Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones characters in the story or from the novel, A Song of Ice and Fire. Only the OCs included are mine and any original plots.
Chapter 5: The Northern Council
In a few days time, the lands surrounding Winterfell were covered in various tents, men, horses, carts and banners. Houses from all across the North had answered Robb's call, ready to raise their swords to save their liege Lord.
The Cerwyns had been the first to arrive, only being a half days ride away from Winterfell. Then came the Boltons. Brynden had been the one to welcome Lord Roose Bolton into Winterfell. The Hornwoods had arrived a day later. Following them were the Giants of House Umber and the Bears of Mormont. House Karstark and House Glover had arrived the day after. The other Great Houses and their bannermen would be joining them on the Kingsroad.
Boisterous men and chattering women were all crowded inside the Great Hall, claiming every seat along the many tables. Brynden, Robb, Bran and Theon took up the portion of one while other Lords of larger Houses took up the rest. Balerion and Grey Wind were both lounging by their respective masters' sides.
While Robb had been raised to rule Winterfell, Brynden had been groomed to lead armies. He knew of the importance of the vanguard. They were the leaders of an army; the ones who faced an oncoming enemy head-on. They were in charge of setting the pace of any battle which was why it was no surprise when the Lords started to fight about who would take up such a crucial role.
"For thirty years I've been making corpses out of men, boy!" Lord Greatjon Umber's voice boomed throughout the Great Hall. "I'm the man you want leading the vanguard!"
Robb set down his cup and stared at the massive Lord hard. "Galbart Glover will lead the van."
Brynden remained silent, keeping a vigil eye on Robb as he drank from a tankard of Northern ale. His elder brother had maintained a calm demeanor in front of their father's bannermen. Robb needed to be perceived as a wise and capable Lord of Winterfell. He needed the other men to respect him. If they failed to see him as a leader, their war would end before it even began.
The Greatjon scoffed. "The bloody Wall will melt before an Umber marches behind a Glover!" He gestured a large meaty hand towards the middle-aged Master of Deepwood Motte. "I will lead the van or I'll take my men and march them home!"
Robb clasped his hands in front of his chin and set his narrowed stare on the seasoned veteran. "You are welcome to do so, Lord Umber. And when I am done with the Lannisters. I will march back North, root you out of your Keep and hang you for an oathbreaker."
By the time he was done speaking, Robb had risen to his feet. Brynden's hand rested on the grip of Riversteel while Balerion and Grey Wind lifted their heads, sensing the tension.
"Oathbreaker, is it?!" The Greatjon roared as he sprung to his feet. The other Lords in the room followed suit at his outburst. "I'll not sit here and swallow insults from a boy so green he pisses grass!"
As soon as the Umber Lord reached for the sword strapped to his waist, Brynden leapt up from his spot, already having drawn his sword halfway. It was for naught though as his Robb's Direwolf had been a touch quicker. All it took was a twitch of his master's fingers and Grey Wind bounded across the table and leapt at the Greatjon, tearing into him as punishment.
Another large man nearby wearing the Umber sigil moved to help his Lord but Brynden got to him first. He rushed forwards and grabbed the man by the back of his neck and used all of his strength to slam him down on the table. The man struggled to break free of Brynden's hold but froze when Balerion leapt onto the table growling lowly, his vicious fangs hovering over the Umber man's neck.
All was silent as Grey Wind returned to Robb's side and the Greatjon rose to his feet, clutching his bleeding hand tightly. Robb had a light smirk on his face as he spoke. "My Lord Father told me it was death to bare one's steel against their Liege Lord. But doubtless, the Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me."
The Greatjon growled as he kicked his chair aside. "Your meat..." The large warrior raised his bleeding hand, revealing two stumps that used to be fingers. A wide grin broke out on his face. "...is bloody tough!"
Seconds passed before the entire room burst into laughter. Brynden shared a glance with his elder brother before releasing his hold on the Umber man he had pinned on the table and gesturing for Balerion to back away. The man grunted as he straightened himself before turning to look at Brynden with a hard stare. Then he grinned and laughed boisterously.
"It's been a long time since anyone has been able to overpower me." The man spoke, his voice deep and gruff but also humorous. "I am Jon Umber, heir of the Last Hearth, but everyone calls me Smalljon. It's a pleasure to meet you, Brynden Stark."
Brynden grinned, feeling all the tension slip away. Northmen could be at each others throats one second and the next, they could be the best of friends. He took the hand the Smalljon held out and shook it firmly. "Likewise."
In the Eyrie, the ancient seat of the Falcons of Arryn, Catelyn Stark burst into the bedchamber of her sister. Her eyes beheld a righteous fury as she strode over to the windows and swept the curtains away. Light burst through as the Lady Stark whirled around, her right hand clutching a letter from her son.
