He stood on the bow of the ship, noting the heavily occupied Seal Rock. It was a massive stone dominating the approaches to the Outer Harbor, crowned with a ringfort of weathered stones of the First Men that stood abandoned when they'd left the harbor before.

However, the Manderlys had clearly fortified it with crossbowmen, scorpions, and spitfires in their absence. The mermen hadn't wasted time.

The stone loomed fifty feet above the waters, grey-green in colour. Seals of various sizes rested on its rocks unfazed by the crashing waves.

A man could smell those rocks from miles away, the stench of salt and seawater; dominating the approach to the outer harbor.

The harbor itself was divided into the inner and outer harbors. The outer harbor was larger, but the inner harbor offered better anchorage and shelter by the city wall on one side and the looming mass of the Wolf's Den on another. A mile-long, thirty-foot wall, with towers every hundred yards, located on the jetty that separated the two harbors. "The Wolf's Den," Aedan Greystark spoke aloud, stood at his Prince's side, looking out at the ancient fortress that once served as his family's home.

It now serving as a prison, located by the water and adjoined the city walls. Houses clung to it like barnacles on the walls; one a brewhouse which Willam knew from his previous stay was well-regarded for its black beer. There was a godswood within the prison's walls too, one that he'd visited on numerous occasions before.

The city itself was clean and well-ordered, with wide straight cobbled streets that made it easy to walk around. The houses were built of whitewashed stone, with steeply pitched roofs of dark grey slate. A fish market sat between the outer harbor and the Seal Gate. Seafood available at White Harbor included whitefish, winkles, crabs, mussels, clams, herring, cod, salmon, lobster, and lampreys. Willam wasn't a great fan of seafood though; all but sick of it – he'd take a leg of lamb any day.

Behind the city's thick white walls, the New Castle rose proud and pale upon its hill. You could see the domed roof of the Sept of the Snows from here as well, surmounted by tall statues of the Seven. The Manderlys had brought the Faith north with them when they were driven from the Reach. For the most part the septons ruled here.

The merman of House Manderly was everywhere in evidence, flying from the towers of the New Castle, above the Seal Gate, and along the city walls.

Notably, the Direwolf of House Stark flew proudly atop the highest tower of New Castle – a testament to the cities allegiance that put the Wanderer's crew at ease.

The dockside wharves were swarming. A clutter of small boats were tied up along the fish market, off-loading their catches. Willam saw three river runners too, long lean boats built tough to brave the swift currents and rocky shoots of the White Knife. It was the seagoing vessels that interested him most, however; a pair of carracks as drab and tattered as the Merry Midwife, the trading galley Storm Dancer, the cogs Brave Magister and Horn of Plenty, a galleas from Braavos was docked too.

Rowana rushed over to her Prince then, dressed in her leathers and chainmail.

"An armed guard is heading this way," she declared as her eagle circled around the ships sails above.

"As expected," Willam muttered largely to himself. "What else?"

"There are more ships hidden up the northern river."

"The White Knife," he said aloud, naming the river. Arthur had been building the Manderly's newest vessel there.

"They are preparing for conflict, but with who I could not say," Rowana seemed conflicted.

"War is coming," Edwyn said to the side.

"It's fast work," Aedan added with a hum of agreement.

The gangplank was lowered onto the pier as a collection of Greycloaks readily themselves, fully dressed in plated steel with shield and sword at the ready; with a few loaded crossbows for good measure. "Eyes open," Prince Willam muttered as they descended the plank. "Assume nothing…"

And, as predicted, the armed guard had arrived; the man leading was dressed in fine silver-coloured armoured plate with engravings like flowing seaweed.

"Ser Marlon," Willam remembered the man, a cousin to Lord Manderly.

"Prince Willam," he was sliming, that was uncharacteristic of the man. "Welcome back to White Harbor, we've been expecting you."

Robb Stark had no doubt sent word to them ahead of time, since word had been sent to Winterfell of their escape from the capital and arrival on Dragonstone.

"Lord Snow," the man gave a polite nod to Jon then as he walked up beside the prince with his white wolf on heel.

