Brynden

Gravel crunched under the keel as his boat slid onto the Stoney Shore in the North. Fuck but it was cold up here. It was still summer but there was frost on the ground and he could see snow under some of the trees. They had been sailing only at night and holing up during the day to stay hidden from the Ironborn that were off the coast. It had been a long journey to get here. And though they were here now, they could not afford to let their guard down for one moment. The Ironborn still controlled this coast and he didn't know if any of the Northern Houses in the area had declared for the Boltons.

Brynden set about quickly organising his party. Though they had fled Riverrun quickly, he had evacuated the entire castle household and therefore had a very large party. And it had grown larger enroute with the addition of Tytos Blackwood's children and a guard force from Raventree Hall to protect them. In all, he had nearly three hundred people with him, though of those, only about one hundred and thirty were fighting men. The rest were children, maids, scullery wenches, cooks, blacksmiths, stable boys, garderners and washing girls. He supposed he could count on some of the older boys to fight along with the blacksmiths, but truth be told, he wanted to avoid a fight if at all possible.

As a third of his fighting men began leaving the beach, with scouts flung out wide to give them a good warning incase anyone wanted to ambush him, Brynden and the rest of the men with him pushed the boat they had sailed onto the beach out into deeper water where the current would hopefully carry it away and it wouldn't immediately lead the Ironborn to him. Once that was done, the rest of the coloumn shook out into order and began to make their way inland with the ultimate destination of Winterfell.

A week later they were still in sight of the shore. The Gods damn Ironborn patrolled this area far more heavily than he thought they would, or even could. His scouts had managed to capture a few less than alert Ironborn and following some...intensive...interogation, one of the scum had given up the information that one of thier longships had seen an abandoned ship washed up on shore just a few leagues from here so patrols had been stepped up. And their were rumours that the Starks had retaken Winterfell and were preparing a force to throw them back into the sea.

Of all the God's damned luck. He had hoped that the fucking boat would have been carried further offshore to maybe wash up by the Wall. Instead the damn thing had landed only a few miles away. Only the Ironborn's incompetence on land had let his group survive as long as they had. He'd considered ordering everyone to split up and make their way to Winterfell. But that just sounded like a real good way to get everyone killed in penny packets. So, eventually, he'd decided on their current course of action. Since they couldn't reach Winterfell, he'd decided to head for Bear Island.

It was the wrong damn direction, but they couldn't get to the North's capital on their own. It was a risk, but neither Maege Mormont nor her daughters were the kind of person that would turn their cloak. Not like that cunt Theon. So they were making their way to Bear Island. Or rather, they were trying to get to Bear Island. But dealing with the Ironborn was proving to be more troublesome than he had planned.

After days of little progress and more close calls than he could count, Brynden was on the verge of ordering his group to split up anyway. That was when one of his scouts came up to him and told him that they had found a war party of Northmen making their way down the coast. And they were flying the rearing bear banners of House Mormont. Brynden almost sagged with relief. Almost instantly, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Now his people would be protected.

An hour latter, and Alysanne Mormont was in his camp. She had three hundred men with her and was moving along the Stony Shore burning every Ironborn longship she found. She had recieved a raven from Winterfell with orders from her King. She was put every longship she found to the torch and cut off the Ironborn in the North from the sea. She and her company of men were moving to attack a group of three ships that they had seen making their way into the shore. Considering who Brynden was escorting, Alysanne agreed that, once those three ships and the Ironborn they were carrying were destroyed, she and her men would escort them safely to Winterfell.

Shortly afterwards, they were in a good ambush position and were observing the raping scum come ashore. Brynden let out a very quiet grunt of surprise. Their Captain was a woman. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised at that considering who was crouching next to him, but it was odd for the Ironborn. That was when it clicked for him. That was Balon Greygoy's daughter. She would be an invaluable hostage to have. And judging by the men with her, they had her outnumbered over two-to-one. Looking at Alysane, he cocked an eyebrow at her and she just grinned and nodded. This couldn't have worked it out better for them if they'd planned it.

