Chapter 6

I bounced along in my saddle, doing my best to tune out the others around me. I'd quickly learned that when the Umbers traveled they were *loud.* Ribald jokes, cursing, even occasional fights.

I would have avoided this trip if I could. Traveling still further north from Last Heart to some woe-begotten village in the middle of nowhere was not my idea of fun. But when the Greatjon had gotten word of a deserter from the Night's Watch being caught, he'd apparently decided it was the perfect learning opportunity.

It was with a sigh of relief that I finally saw the village come into sight. Hopefully there would be a warm room and a hearty meal that wasn't composed of travel rations.

Besides me, Ned let out a whoop of joy. "We're here! We're here!"

Hother gave us both a quelling look. "None of that boys. And no running off. Jon will want to be about the business of things as soon as possible."

Ned gave a low groan. "But we wanted to explore! Go hunting for Wildlings."

I had been thinking more of a hot fire and maybe a bath. But still.

Hother's Scowl only deepened. "Wildlings are nothing to joke of. Or search for, not until you're a man gown. Viscous scum, they'd as soon gut a boy or rape a woman as give them the time of day. You remember that, boys."

Ned turned solemn at that. "The only good Wildling is a dead Wildling."

Hother pierced me with a particularly firm look. "Indeed. Eyron?"

I squirmed a bit. I found the prejudice against the Wildlings rather irrational. My 21st century mind was pretty confident that the Wildlings were saying the same sort of things about us as we were about them. I wasn't foolish enough to say any of that out loud of course, but Hother seemed to have guessed that my feelings on the subject weren't 'right.' Or at least, I had been subject to endless lectures about the evil ways of the Wildlings the whole ride out here.

As Hother's heavy gaze continued to rest on me, I finally offered up a grumpy "Indeed."

That satisfied him for the moment, as he let the matter rest as we made our way into the village.

The village was really scarcely worthy of the name, no more then a few dozen hovels and huts clustered together. But still…

"So many people…" Ned's eyes were wide.

Hother let out a pleased grunt. "A sign of a lord doing his job. Smallfolk coming in from miles for their lord's judgment."

Really there were likely only a few hundred folk present, but it looked impressive. They were flooded into the square of the town and camping between the buildings, giving the whole place a cramped and crowded feel.

"At last!" The Greatjon's voice thundered over the tumult around us as we pushed on towards the center of the town. They'd even set up a raised wooden platform of sorts, with benches and a few chairs lining it.

Hother had Ned and I shepherded to that platform and seated on the benches along the edge. However the Greatjon was simply ignoring it, stomping around in front of the platform impatiently.

"My Lord…" a thin, rather elderly peasant, was approaching the Greatjon. A headman or mayor of some sort I supposed. "My lord… thank you for coming… we have lodgings you can…"

"Lodgings be damned. Bring me this Oathbreaker." The Greatjon was clearly in one of his moods, his bass rumble cutting right over the peasant.

A satisfied smirk crossed Hother's face as he turned to Ned and I. "Let that be a lesson to you boys. Duty first"

I rather thought it had more to do with the Greatjon's boredom the last few days than any sense of duty, but Ned was nodding wide-eyed as we watched the traitor dragged to the Greatjon's feet.

For all the build up, he didn't look like much. A raggedy man in black rags.

"We caught him up by the Red Creek M'lord. Jarl and Perce did." The headman was eying the deserter nervously, for all he was bound and surrounded by Umber Men-at-Arms. "He was trying to break into their storehouse…"

Another low growl from the Greatjon. "A deserter and a thief. I'm not surprised. There are none lower in the eyes of the gods than an Oathbreaker."

The Greatjon gave the man a kick that sent him sprawling to his knees and hacking blood onto the mud. "Well, Oathbreaker? Naught to say?"

The man let out another low cough and looked up, weary defeat and despair in his eyes. "M'lord… it was just… I couldn't take it m'lord. I didn't know it would be like this… the patrols… the cold…" The man shivered and hacked again. "I'm from the Arbor m'lord… I just wanted to be warm again…"

I shifted uncomfortably hearing some of my own inner thoughts echoed by the poor wretch in front of me.