"Ser," Jon said politely back, absently placing a hand on Ghost's fur.

The others walked down the plank behind them, one by one, Ser Malon greeted them each gladly.

"If you'll follow me Prince Willam," Ser Marlon bid them follow, turning on his heels with the flowing of his sea-blue cloak.

There was no subtlety to be had as they walked through White Harbors streets. Marlon had one of his men holding a Stark banner alongside the Merman of his cousins house as they walked, banners high around them; winter had come to White Harbor and soon enough it seemed every soul would know it.

Ghost broke Jon from his thoughts, licking the palm of his hand and seeming to nudge him forward. The direwolves followed their party like so many loyal shadows, even as Nymeria rushed ahead of them and scared some street urchins; Wraith and Sumemr were dutifully by their masters while Lady seemed skittish beside Sansa.

"Come on Jon," Arya voiced, impatient and eager as always. "You think Robb is here?"

"No," Jon shook his head. "He'll be at the Moat by now little sister…"

With his sister's hand in his own, the pair walked through the city with an escort of knights fit for royalty. Jon was too cautious and bewildered to notice that it seemed to be them being guarded, as they stood in the centre of shields and wolves walking towards the Manderly keep through crowds of onlookers that whispered "Stark" and "Snow" among other things. They kept their voices hushed, uneasy, a feeling Jon could share with them well enough.

Arya? She was oblivious to the situation, walking with purpose now ahead of her brother with Nymeria at her side.

"Lady Stark!" One man in the crowd yelled, causing Sansa to smile nervously as they waved at them.

The crowd ceased holding back the second Sansa waved back.

"Winterfell!" Another cried then.

"The North!

"Stark!"

That took hold, as the crowd chanted over and over again.

"Stark," They cheered with wide smiles. "Stark! Stark!"

Jon was taken back by how joyous they seemed. This wasn't a dangerous mob so much as a crowd of support for their cause, the citizens of White Harbor seemed to leap at the opportunity to show their support for Ned Stark's children. These men and women were loyal folk, to their very core…

"We're all glad to see Ned's cubs safe," Ser Malon said from the front, nodding to the Prince then with clear admiration.

"Would that I'd brought Ned back," Willam replied, but held to the plastered smile on his features for the crowd of onlookers.

"You're only one man," the old knight all but scoffed at that. "The North Remembers. Lord Ned will be freed soon enough, one way or another."

Jon's thoughts flashed to Robb and his father then, draining what little joy he'd found in the moment. He longed to find the nearest horse and ride to Robb's side.

The bells still rang true as they entered under the portcullis and into the main courtyard with a fountain at its centre. A stone merman rose from its waters, twenty feet tall from tail to crown. His curly beard was green and white with lichen, and one of the prongs of his trident had broken off, yet somehow it still managed to impress.

Into the New Castle, past guards with merman badges on plated steel wielding silver tridents, they were led to the Merman's Court.

Its walls and floor and ceiling were made of wooden planks notched cunningly together and decorated with all the creatures of the sea. As they approached the dais, Prince Willam trod on painted crabs and clams and starfish, half-hidden amongst twisting black fronds of seaweed and the bones of drowned sailors. On the walls to either side, pale sharks prowled painted blue-green depths, whilst eels and octopods slithered amongst rocks and sunken ships. Shoals of herring and great codfish swam between the tall arched windows. Higher up, near where the old fishing nets drooped down from the rafters, the surface of the sea had been depicted. To his right a war galley stroked serene against the rising sun; to his left, a battered old cog raced before a storm, her sails in rags.

Behind the dais a kraken and grey leviathan were locked in battle beneath the painted waves.

Along the walls, the women of the crowed court outnumbered the men by five to one; what few males he did see had long grey beards or looked too young to shave. There were septons as well, and holy sisters in white robes and grey. Lord Manderly himself was atop his cushioned throne was wide enough to accommodate three men of common girth, yet Manderly threatened to overflow it. His lordship sagged into his seat, his hands resting on the arms of his throne.

"Prince Willam!"

