Dacey I

Tears were streaming down her face. And she hated herself for it. She was angry, no she was murderous in her rage, and she was grief stricken. Robb had not just been her King, but her friend as well. The Smalljon had howled in rage when they had heard the news. The look on his face, well, "murderous" would be considered an improvement. Already the tale was spreading far and wide. Walder fucking Frey had broken Guest Right and murdered Robb and Catelyn Stark and everyone who came with them. Everyone except Roose Bolton that is. And it didn't take a genius to figure out why Roose was still alive.

All she knew was, they were still a days hard ride from Maidenpool, and there were sure to be some of those Bolton and Frey fuckers hot on their trail. They had been riding under a Stark Banner, but as soon as they heard word of what happened at the Twins, they had hurriedly furled it and packed it away. They couldn't risk drawing attention to themselves and being taken now. Not that either of them planned to let themselves be taken alive. That agreement hadn't even needed words. She had looked at the Smalljon with a hard glint in her eye and he had given her the smallest of nods and it was agreed. If they were caught, they were going to kill every last worthless shit of an oathbreaker they could before falling themselves.

As they pounded down the road, Dacey realized that everything had changed now. Robb was gone. Lady Stark was gone. Lord Stark was gone. Lady Sansa was a hostage of the Lannisters. Lady Arya hadn't been seen or heard from in over a year. Lords Brann and Rickon were dead, burned by that turncloak Theon. All that was left of House Stark was a bastard in the Night's Watch. No matter. That bastard was King in the North now. And she would make sure he lived. They would take their vengeance on those bastards that murdered their King and kin. If it was the last thing she ever did, she'd make sure every last Bolton and Frey died. This she swore by the Old Gods.

And Theon. That treacherous turncloak bastard. Whatever tortures the Gods could think up wouldn't be enough for him. If she ever caught up to him, she fully intended to take her time on that one. A piece here. A piece there. Until there wasn't anything left of the shit. By the time this war was over, those bastard Ironborn would learn just how hard and cruel the North could be. They would savage the Iron Islands till the seas around them ran red with blood. They would break the Ironborn so thoroughly that they would shake in fear at the very mention of the North. This too she swore by the Old Gods.

The miles continued to pass, both she and the Smalljon pushing their horses hard. She hated to do it, as she knew they were ruining the horses at the pace they were moving, but it couldn't be helped. They either moved fast, or they died. And the letter they carried had to make it to Jon. Find Jon, give him the letter, then take back their home. That was all she cared about. That and slaughtering every last person who had a hand in killing Robb.

By that evening, as they reached Maidenpool, their horses on the verge of collapse, she and the Smalljon headed straight for the docks. They needed a ship and they needed it fast. Entering a tavern by the dock, they carefully looked around, trying to find the sort of Captain who would do what was asked and would keep his mouth shut about it afterwards. For the right price. An hour later, they were on a fast ship heading North.

As their ship slipped down the Bay of Crabs, she heard Smalljon curse loudly and fluently. Coming over the hill, was a party flying Frey banners. And unless she was badly mistaken, the man leading the party was Black Walder, Walder Frey's bastard son. Of all the Freys, other than Old Walder himself, Black Walder was the one who's throat she wanted to slit the most. He was a vile, disgusting man who richly deserved death. One day, she promised herself. One day Black Walder, I will bury my knife in your throat and let your blood flow across my hands. And on that day, I will look down on you, and smile. Turning her back to the party of Freys, she crossed her arms and settled in for the voyage North.

_

Wyman I

The Lord of White Harbor gazed over his Great Hall in the New Castle. His family stood on both sides of the hall, surrounding him. Along the sides were arrayed the various Houses that had answered his call to muster the remaining strength of the North to throw the Ironborn scum back into the sea where they belonged. Though he could see all of this, it seemed that everywhere he looked, everything was tinted red. A raven had arrived just a few days previously, informing him that his son Wendel, was dead.

The Raven scroll had been vague on details as all such scrolls were, but this one was more vague than most. Deliberately so, he suspected. The Red Wedding the smallfolk were calling it. Like all such things, the rumors flew far faster than even the swiftest raven. And the rumors spoke of betrayal and murder. The Gods damned Freys had betrayed their King, violated Guest Right and engaged in an orgy of violence and depravity the likes of which hadn't been seen in Westeros in centuries.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the fucking Boltons had helped them! That fucking traitor Roose Bolton had broken his oaths to his King and shoved a knife in his heart. And then that fucking cunt Tywin Lannister rewards the oathbreaker by naming him Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. Those bastards would pay for what they did. One day. Unfortunately that day was not today.

