Tensions were high in Winterfell, most of which were either low in the depths of despair or high in the pit of anger.
Both the emotions of raging anger and unbearable grief were as clear as day in Robb and Lord Umber.
"ANOTHER SOUTHRON WAR?" The Greatjon had bellowed, smashing his fists down on the high table. He glared at Ashara as if it was her fault. Ashara stared at him almost challengingly. She was not afraid of Greatjon Umber's hot temper. As she expected, Lord Umber looked away after shooting her a disdainful glare.
"I do not want a war, Lord Umber," said Ned patiently, "especially now. It's not up to me if I wanted a war. Whatever the case, I cannot abandon my daughter. At this very moment, the false Aegon could be imprisoning her or worse, killing her. You are a father, Lord Umber. Would you abandon your daughter to your enemy? Would you leave her without support?"
"I have lost a daughter!"
Ashara stilled. "What did you say, my lord?"
"I lost a daughter." Lord Umber's tone quietened. "Your son Robb told me that the fucking bastard Ramsay Snow hunted her down like a deer, raped, killed and flayed her many months ago. This whole time, I thought she was safe…" He shook his head. "She was dead for months."
"Our condolences," said Ashara sympathetically.
"That bastard…" The Greatjon's initial fury towards war had redirected to that late Bastard of Bolton Robb had killed in single combat. "If Robb had left him one of the prisoners, I would've demanded to kill that bastard myself!" He thumped a fist down on the table again.
"I will have Ramsay Snow's remains taken down," spoke Ned. "If it is any…" He hesitated. "…any consolation at all, you may do with them as you wish. I know it's not the same as a living prisoner, but it is the best I can do, Lord Umber."
Greatjon Umber nodded. "My thanks, Lord Stark."
"I understand that our forces are already quite thin due to the wildling war – it is very unfortunate. However, you know as well as I do that we northerners value family highly. If I have a Umber good-daughter in trouble, I will send help even if it is the coldest of winters." Ashara nodded in agreement, almost smiling as a tiny glimmer appeared in Greatjon Umber's eyes. It seemed even now, the thought of relating to a Stark was a tremendous honour. Despite Lord Umber's proud, fierce nature, he was like every other lord – ambitious.
"Perhaps I can withdraw a good host of men," Lord Umber conceded, stroking his brown beard streaked with grey. "Aye, I will have my brother Osric come and lead my troops in my stead. It's time I return to Last Hearth, Lord Stark. It will be best if I tell Caryse the news of Arrana's death myself."
"Of course Lord Umber," said Ned, pouring him a cup of ale. "I appreciate your efforts in helping Robb rule as acting Lord of Winterfell, my lord. My wife Ashara has suggested we unite Houses once there is peace in the North."
"Really?" Ashara remained expressionless as she met Greatjon's gaze. She was pleased to see that the Lord of Last Hearth lost the derisive look from earlier. The Greatjon gave her a deep nod. "I thank you, Lady Stark for viewing my advice and help to your son so highly."
Ashara allowed herself to smile graciously. "Not at all, my lord." It was kind of Ned to tell Lord Umber that it was her idea to hint at a future marriage between a Stark and an Umber when it was not. He did it to help restore my reputation in the eyes of the Northmen. If the Greatjon Umber approved of her once more, the rest of the northern lords, or the majority of them, would cease considering her as an outsider or a meddlesome southron woman. Ned's kind, Ashara thought. Not a lot of husbands would attempt to re-establish the good names of their wives.
"I have considered having my younger children fostered," Ned was saying to a now interested Lord Umber. "To other noble houses of the North of course. If you agree, perhaps my daughter Gwenysse will serve as cupbearer to your lady wife. I believe she will also wish to continue her martial skills."
The Greatjon frowned. "Not the Lady Arya, Lord Stark?"
"In the last two days I noticed that Arya and Lady Lyanna Mormont are friends, and once the war is over, perhaps Arya will go to Bear Island for a year or two for fostering. The Mormont women are avid fighters."
"I see you plan to foster your daughters Lord Stark, but what of your sons?"
"Once Bran recovers, he will be sent to White Harbour."
"Arthur and Rickon will be fostered when they are a little older," Ashara spoke smoothly. "Karhold is a strong possibility, as is Deepwood Motte. Perhaps even to Last Hearth, Lord Umber. We all know how strong friendships are forged during periods of fostering." As she expected, Lord Umber's eyes flickered to Ned, whose friendship with the late King Robert was well-known throughout Westeros. Lord Umber nodded slowly.