Manderly's voice was booming, full of joy.

"My Lord," Willam bowed modestly, but not low enough that the princely circlet atop his hair would fall away.

"Lord Manderly," Jon Snow bowed too when the fat lord's eyes wandered upon him for a moment.

"Jon Snow," he said, all smiles from his chair. "Welcome, all of you! When word reached us of Ned's predicament, we all feared the worse…"

"Would that we'd done more, my lord," Willam frowned then.

Lord Manderly seemed to take offence. "Nonsense my boy! Nonsense, you did far more than most; saving Ned's cubs!"

"We supported Lord Stark to our utmost," Aedan added from his Prince's side. "We were outnumbered however; it was not enough…"

"Baelish and his damn Goldcloaks," Edwyn spat at the marbled floor with a scowl.

"The fallen will be avenged my friends," Lord Manderly shifted in his seat. "And we'll see Ned recused from the lion's clutches!"

"Robb Stark has called the banners to free his father," Ser Marlon added for his cousin. "As we speak, the knights of White Harbor should be at the Moat; alongside his lordships sons – with the rest of the North." As expected, Robb was ahead of them already and would perhaps march south before they'd join with the boy.

"If I had thought to see war again in my lifetime, I would have eaten a few less eels," Lord Manderly decreed with the laughers of his court.

"I'm certain you'd make all the difference my lord," Willam added with a kind smile.

"My sons will bring our house glory, have no fear Prince!"

The hall erupted into cheers at that for the lord's heroic sons.

"Ser Wylis!" and "Ser Wendel!" rang out heartily.

"And what of the other houses?" Qrow Ryder asked from the bank, raising his voice some.

"Lord Robb has been at the Moat for some time," Manderly answered from his throne. "He has some, how many was it cousin?"

"Twenty thousand," Ser Marlon answered simply. "Roughly, my lord…"

"The Lannister's have more," Willam countered with a thought. "Surely the North can call more?"

"Naturally, lad," Lord Manderly agreed, nodding eagerly. "The North is vast though and it would take time to call on more."

The North could in truth rally some forty thousand at full strength, if it emptied the whole damn country of fighting men in the hight of a long summer; but Robb hadn't had so long to call on the true strength of the North. Twenty thousand was still a sizeable number… and they wouldn't be alone…

"House Tully has called its banners too," Manderly continued. "Lady Catelyn's kin shall stand with us, no doubt; and the Vale of Arryn too!"

"What of the Lannisters, my lord?" Aedan asked then, curious; his hand gently resting on his swords pommel.

"Tywin Lannister has called his ilk," Manderly said with a deep frowned. "Two hosts, it's said – one under him and another under Ser Kevan."

"Lord Robb should march within a fortnight to join with his uncle in the Riverlands," Ser Malon wagered.

"Robb can win," Arya said from Jon's side, looking up at him with bright eyes. "Right?"

He could only smile down at her before the Lord of White Harbor replied for him.

"Have no fear Lady Stark," he declared heartily. "The North will teach those lions a damn fine lesson!"

"What is to be done with Lord Stark's children?"

Willam didn't know this man, dressed in white on purple with wool on his chest.

"I'd request an escort for Lord Bran and his sisters, to see them safely to Winterfell."

"We'd be honoured to-"

"What!?" Arya barked.

"No!" Bran joined her in protest.

"War is no place for children," Willam scolded them with hard eyes. "You'll return to Winterfell."

"No fair!" Arya pouted.

"I can fight," Bran insisted, frowning.

"I did not spirit you from the capital to see you fall on some southern field," Willam scowled at them both then.

"Arya," Jon butted in, kneeling to her height. "Your mother must be worried sick, and Rickon will need his siblings-"

"-but it's not fair! I can fight, I've been learning – and mother will try to stop me!"

"I can squire for a knight!" Bran jumped in with his own protests. "I can fight too!"

God, Willam thought with a sigh, save him from wilful children.

"Lord Manderly," Willam turned to the man. "Perhaps you could find a knight for young Bran?"

The lord's eyes lit up like a damn fire at that suggestion.