The Greatjon did not look impressed though. "You took an oath. Your choice. No man forced you."

For the first time the Deserter looked angry, fire coming into his eyes even though his voice was almost hysterical. "A choice? My hand or the black they told me! Some choice! Just for hunting in m'lord's forest." The man's eyes turned wild. "Should have let them take the hand."

Hother spoke up, voice pitched to carry. "A poacher as well. Scum."

The Greatjon drew his sword at that, a giant ugly greatsword that looked almost as big as I, and his eyes were cold. "I care not for your Southron whingeing. You took an oath."

"To guard the Realms of Men!" One of the Umber men shouted that.

I leaned forward in my chair, taken aback at how this was going. From what I'd read in my books about royal trials and laws, I just hadn't expected things to go so… fast. Where was the evidence? The wittinesses?

The Greatjon was nodding. "No man is as accursed as an Oathbreaker. You disgrace the Black you wear."

He stepped forward again, a an armoured foot smashing down on the deserter's back. The man was struggling now, hands scrambling desperately in the mud, but the Greatjon's weight was an inexorable force pinning him down.

"Last words, Oathbreaker?" The Greatjon pressed down harder with his foot.

"Please!" The man was still scrambling desperately. "Please!"

The Greatjon raised his sword. Surely he wasn't going to just…

Desperately I averted my eyes as the sword began its downwards descent, but I could still hear the sound it made as it connected with the man's flesh, and then the ragged cheers from the smallfolk around us.

Suddenly and without warning my head was jerked sharply forwards by the chin, and I found myself looking at the Greatjon's angry visage. He reeked of blood, and behind him I could see the deserter's body. And the head. I deliberately swallowed against the nausea I felt.

"Boy. You don't look away." His grip was like iron, forcing me to stare at the body behind him.

I had to deliberately swallow again as I took in the dead body, but slowly, after what felt like an eternity, I got control of myself. Once the initial shock passed… it was just a body. I nodded my head, or as much as I could in his viselike hold.

Satisfied, the Greatjon released me with a grunt, stepping back. "That was your first time?"

First time seeing a body? I hesitantly nodded.

"Good. That's fine for a first time. One day you'll have to deal with traitors and oathbreakers. But you look away again, and I'll beat you bloody."

I took a shaky breath as the Greatjon stomped away. My legs felt like jello, even though I was sitting down. And despite all that I felt oddly ashamed at glancing away. At disappointing that giant oaf.

At my side, Ned gave me a slap on the back and a comforting smile. "Don't feel bad Eyron. The first time's always hardest. After a while you barely even notice much."

That was oddly reassuring despite the fact I was rather sure that seeing people's heads chopped off wasn't something you were meant to become so blase about.

The Greatjon was climbing up onto the raised platform now. People were still milling about us, and one man-at-arms was kicking the deserter's headless body to the side of the square. With the deserter dead, like as not the smallfolk would want their lord to weigh in on all their petty disputes and arguments.

I was distracted from all this by Hother leaning over and placing a hand on my shoulder. "You know why he had to do that himself, boy?"

Dimly, I remembered my father's words to Robb a few years back. "The man who gives the sentence should swing the sword?"

He gave a nod of approval. "Aye. True and well said. But why?"

Hesitantly I pressed on. "Because if you can't… then he doesn't deserve to die?"

Hother gave a surprised snort of laughter at that. "What? What sort of rubbish is that?"

Ned grinned. "I don't know Uncle! That sounds noble! Like from a story…"

Hother gave an amused shake of his head. "Sounds like Southron rubbish. They're always worried about honor. What's your being a coward got to do with his crime?"

I squirmed uncomfortably, not wanting to admit I'd heard that from my father.