"This war must end," said Ned, returning the conversation to the false Aegon's invasion. "Pride runs strong in the North, but where do you think pride will take us in the midst of a long winter when we run out of provisions? I am not blind or deaf, Lord Umber. I'm aware that many northern lords weren't pleased at Lyarra wedding a southron prince, but think of the benefits, Lord Umber. The North and the southron regions have never been particularly close, but now there is a good chance they can. Trade can be improved. More food sent north in exchange for an ample supply of pelts perhaps."
"I'll have men sent here immediately Lord Stark." Greatjon Umber rose. "If you want, I'll have a word with Lord Karstark. Convince him to send a host of men to Winterfell as well."
"Thank you Lord Umber. That is most helpful."
Ashara smiled at Lord Umber. "Indeed my lord. That will be very helpful."
"The Umber and Karstark troops should arrive soon." Ned didn't even look up from the detailed map on the table in front of him when he spoke. "If they come a day late, I will not be able to wait for them."
Ashara had been gazing out the window, deep in thought. Over the last couple of days, more soldiers had appeared at Winterfell's doorstep. The Cerwyn troops, sent by Lady Jonelle Cerwyn on behalf of her father, had already arrived, as had a host of men led by the heir of Torrhen's Square, Benfred Tallhart, and the meagre amount of men Lady Hornwood could spare. The last time there was such a large gathering of soldiers in Ashara's home was when her late brother summoned his men to march into battle in Robert's war. Now most of them rested in the guest chambers or were out hunting.
"Ashara?"
Snapping out of her memories, Ashara looked at Ned. "You told me before that it'll take quite some time for all the troops to be readied," she pointed out. "I can't stop worrying about our daughter, but there's nothing you can do but wait. If you go charging ahead with only a quarter of your men, chances are it will not end up in your favour." She glanced at the map. "I cannot believe you have to pay the toll to march through the Twins again. I can already imagine the delight on old Lord Frey's face when every soldier has to pay a heavy toll to cross. That will take too long. There must be another way."
"The crannogmen may help us," said Ned quietly. "They know how to venture south without paying a heavy toll. I'd send a raven to Howland Reed, but no one's even certain about the exact location of Greywater Watch. There's no maester at Greywater Watch either."
"Are you certain the crannogmen can help?"
"The crannogmen will help," said a voice at the door. Ashara swiftly turned her head and saw Jojen standing calmly at the door. To her knowledge Lord Howland Reed's children were often in each other's company. They were rarely apart from each other, except when Meera was sparring and Jojen in the godswood.
"Jojen," said Ashara gently, "now is not a good time."
"I can take you to Greywater Watch," said Jojen solemnly. His deep green eyes met Ashara's for a second before they were fixed on Ned's. "I can guide you to my home," Jojen repeated. "Like you said Lord Stark, Greywater Watch does not stay in the same place, but I know where it is in the Neck. I've seen it in a green dream, a couple of nights in a row. If you permit me to take you and your troops there to speak to my father, we must leave in two days at the latest."
"So soon?" exclaimed Ashara. "That doesn't give the Karstark and Umber men enough time to travel here!"
Jojen didn't even look at her when he said, "Crannogmen can fight too."
Ashara felt her heart sink. No…
"Very well," Ned decided. "We will leave in two days." His eyebrows furrowed. "Are you certain you know the way, Jojen? Absolutely sure?"
Jojen nodded. "The green dreams were very thorough Lord Stark. I will be able to recognise every tree and marsh we pass."
Ashara scrutinised him. Jojen Reed always looked too serious for his age but in his eyes today…there was something different. He looked almost resigned – why? It was as if he knew a deep, dark secret that would lead him to an early death. It'd be highly unlikely of him dying young unless it was from a winter illness. Ned oft said that winter sicknesses were never kind to anyone. Ashara almost shook her head. It was never good to think of youths dying.
"I will leave the two of you to plot out the route of your journey," said Ashara, standing up. She looked at Ned. "Will I see you at supper?"
Ned nodded. "I'll see you at supper."
Leaving her husband alone with Jojen, Ashara left for the courtyard, seeking a dose of fresh air. She stepped outside the Great Keep and stood there, bathing in the cool wind. The moment of peace was shattered almost immediately by shouts and the sound of clashing steel. Curious, Ashara followed the noise and glimpsed a rather peculiar sight.
Instead of the usual spectacle of the boys sparring under the observant eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel, it was a group of girls, some fighting with swords and the rest watching as they tested out a number of different weapons lying around.