Wyman had a problem. He had amassed a sizeable force in White Harbor. The plan had been to move his force up the White Knife, secure Winterfell then move into the Wolfswood toward Deepwood Motte, freeing it from the Ironborn as they went. Meanwhile King Robb's forces would take Moat Cailin and move through the Barrowlands and The Rills, pushing the Ironborn back into the sea as they advanced. That plan was no longer viable. Nor was his initial impulse to take his men south and sack The Twins. His heir Wylis was being held captive by the Lannisters. Any move south would be guaranteed to result in Wylis' death.

But perhaps, just perhaps, a third option had opened up to him. A ship had just docked and aboard it were Smalljon Umber and Dacey Mormont. They had sent a runner to the castle begging an urgent audience with him. Being very interested to hear what they had to say, he agreed at once. Smalljon and Dacey had been two of King Robb's personal guards and he had assumed them dead at The Twins. The fact that they were here was curious. Very curious indeed. What peaked his interest even more was that the ship they sailed on had flown no banners. Odd considering the status of their Houses in general and their personal service to House Stark.

As Wyman sat and waited for his guests to arrive, his rage cooled slightly. Though he still thirsted for vengeance, his vision was no longer tinted red. For that he was thankful. He needed his wits about him. The years had not been kind to him physically. Too many pies, he thought ruefully. He could no longer sit a horse or swing a sword. He was left with only his wits to fight his battles. At least the pies hadn't dulled his mind. His mind was as sharp and strong as ever.

When the Smalljon and Dacey entered his Hall, he could plainly see the rage and the sorrow on their faces. He could also see that their escort contained men in Stark colors. Interesting. Some assignment from King Robb immediately before his betrayal? Or simply men gathered together as they fled death? He would be willing to place his considerable wealth on the former. Smalljon and Dacey loved Robb too much to have ever abandoned him when he was in peril. Still, he had been wrong before and could be again. The wise course to follow was to be cautious until the situation became clearer. And knowing the Umber's reputation for not beating around the bush, he wagered that would be happening the moment Smalljon opened his mouth.

Fifteen minutes later, he was right. The situation was much clearer. And muddier than ever. Jon Snow, wait, Jon Stark was now King in the North. But he didn't know it. And once he did learn he'd been named his brother's heir, how would he react? What would he do? More importantly, what would the other Lords of the North do? The Boltons were a foregone conclusion. They would refuse to bend the knee. House Dustin was all but certain to back the Boltons, Lady Barbrey had little love for the Starks. The Ryswells too were likely to declare for House Bolton, the ambitious cunts.

On the other side of the ledger, Houses Umber, Reed and Mormont would back House Stark unconditionally. His own House too would back the Starks. Some may call it foolish for him to declare so quickly for House Stark, but The North remembers. And House Manderly owed not only it's prosperity, but it's very survival, to House Stark. When looked at in that light, there really was no other option. Honor demanded that he back his King to the hilt.

Of the remaining major Houses, that left the Karstarks, the Cerwyns, the Tallharts, the Glovers and the Flints as the Houses that could go either way. All had members of their families being held hostage by either the Lannisters or the Greyjoys. Of those houses, only the Cerwyns and the Karstarks hadn't fallen to the Ironborn. Of those that had, whoever helped them free their lands and retake their castles was likely to win their loyalty. Though if he was being honest with himself, he did have a few other ideas that could sweeten the pot for one or two of those Houses.

That left the Cerwyns and the Karstarks. With the proper assurances from King Jon and from the other Houses, House Cerwyn should declare for House Stark. He'd have to give more thought to that one. The Karstarks though would be a problem. King Robb had executed their Lord. And they were not likely to forget that. Perhaps if they could negotiate for Harion's release, and...

With a start, Wyman realized that he had been ruminating on what needed to be done for some minutes now. Clearing his throat loudly, he said, "Apologies. It's nearly time for the noon meal and I had begun to daydream about lamprey pie. Lord Jon, Lady Dacey. Would you be so kind as to join me in my solar? I believe there is much to discuss."

Those who were standing or sitting near Wyman just then would later go on to swear that, just for an instant, they saw a flash of the harder man he used to be. When pressed, they would just say that it was something about his eyes just then. And that they were certainly glad that they had never had to face Lord Manderly when he was in his prime.