Hother gave another shake of his head, leaning in. "It's much simpler than that boys. One day you will be lords in your own right, with holdfasts and commands of your own. And you need to show strength. And when the cold winds blow? There's no place for weakness. You'll swing the sword yourself, because if you don't no man will respect you. And in winter? That's death."

I gave a hesitant nod which seemed to satisfy Hother. I had only the vaguest of memories of the one winter I'd lived through. But even if my readings hadn't warned me about the winters, seeing how cold it was in summer was warning enough. There just wasn't much margin for error in the North. I had the vague wish that in my past life I'd studied something more useful to my present situation than English Literature. Maybe engineering or farming? But then, I'd only been a Freshman before I ended up here, so how much could I have really picked up?

Meanwhile the Greatjon was on a roll. Rambunctious and loud as he was, he seemed to be plowing through the business at hand at an ungodly speed. Some peasant would come up in front of him, lay out his problem or dispute, the Greatjon would rattle off a few questions or make a ribald jest, and then pass judgment.

Truth be told, it made me feel somewhat uneasy. Sure it was mostly arguments over grazing rights and cattle, but to these folks it had to be life changing judgments. And here we were just rattling off decisions left and right.

As if to prove my point, the next petitioners were a couple; a nervous looking woman and a sullen, rather angry looking man, standing as distant from each other as the space allowed. Surprisingly, it was the woman who spoke up first. "M'lord. I'm sorry to bother you. I was hoping… that is…"

A look of impatience crossed the Greatjon's face. "Yes. Yes. Out with it."

The man stepped forward, raising an angry voice to carry over the woman's. "My Lord. That's my wife. Was my wife. Found her in bed with Cley Tinker."

The Greatjon waved a bored hand. "So what do you want me to do? Throw the whore out and be done with it. No business of mine. Leave her to her kin if they'll have her, or the gods if they won't."

The man scowled at that. "Did just that m'lord. But now she's been whingeing to her brothers, and they're making demands."

The woman looked up at that, fire in her eyes for the first time. "M'lord. I just want what's mine by rights. Ten years I put up with him. The whoring. The drinking. The beatings. He doesn't want me? Well I don't want him I say!"

Her husband's face turned an interesting shade of red. "You… you bitch. If you'd not been a whore to half the town…"

She sneered right back at him. "And if you'd been more a man, I wouldn't have had to…"

The Greatjon cut them both off with a huge booming laugh. "Hah! She's a spitfire for sure. Too much woman for you eh?" The husband turned even redder in the face, but seemed to know better than to contradict his lord.

A moment later, his laughter finally under control, the Greatjon turned back to the woman. "A sorry husband he may be, but you were still handfasted to him."

A defiant look on her face, as without a word she reached up loosening the cloak from around her neck, letting it fall to the ground as she turned her back to our raised platform.

A low gasp went up, but it wasn't due to her nakedness. Her back was crisscrossed with scars, some still barely scabbed over. Raised, red, and shockingly ugly on her skin.

The Greatjon looked grimmer now, all mirth gone. "I see."

The woman turned around, reattaching her cloak about her. "He had no right M'lord."

The husband was spluttering now. "I had every right! It's no man's business, not even of a lord, how I discipline my own wife!"

"No!" I uttered that out loud before I could help myself. I'd been watching the whole scene with shock. I knew this was some medieval society… intellectually I knew I couldn't compare Westeros to the 21st century. But to see that man actually justifying beating his wife? It forced the exclamation out before I could help myself.

The husband glared at me. "That's my wife, boy!"

The Greatjon was on his feet at that, looming over the ma. "And that's a Stark of Winterfell and my ward."

The peasant practically wilted under the Greatjon's displeasure. "Sorry M'lord. M'lord Stark. I didn't know… I mean that is…"

The Greatjon cut him off with an irritable gesture, looking at me with some curiosity. "So. This interests you, does it?"

"My Lord." I glanced down at my feet, avoiding his gaze and unsure what to say. I was already regretting my outburst.

He gave a grunt. "Well. You will have learn a lord's business eventually anyway. Both of you come here…" The latter was addressed to Ned and I.