"You need more wrist movement!" Lyanna Mormont was yelling. She moved a step to the left and Ashara recognised the others present. Arya was the Mormont girl's opponent and watching them were Meera Reed and Gwenysse, the former a three pronged spear in hand and the latter twirling a long spear almost as tall as her with a steel spearhead. Ashara recognised the spear as a popular type used in Dorne. Both her late brothers had a vast collection of spears, half of which were a similar design to the one in Gwenysse's grasp. Most of them were locked away in Starfall's armoury now, unused and probably covered with layers upon layers of dust and cobwebs. Where did Gwenysse get the spear? Ashara wondered. It was a strong chance that Gwenysse brought that spear back with her from Dorne as to her knowledge, there was no spear in that particular Dornish design residing in a rack in the Winterfell armoury.
"Mother," said Gwenysse – or Gwen, as she liked to be called – spotting Ashara at once. She stopped twirling her spear. "Do you need us for something?"
"We are practising," said Arya, looking at Ashara challengingly. "We need to be prepared in case Winterfell is attacked again."
Ladies should not spar daily, said the familiar irritating voice in Ashara's mind. She pushed the thought away. Ladies shouldn't spar or train at all if it was in any normal circumstances, but after what happened in Winterfell…it would be good for the girls to learn a little about swordplay – more defence techniques of course. It won't hurt for the girls to know how to use daggers and dirks for the purposes of defence. Before Ashara could open her mouth to comment on Arya's remark, a vast assortment of weapons on the ground caught her attention.
Ashara picked up a dirk and studied it closely. There was a spot of dried blood on the blade. She looked at Arya, Gwen, Lyanna Mormont and Meera. Only Gwen had changed her expression a little to one of guilt. Ashara frowned at them. "This is live steel – used recently too." The level of suspicion rose considerably. "Please tell me you didn't go on a secret hunt this morning without proper supervision."
"I often go hunting without supervision, Lady Stark," spoke Meera. She held up her three pronged spear. "Frog hunting."
"We didn't go hunting," Arya assured Ashara. "We found a whole pile of dirks, swords and other weapons in the armoury and brought them out here. Last night we found out that we – " she gestured to the other girls, " – learnt many different methods of fighting and we decided that today, we'll share them with each other. I learnt a bit of water dancing from Syrio, Gwen knows how to wield the spear in the Dornish way, Meera's been trained to hunt and kill crannogman style since a young age and Lyanna knows the northern way of fighting the best of us here."
"Very resourceful," Ashara admitted, handing the dirk to her. "If you desire to continue pursuing your martial skills, I must insist you do so under supervision – and you practise in the hours between breakfast and supper like the boys do. No practising at dawn or in the evening. Do you understand?" She stared at each girl straight in the eye until every one of them nodded.
"Does that mean we cannot spar today?" asked Gwen timidly. Ashara looked at her youngest daughter. It was hard to believe Gwen was only eight and as excited to embrace swordplay as Arya was.
"Ser Rodrik is still unable to move without bleeding out," Ashara said gently to her. "To my knowledge, your father hasn't decided on his substitute yet. Perhaps it'll be either Robb or Theon who will supervise you over the next couple of days if both of them and your father agrees.
"Today though, I wish for you to put away your swords, bows and arrows and I want you to accompany me to the nearby villages and help distribute supplies." She looked at all the girls. "Due to the burning of winter town, it'd been brought to Lord Stark's attention that the villages have almost doubled in population and are in need of more supplies," she explained. She couldn't help but feel a slight bit surprised when the girls nodded and immediately began picking up weapons and walking towards the armoury. Ashara had expected a half-hearted protest from Arya, as she was never enthusiastic about ending her sparring sessions earlier by even ten minutes. Maybe she is growing up, thought Ashara, hiding a content and proud smile. Maybe the shock of recent events forced her to grow up.
"Who are they?" Lyanna Mormont was pointing at a group of individuals – two men and a woman – garbed in heavy furs approaching them. Both the men had beards.
Ashara frowned. The guards wouldn't allow any stranger entry into Winterfell without first notifying Ned, and to her knowledge, no guard had passed her in the direction of the Great Keep.
"Lady Stark!" one of the men called out. He sounded familiar…
"Jon!" Arya screeched, delight shining on her face. She ran towards the huddle of people and hugged one of them tightly. A smile of relief began to slowly spread on Ashara's expression. Jon Snow had been missing for months – some lords that Ashara had spoken to already offered condolences, thinking he was dead. Ashara didn't think Jon was dead, only missing. It was a great relief that Jon was back in Winterfell and seemingly in good health.
As Jon and his party walked closer, Ashara caught sight of scars and bruises on Jon's face, some fresher than others. What had Jon been up to? Ashara beamed at Jon. "Welcome home," she said warmly. Jon looked every inch a man grown now. Ned had said that war changed people – it had most certainly changed Jon by the looks of it. "Robb and your father will be delighted to see you," Ashara said with a kind smile. "Rickon and Arthur too. And Gwen," she added when Gwen grinned at Jon in recognition. Ashara looked at the other two individuals present. "My good man and woman, I must thank you-"
"Spare us your southron courtesies," interrupted the bearded man gruffly.