"I would be honoured, but such a decision would be-"

"I intend to ride to Robb soon enough," Willam cut the man off with a wave of his hand. "I'll settle the matter; if that is acceptable?"

In truth, Manderly thought to mention how the boy's mother might be furious with the decision but dismissed the doubt – for by the seven did he desire a Stark ward… who could just so happen to be close to his granddaughters… as hungry for a marriage with Winterfell as every other lord was.

Willam only thought it a fine way to ensure the cities lasting loyalty, even if it wasn't strictly within his power to decide.

"It is," Lord Manderly opted to say, smiling widely. "If the lad wishes it – and Robb Stark agrees…"

"But-" Bran frowned. "I want to help Robb…"

Jon smiled then, looking to his little brother. "I know you do Bran, but you can help him once you're a knight, no?"

Bran seemed to think over that, humming in mild agreement.

"Excellent," Lord Manderly said happily. "Simply excellent!"

"Good service deserves to be acknowledged," Willam declared, locking eyes with the fat yet cunning lord.

"You honor us Prince Willam," the man was visibly happy. "We remain True to our Word!"

"True to our Word!" The knights of White Harbour declared proudly, the words of House Manderly on their tongues.

No doubt, these mermen were a loyal bunch. Willam glanced to Arya then, who was still pouting.

"I want to fight…"

"Syrio will go with you to Winterfell," Jon told her.

"Mother will hate him," she frowned deeply. "She'll send him away…"

"Father hired him, so she can't send him away," Jon decided to say; doubting if it was entirely true.

"Given what's happened," Willam butted in then, shooting a not un-kind glance at the pouting girl. "I think even your mother could see the benefits of her daughters learning to defend themselves, no? And even Sansa has a dagger on her person…"

Sansa Stark went wide-eyed, blushing at the attention all of a sudden.

"I-" She gulped, the pretty silver-engraved dagger on her hip had been a gift from Lady Ashlyn. Sansa had been reluctant, but it did make her feel safer…

"Whoever said that women can't wield a damn blade?" Willam scoffed at the notion, earning a glare or two from some of Manderly's more pious courtiers. "This is the North, and if the south has proven anything, it should show us all this truth. No son or daughter of Winter should be unable to defend themselves.

There was a silence at that for a moment, as many followers of the New Gods shot disapproving glances.

"The world is vicious. If that surprises, well…"

Lord Manderly clapped a few times suddenly with his fat sausage fingers.

"Well said," he declared, silencing some of the disapproving looks from his court.

Ashlyn Amber was all smiles at this point, stifling laugher at all the scandalized women in the court.

"If that's all my lord," Willam said then, impatiently. "I'd leave to join Robb Stark. There is a war to fight…"

Lord Manderly managed to lift himself up from his cushioned throne then.

"Aye," he declared, raising up a cup of wine. "Gods be with you and ours, Prince Willam!"

The hall cheered as Willam turned on his heels and left with his lords, friends and guardsmen; leaving behind Ned's children in the care of Lord Manderly and his kin – taking only Jon Snow with him to fight the war ahead. Robb Stark was at Moat Cailin and he'd be damned if the boy marched south without them.

My Note(s): The War of the Five Kings (as we know it at least) is kicking off notably differently than it does in canon. House Tully has called its banners in retaliation to House Lannister doing the same since Tyrion wasn't taken captive, the West hasn't rallied its banners early or sent Clegane to pillage the countryside so the Riverlands is untouched at present – where in canon it was raided. Edmure sent a lot of men to deal with that; spreading his forces thin before his defeat at Golden Tooth.

This means the Riverlands aren't under the pressure of canon, at least not this early; plus remember that Jaime is in King's Landing and not in the West. A relatively short chapter (at least compared to my normal 10kish word goal) just to highlight Willam's dropping the kids off with Lord Manderly :P

So little reviews of late, that's mildly disappointing; but as always I encourage comments - as they do push me to keep writing.

Andreastom: Nice catch on that, I do occasionally put songs into my fics that I happen to be listening to at the time :)