And then it did get better, and worse. Alysanne grunted and then cursed under her breath. Brynden gave her a questiong look and Alysanne leaned close and whispered to him:

"The Greyjoy girl has Sybelle Glover with her. Sybelle was forced to yeild Deepwood Motte to the Greyjoys when the Ironborn invaded and she'd been a captive ever since. They were keeping her with her children in Deepwood Motte, but they must have used her a shield on the seas to keep from being attacked and have someone risk killing her."

Damn, Brynden thought. If they could free her from the Ironborn, it would be sure to win and his people a great deal of grattitude in the North. But with her there, they couldn't use their archers they way they had planned to originally. The risk of a stray arrow killing her was just too high. Brynden quickly reevaluated their plans and suggested a few changes to Alysanne who, after a moments consideration, agreed. Each of them quickly sent off a runner to change the instructions their men had. All that was left to do now was settle in and wait until the right moment came to attack.

That moment came right after the bulk of the Ironborn force left the beach and began to head inland. Thier battle plan was straightforward and simple. They were going to take about half their forces and attack the ships on the beach. Hopefully, the Greygirl would take the bait, turn around and counterattack them on the beach. And while it was dangerous to let yourself get trapped between two different forces, they were really springing a trap of their own. With a little luck, the Greyjoys would think that Northern commander made a mistake and rushed into an attack without waiting for her main force to clear the area. And when she attacked, the rest of the combined Northern and Riverlands force would fall on her main body and destroy them.

Brynden had volunteered to lead the attack on the beach. It was the most dangerous command and his men would be pressed and pressed hard in the fighting. They would need every experienced fighter they could get to keep them steady until the rest of the force could join the fight. Thats what saw him leading the charge down on the beach now. As he and his men emerged from the trees and began rushing down the beach to fall on the Ironborn, he saw flaming arrows soaring over his head. With a predatory grin, he saw nearly half of them reach their targets and land solidly on the longships pulled up on shore. On one of them, an arrow had landed in the furled sail. The flames from the arrow found a ready fuel source in the canvas and tarred rope and that ship was soon merily burning with a bright flame.

With a roar, his men crashed into the few sailors left behind to protect the ships. Brynden swung his sword and felt its blade bite into flesh and bone. Its keen edge and strong castle forged steel slicing through the boiled leather armor of the sailor as if was butter. Wrenching his blade free from the chest of the soon-to-be dead man, Brynden brought his sword up just in time to block a strike from a big man in chain mail. What the man lacked in style and technique, he more than made up for in savagery and strength. His contsant rain of blows keep Brynden on his heels. In a duel, the man with the better technique would win ninety-nine times out of a hundred. But in a mele brawl like this? No better than fifty-fifty. For the Blackfish, the odds were on his side. The man he was fighting left himself over extended on a powerfull overhand strike, and Brynden took to opportunity to drive his sword into the man's gut and out his back.

All around him, men were screaming and dying. The sound of steel ringing against steel filled the air. The smell of the sea, of sweaty bodies pressed in close together, of dust and sand kicked into the air and of blood spilled on the ground filled Brynden's nostrils. The Ironborn on the beach had contracted down to a knot of men in front of their burning ships. They were sailors and had instinctivly tried to retreat to the safety of the sea, the rush of battle making them react only on instinct instead of reason, thier burning ships never entered their minds. As his men closed in on the knot sailors, he heard the rest of the Greyjoy force returning to try and wipe him out. With the thick, oily smoke hanging thick in the air, all the proof they would need to know that their ships were burning, they would likely be out for blood. Brynden grinned. The fucking squids were in for a rude fucking.

With the Ironborn returning, Brynden ordered half his men to turn and face them. This was the moment he was here for. The moment that presented him the maximum ammount of danager. If Alysanne didn't launch her own attack in time, or the Ironborn were able to hold her off, he and his men could be exterminated.

