Author's note: Yes, it's back after several years, I can't promise a regular upload schedule, but I will endeavour to keep it going as it's not too far from where I picture it ending. I hope you continue to enjoy!
Chapter 33
Cristoff and Davrollo arrived at the seat of House Umber just as a cold wind was setting in. Even in their furs, they were still chilled by the frigid air. Last Hearth had such an inviting name, thought Cristoff throughout their two-day journey on horseback. Davrollo was uncharacteristically silent the entire time, his usual cavalier attitude replaced by a fierce focus. When Cristoff asked him about this, the man replied, "Cristoff, I know you have not spent time with the Faceless Men, but you should never expect us to be anything but servants of Him of Many Faces. We can fill many roles, like mummers in a play, but this is not the time for me to play the role of the jovial Dothraki warrior." and that was all he said on the matter.
The gate into Last Hearth was situated at the bottom of a gently sloping hill, with high walls topped with parapets and guardsmen, though fewer than Cristoff had expected. The guardsmen at the gate were some of the largest Cristoff had ever seen, a good hand taller than even Davrollo at least. Their imposing bulk was mirrored in the figure on the shields they carried; a massive giant roaring, broken chain bonds hanging loose off the wrists, on a field of vibrant red. The guards gave them both a sideways glance, but did not halt their progress. The two men wandered through, Davrollo leading away to the right around the hill.
At its peak, Cristoff could see a series of wide steps, flanked by statues of wolves, giants, and more, all leading up to a massive longhouse standing atop the peak. The dark wood used to build it looking imposing and ancient.
"Davrollo, tell me more about the candidate you have found here. You mentioned they were a warrior."
The big man smiled once again,
"Indeed, I suspect he would make a good addition to our little group. I do not know his name, but his fellows call him the Mongoose. He fights well enough, but his character spoke higher. When I came across him, he was defending the honour of his sister, who had spoken against Lord Bolton."
"Is Lord Bolton that important here?"
"He is seen to be the new Warden of the North but there are many with whom that news does not sit well. House Umber has agreed to back him, but it seems they do so begrudgingly. We can take advantage of that, those unhappy here can help us do good elsewhere, away from the petty squabbles of lords and kings, where the one true fight is."
Cristoff gave a mirthless chuckle, "You sound like Orwen."
Davrollo gave a belly laugh, causing strangers to give them strange looks,
"The old man may preach like a septon, but he's not wrong young Cristoff. You would do well to heed his words and lessons."
"I do."
"Good, come, let's get something warm in our bellies, rations are all well and good at keeping a man alive, but it's no fare for a warrior. Besides, there are other needs a man needs filled."
He led them to what appeared to be a large two-story building sitting at the edge of the outer wall, a sign hung over the door reading 'The Slattern Slut.' Cristoff was unsure what the word meant, but upon entering, he made what he assumed to be a fairly accurate guess.
"Cristoff, get us a room for the night, I'll get us some food." And with that, Davrollo had disappeared among the other patrons, many of whom had a woman laughing sitting next to, or on them. Cristoff shook his head and went to the owner's counter and enquired after the price of a room. The man behind the counter gave him a strange look,
"Yeah, you want a girl or two as well? It gets mighty cold up in the north, and I can tell you ain't from here. You could use someone to warm your bed by the look of you."
Cristoff bristled, thinking of Laenah
"No, thank you. Just a room for two men to sleep in for the night. Nothing more."
The man smirked, and laughed, a short grating noise that annoyed Cristoff more than he could explain
"Right right, only pulling your leg lad. Most of my regulars have gone off with the Greatjon, so I got rooms to spare."
Sensing an opportunity, Cristoff probed deeper,
"As you say ser, I'm not from around here, what exactly is going on with Lord Umber and Lord Bolton?"
"The king naturalised Bolton's bastard Ramsay, a damn mistake that if you ask me. The man's a monster who skins people alive." He turned his head and spat to the floor, surprising Cristoff to hear this man speak of the Boltons so openly without fear
"Do others share your views?"
"Are you kidding? Half the north knows it, not like the Boltons try to hide it, they plastered it all over their damn castle. The flayed man, bleh. We should of turned them out of the north ages ago, don't know why the Starks saw fit to keep them around, but now the Starks are all gone, so now we once again bow to a southron king."
The man sighed wistfully
"You know, I really thought they had a chance, the Young Wolf was going to make us free again, then the damned Freys murdered him and his family. A pox on that house and the old man at its head."
Cristoff decided he'd heard enough for now, paid the man, and turned to find Davrollo looking at him from across the room, a woman on his lap, nuzzling his neck, with a look of approval on his face.