Ned bounded forwards to his father's side, and at another irritable glance from the Greatjon I joined him at the platform's edge.

He looked down at me, considering. "So. Eyron. You are in judgment. What do you decide?"

The woman looked up at me hopefully, but I did a double take of surprise. He expected me to just render some sort of deciding decision about this? How? "I… I mean. I don't…" What was I supposed to say? "What's normally done in situations like this?"

He scowled, shaking his head. "There is no 'normally.' When you are the Lord, you must judge. You must be decisive. It doesn't matter which way you decide, but you must be sure."

"Umm." I gaped at him. "Maybe we should… should talk to her family?"

"And sit here all day? What would they tell us that we don't already know? Don't waste our time. And be confident." He shook his head in disgust. "No one will respect your judgment if you stutter and hem and haw. Decisive. That's most important."

I nodded sourly. I wasn't really surprised, with the Greatjon everything was about being decisive.

He turned to his son next. "Ned?"

My friend scowled and slammed a fist into his hand. "She should get all of his property! And… and… she should get to beat him too!"

The husband made a horrified choking sound at that, but the Greatjon let out another loud bark of laughter. "Ohh? And why is that?"

Ned screwed up his face in thought. "'Cause… cause he's an ass."

The Greatjon cuffed him upside the head. "Mind your language. And of course he's an ass."

Ned flashed a grin at his father, and was awarded with another cuff and a scowl.

"Boy." The Greatjon growled as he leaned over his son. "Decisiveness is good. But you need to be just too. You need a reason. That's the next most important lesson. Making rulings with no reason is a nice excuse to have the King's justice come down on you."

I blinked. That was actually surprisingly nuanced of him. I hadn't expected it of the Greatjon. But as I thought on it, while he had been moving speedily through the judgments all day, they'd also been filled with pointed questions and a surprising level of local knowledge.

The husband was nodding again. "Like you said m'lord. The laws on my side…"

When the Greatjon made no immediate comment on that, the woman lower her head in disappointment. But my mind was turning furiously at those words, thinking back to the many readings I had done at the Winterfell library.

"Wait!" The Greatjon turned back to me as I called out, his face not revealing anything.

I turned back to the lowborn woman in front of me, marshaling my thoughts and then continuing in a rush before the Greatjon could accuse me of a lack of decisiveness. "He beat you? How many times you said?"

She scowled at that. "More than I can rightly count m'lord."

I nodded, turning back to the Greatjon and Ned in triumph. "You see! The Rule of Six!" Behind us Hother gave a low huff of amusement, but Ned just looked at me blankly as I hurried to explain. "Queen Rhaenys. She declared that only six blows were lawful for adultery. All the other blows are unlawful!"

I carefully didn't mention that even allowing six blows seemed insanely barbaric to my standards. Or that the number six was picked to honor all the gods save the stranger. That background would likely just undermine the argument in the North.

The Greatjon gave a slow nod. "And so he broke the law." The man started to splutter, but the Greatjon ignored him, focused on me. "And what do you do about that?"

I paused to think, but only for a split second. The last thing I wanted was to be accused of hesitating again. "He's a herder, yes?" The woman gave a short nod, so I pressed on. "She should get a sheep. For… for each extra blow she should get one. To do with as she will."

"A fair judgment. You're your father's son in truth." Despite myself, I felt a rush of pride at the Greatjon's words.

He turned to the headman who had been watching the proceeding carefully. "Done. See to it we get someone to count the sheep she is owed."

The man started to splutter, but the Greatjon silenced him with a look. "And she'll get those sheep or I'll know the reason why."

As her ex-husband was shouldered away, the woman gave a low bow to us. "Thank you m'lord. M'lord Stark."

I resisted the urge to squirm in embarrassment at the look of gratitude she was sending me, instead finding my seat again alongside Ned and Hother as the next complaint was brought before the Greatjon.