Ashara stared at him, shocked. That man with a snowy white beard reminded her strongly of Greatjon Umber, but the Greatjon did not speak to her that rudely. Surely one of Greatjon Umber's cousins would be more courteous!
"Lady Stark," spoke Jon. "This is Tormund Giantsbane." He pointed at the man who had interrupted Ashara. He stepped aside and a slender young woman with blonde hair and pale grey eyes moved into sight. "And this is my..." Jon hesitated. "My wife. My wife Val." His eyes darted away from Ashara, Arya and all the other people present. Ashara couldn't help but frown. There was nothing embarrassing about marrying a rescuer's daughter.
"Val," Jon repeated. "Val of the Free Folk."
Before Ashara could grasp the situation, Lyanna Mormont said in a disgusted tone, "You married a wildling?"
"Lyanna!" Ashara said, astonished at the Mormont girl's attitude. "Please don't be rude to our…our guests."
"We are here to negotiate with Lord Stark," said Jon, a little stiffly. "We want a long peace between the Free Folk and the North. I'm here as a peacemaker. I was sent by Mance Rayder as a sign of goodwill from the Free Folk. Tormund and Val are here too, as further proof of the Free Folk willing to negotiate."
"Where were you?" Arya demanded, unaware of the frosty and uncomfortable silence that had formed. "I heard you disappeared at the Wall! Some people said that you are dead!" She paused. "Or tortured. Or crippled."
Ashara was relieved to see Jon's impassive expression break into a grin. "It is a long story Arya," said Jon, ruffling Arya's brown hair fondly. "One I'll tell you once negotiations are over." He looked at Ashara. "Is my father in the solar?"
"Negotiations must be quick," said Ashara, glancing at the two wildlings. "Lord Stark will not be here in two days' time."
"Hopefully negotiations will be fast," agreed the woman Val.
"I hope so too." Ashara was a little surprised to hear no hostility in her voice. It was well-known that wildlings were barbaric – some southroners believed lords and people of the North were barbarians too. "As you are here on the grounds of peace, please break bread with us. Have a meal with us, please."
"Thank you," replied Val, giving Ashara a rather strained smile. "We did have a long and strenuous journey. We were almost killed by southron men."
"We are of the North!" said Arya indignantly. "We are all northerners! There is no southroner here!"
"Everyone south of the Wall's a southroner," said Tormund Giantsbane gruffly, as Ashara led her daughters, wards, Jon and the wildlings to the Great Keep. "You can't call yourself a true child of the North until you live beyond the damned Wall. Feel the cold wind nip your nose, cook raw meat, steal your husbands and wives." He chuckled as Gwen recoiled with a mix of horror and disgust on her face.
Lyanna and Meera both responded that they cooked raw meat before as they entered the Great Keep and walked towards the solar, with Ashara in the lead and Jon and his wildling wife behind her. One of the Stark guards stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at Tormund, his fingers reaching for his sword. "That's a wildling," the guard growled, pointing at Tormund. "Him too milady." He pointed at Jon. "They should be in the dungeons."
"We are here to see my father Lord Stark," said Jon clearly. "If I was a wildling, I doubt the guards at the gates would have permitted us entry."
"They are here to discuss peace," said Ashara calmly. She looked at Arya who'd not left Jon's side since his return. "Find Theon or Robb. Tell one of them to keep an eye on you if you wish to spar. It seems our plans to visit the villages will wait." She looked at Jon and then the two wildlings. "Peace must come first."
The guard opened the solar door and Ashara stepped in. Ned glanced up at her, confused. "Ashara," he said, amazed. "I thought I would not see you until supper?" His eyes widened when he saw Jon. "Jon?" His eyes slid over to Val and Tormund. "What is this?" Relief left Ned's voice. "Jon…that man and woman are of the Free Folk. They are wildlings."
"They are here to negotiate peace," said Ashara with a tight smile. "As a sign of good faith, Jon was sent back here to us as the envoy. That woman – Val – is also our good-daughter. Jon had taken her for wife."
"We have much to discuss," said Jon, sounding apologetic.
"Yes…" Ned gestured for him, Ashara and the two wildlings to sit down. "Yes," he said again as Ashara gave him a cheering smile. "We have much to discuss and we only have a few days. Shall we begin?"
I am aware that it'll take a bit of time for Jon, Val and Tormund to travel to Winterfell and there would be a number of problems they would face. Let's just assume the weather was fair and they were aided by good fortune hence their speedy journey :) What do you guys want the next chapter to be? Another northern POV or a southron one?