He need not have worried. Though the Ironborn fought as hard as they could, his lines never wavered. And as more and more of the sailors behind him fell, those men fighting them would turn and reinforce him. Alysanne attacked as promised and his almost two hundred men fell on the Ironborn like hungry wolves on lambs. As the Ironborn realized how badly they had been decieved and the size of the force facing them, more and more of them began to throw down their swords and surrender.

The last one to still hold a blade was the Greyjoy girl herself. Say what you will about the Ironborn as a whole, but that girl was a veritible she-devil the way she was whirling about herself with her throwing axes and her dirk. But she was surrounded now and all alone. Brynden had to admire her. She was in a hopeless situation, yet she still stood defiantly with a blade in her hand and a fierce snarl on her face. Her breastplate was stained red with blood and her own blood was flowing freely from cuts on her arms where blades had found gaps in her chainmail.

Shouldering his way to the inside of the circle around the girl, Brynden called out to her, "Lady Greyjoy! You've fought well here. No man could ever call you coward. Lay down your arms and you'll be treated in accordance with your station as a highborn lady and an honorable fighter."

The eyes that looked back at him from the Greyjoy girl were large, expressive and full of hate at that moment. And why shouldn't they be? She'd just gotten her arse handed to her on a platter and been forced to watch her men get cut down or surrender. Finally, she answered:

"And who are you Ser? Why should I put one ounce of faith in what you say?"

"My name is Ser Brynden Tully. I swear it on my honor that you will be treated as I say."

"Piss on your honor. I need something more real."

"Like what? A coffin? Because if you don't yield, that's the only way you're leaving this beach. Don't be foolish. You've fought harder than any man could expect. Yield now and spare your life and the lives of the rest of your men."

The girl gave him one last glare, before lowering her eyes and saying softly, "I yield."

As her dirk slipped from her fingers, several of the Northmen from Bear Island approached her and saw to it that her wrists were quickly bound and she was led away. Sighing to himself, the Blackfish walked over to where she had stood defiently and bent over and picked up her dirk. It was a fine blade. It would be a shame to see it be lost.

Making his way back to where Alysanne was standing on the beach, he saw her grinning. She had every reason to be pleased with the fight on the beach. They had crushed a force of Ironborn, captured several important highborn hostages including the daughter of the Lord of the Iron Islands and they had freed a Northern highborn hostage. Now they could head to Winterfell with their heads held high, justifiably proud in what they had acomplished.

Several weeks later and they were riding into the courtyard of Winterfell. Brynden was honestly taken aback not only by the sheer size of the castle, but it's surprising beauty. Cat had written him often of her life in the North. And while she had commented many times on just how vast the North was and how large her new home was, she had never mentioned the stunning and stark beauty of the castle. Though it was as different from Riverrun as it could be, the castle had a understated beauty that was almost perfectly in line with the family that called it home.

And standing in the courtyard to meet them was the King in the North. Jon Stark was the spitting image of his father. While Robb had taken after his mother and looked more Tully than Stark, whoever Jon's mother was had left almost nothing of herself in the lad. He looked almost exactly as Eddard had when he had married Cat in the Sept at Riverrun. As the rest of his party rode in, Jon stepped forward and waited for everyone to dismount. As they did and then dropped to one knee, Jon instead told them all to rise.

"Ser Brynden, be welcome to Winterfell. Lady Alysanne, you have my thanks for your devouted service."

"Thank you, Your Grace," they both answered.

"Ser Brynden, allow me to extend my condolences to you on the loss of your niece. Lady Cattleyn was always very kind to me."

Brynden could hear the lie in his voice. He knew Cat had hated Jon and had made no seceret of that fact. But he did appreciate the sentiment. He resonded:

"Thank you, Your Grace. She will be greatly missed."

"By everyone north or south of the Neck. Lady Cattleyn was much loved in the North. But come, let's get in out of this cold and allow me to offer you all bread and salt."

"Again, thank you, Your Grace." Saying that, Brynden ushered a young lady forward. He continued, "But first, may I present Lady Jeyne Westerling. She was King Robb's wife."