Hother turned to me, a small smile on his face. "Fair argued. But next time don't quote some Dragon Queen."

I blinked. "But…"

He waved a hand. "It was well argued, but you're lucky Jon was going to rule for the lass anyway."

I blinked a second time, taken aback. "He… he was."

Hother shook his head in amusement. "You didn't think he was won over by your brilliant argument, did you?"

I squirmed in embarrassment, I actually rather thought he had been.

The older Umber let out a snort. "Don't let it bother you. He was just teaching you a Lord's business. You did well enough. But like I said, next time don't be spouting about Dragons or Southron laws. Remind me to lend you Maester Kennet's works when we're back home. If you must quote laws and traditions, quote Northern ones."

And after that, the stream of petitioners continued without any great drama.

Finally, as the sun began to set, there was the feast.

I had to admit, it was a good way to end the day. There were so many fires burning in the village square that, if anything, it was almost too hot. And there was more food than I'd seen in quite some time. A whole pig was roasting, and dish after dish being passed around. Rustic fare, but all good.

The alcohol was flowing freely too, and I could hear the Greatjon roaring out a song. The man had a shockingly good voice.

Hother seemed to have been deputized to keep an eye on Ned and I, but he didn't look like he minded too much. By the time he finally leaned back in satisfaction, he was heavy into his cups and a small mound of ribs littered the floor behind him.

On my other side, Ned looked up, clutching his stomach and giving a contented groan. "I can't eat another bite…"

Hother let out a low belch. "Aye, a good feast. Though half this lot will regret it come morning."

Ned let out another groan. "The morning? Do we have to go so soon? I like it here."

I glanced across the square where the Greatjon was roaring drunk now, a woman dangling from each arm, and gave Hother my best skeptical look.

He snorted. "Aye. Well. I doubt we'll be leaving with first light. But you watch and see, we won't linger much beyond that."

Ned made a face. "But why? Let's stay a few days!"

Despite my initial dislike of this trip, I found myself agreeing with Ned. "What's the rush?"

With a huge sigh, Hother heaved himself up in his chair and actually focused on us. "Don't be fools. Why do you think we came out here to begin with?"

I rolled my eyes. "Because of the deserter."

Ned nodded. "The king's justice!"

Hother made a sour face. "Aye true enough. But more than that. A lord has to show his people that justice comes from him."

Ned looked at him blankly, and Hother sighed as he pressed on. "People have to see that their Lord cares and will be about his business. What are the folks here going to remember? They'll remember that Lord Umber came. He meted out justice. Solved their disputes. And then held one gods-damned giant feast at the end of it."

Ned blinked at that. "So then why leave so fast?"

Hother flashed his teeth. "Well. As to that. You don't want to outstay your welcome. Lord shows up for a day? He solves your problems and you have a celebration at the end. A lord stays a week? Well suddenly now he's meddling in your business. And that feast? One night and it's a celebration to remember. But if these folks have to feed us for too many days, they'll be cursing our names come winter."

I gave a slow nod. It made sense. Show up for a day and show your presence. Then get out of dodge before you switched from being a boon to a nuisance.

Hother smirked as he saw my understanding. "So you enjoy this. But don't expect to sleep in. You'll have a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

—

Hother was right. We weren't up with the dawn, but a few hours and a small breakfast later and we were on the road.

It was amazing how fast the town emptied out with us leaving. By the time we left, the place had gone from bursting at the seams to looking half abandoned. The only sign's we'd been there was the still raised platform and the heaps of rubbish and refuse left from the feast. I rather imagined the smallfolk would be cleaning up after us for some time.

The journey back was also much more subdued than going out had been. Half the men were still nursing hangovers, and everyone was bleary eyed and tired. Even the Greatjon was largely silent, and it wasn't until nearly noon that the low hum of talk started to pick up.

I was only half paying attention to Ned regaling me with some adventure he had with one of his older brothers, when the men around us began to rein into a halt.

It was confusing until I look behind us and saw a cloud of dust indicating a rider fast approaching.

When the rider finally came into view, it was clear he'd ridden the horse half to death. The poor beast was foaming at the mouth with sides heaving when the man leaped off, throwing himself at the Greatjon. I was also surprised to recognize him; it was the old headman from the village. He must have galloped the whole way to catch up to us.

"My Lord. My Lord." He was gasping, taking giant heaving gulps of air.

Hother looked tense at my side, and the Greatjon's eyes were narrowed in suspicion. "What's the matter, man? Speak."

The headman took another great gulp of air. "Wildlings my lord. Raiders. They were burning everything… I ran to find you. To get help."

There was a split second of silence as everyone took this in. Then the Greatjon let out a roar of anger, wheeling his mount around viscously.

"How many." That was Hother, voice grim and hard.

The headman gave a shake of his head. "I'm not sure my lord. A dozen. Mayhaps two?"

Hother nodded. "Not enough if we catch them. If we hurry… if they take their time to pillage and steal…"

The Greatjon let out a fierce grin at that, one that was somehow much scarier than his roar had been. "Their luck has turned by the Gods. To dare raid so near us? We'll catch the bastards with their pants down for once. And gut them to a man."

The men were quickly turning around, falling in behind their lord, but Hother paused to glance at Ned and I. "The boys?"

Ned piped up at that, a scowl on his face. "We're coming with you. Umber's don't run from Wildlings."

For once the Greatjon didn't laugh at his son's fierceness. "This is no game boy."

Hother shook his head. "We can't leave them. We can't spare the men to guard them all the way back to the Hearth, and Gods know if there are more of the bastards in the hills."

The Greatjon growled, sawing at his reins impatiently. "They come."

I felt a pit in my stomach. Come with him? Why was he taking us towards a bunch of raiders intent on killing and raping everyone in our path?

Unbidden the hundreds of stories I'd heard of the Wildlings, first from Old Nan and then in Last Hearth, ran through my head. Suddenly, my earlier dismissal of those stories as being culturally biased didn't seem too reassuring.

Hother was nodding his head and turning to us. "You boys will stick close. And when we get to the village you'll wait outside. With a guard. You understand?"

Ned scowled again, and unbelievably argued. "But uncle…"

"No." His voice was like ice. "This is no game Ned. You will listen."

Any reply Ned made was lost to me in the chaos that followed. Our entire column was turned around. The Greatjon had two of his men riding besides Ned and I, but everyones' attention was on the road in front of us.

The men were grim and stone faced as we retraced our steps back towards the village, and even the Greatjon was silent save for an occasional low growl and curse.

It had been three hours since we departed the village. But that had been at a sedate walk and not the desperate push we were now making.

As anxiety gnawed at my stomach I glanced at the two Umber men guarding us and the dozens riding besides the Greatjon, and tried to reassure myself that everything would be perfectly fine.

A/N: So first off, apologies on the long delays (on all my stories). Ive been traveling and then life got busy, but this one was also just giving me issues. You all probably noticed there was no time-jump like I said there would be. Originally this 'arc' was set after a time jump four years in the future. However, as I was writing I found the time jump not working. I wanted the character to evolve, and while some of that could be explained by four years of living with the Umbers, I didn't feel like I had laid enough ground work. Too much telling as opposed to showing. So I've moved the next couple of chapters before our time jump, which will hopefully lay the ground work for some of the character evolution I want to have happen later. TLDR: Time Jump delayed another chapter or two.

Unrelated, I also liked the idea of different Northern houses having different interpretations and traditions of the "swing the sword yourself" thing. Very often in societies like this, different tribes or groups will have different interpretations of the same traditions. I always got the sense that Ned's views were based on his personal honor code. All the North keeps to the 'old ways' but I can't see someone like the Umbers or the Boltons justifying it based on the reasons Ned gave. I suspect that his 'reasons' and justifications owe as much to his upbringing in the Vale as they do to Northern traditions. So I liked giving it a little twist here and showing the North isn't always monolithic in its beliefs.