"I'm going to give you the courtesy of explaining why I wasn't shown this earlier." Catelyn growled angrily.
Lysa fluttered her eye lashes whilst smiling innocently. "It was sent to me, not you. I've only shown it to you as a courtesy."
"A courtesy?!" The auburn haired woman hissed in disbelief. "My husband has been taken prisoner! My son intends to declare war!"
The widow of Jon Arryn laughed, earning herself a deathly glare from her sister. "A war? Your son against the Lannisters? You should go to him; teach him some patience."
"Ned rots in a dungeon and you speak of patience?" Catelyn demanded. "He is your brother by law! Does family mean nothing to you?!"
"Family means everything to me." Lysa replied calmly, hugging her son closer to her. "And I will not risk Sweetrobin's life to get caught up in another one of your husband's wars!"
"I'm hungry." Robin piped up, his eyes wide as he tried to unlace his mother's dress.
Lysa stroked his head lovingly. "Hush now, darling. You just ate."
"You will not support us then? Do I understand you correctly?" Catelyn questioned, her eyes shining with barely concealed rage. Her words however were drowned out by the whining of Robin Arryn.
"Soon, love, soon." Lysa cooed before glancing at Catelyn. "You are always welcome here, sister. But if you're asking me to send men from the Vale to fight..."
"That is what I ask." Catelyn interrupted coldly.
Lysa scowled at her sister before looking down at her son. "Go on, my sweet. It's time for your bath. I'll feed you after."
The matriarch of House Stark waited till Robin had left the chambers with the Septa before continuing to speak. "If you fear for the safety of your son-"
"Of course I fear for the safety of my son!" Lysa hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "I never took you for a fool, sister! The Lannisters killed my husband! You say they shoved your boy out of a window! These people will go to any lengths!"
"And that is why we have to stop them." Catelyn spoke, her voice strong. Her sister however remained unfazed and glared daggers at the Lady Stark.
"The knights of the Vale will stay in the Vale where they belong to protect their Lord!" With her final word said, Lysa Arryn strode out of the room, leaving Catelyn behind to stew in anger and worry for her husband and sons.
It was hours later that the feast finally came to an end. As per Robb's instructions, the Lords and their men set out to ready themselves for the long trek South. Robb wanted to leave in the dead of night as he knew there were eyes everywhere. A spy could spot them and relay the information to the Lannisters.
Brynden stood in his chambers, getting ready. A thick wolfskin cloak was draped over his shoulders. After he finished fixing the last straps of his armour, he grabbed Riversteel and strapped the longsword on to left side of his waist while on the right side, he had placed a throwing axe he had Mikken, the blacksmith down in Wintertown, forge for him. His blue eyes flitted over to the foot of his bed where Balerion sat quietly.
"Come, boy." Brynden ordered quietly and the black Direwolf padded over to him obediently. After one final look at his chambers, Brynden made his way over to the exit. He swung the door open and jumped back slightly in surprise when he saw little Rickon standing in front him. "Seven Hells Rickon! What are you doing up so late?"
Rickon sniffed as he bowed his head sadly. "You're leaving too, aren't you?"
Brynden's eyes softened and he knelt down, grasping his youngest brother by the shoulders. "I have to, little wolf. Robb and I are going to bring Father and the girls back. Mother will join us soon enough and soon, we'll all be together again. It'll be just like before King Robert's visit."
Rickon remained silent for a moment and Brynden felt his heart go out for the boy. He was barely seven and in just a few months, he had his Father, sisters and mother leave him. Now, he and Robb would be doing the same. The sixteen-year old pulled the youngest Stark in for a crushing embrace and Rickon was only too glad to return the loving gesture.
"Please don't die." Rickon sniffed into the crook of Brynden's neck, his small body trembling. Brynden said nothing, only tightening his hold on the boy as much as he could without hurting him. After a few more seconds though, he pulled away and stood up, ruffling Rickon's curly hair.
"Come, little Lord, let's get you to bed." Brynden said as he held his hand out for the youngest Stark to take. Once Rickon took it, he guided him to the boy's room. Shaggydog lay at the foot of Rickon's bed, snarling as he watched them come in but was silenced by a growl from Balerion.
Brynden helped Rickon into the bed and tucked him in. He placed a kiss on the boy's head and after one final whispered goodbye, he left the room with his Direwolf at his heels.
The halls of the ancient castle were quiet and dark, the only source of light being the torches burning on the walls. Brynden made his way through them and exited the castle, stepping into the courtyard where all the Northmen were busily getting ready to leave. His blue eyes fell on the sight of his elder brother holding the reins of two horses; one for Brynden and one for himself.
Robb was wearing a wolfskin cloak over his armour as well. Ice, the ancient Valyrian Steel greatsword of House Stark was strapped to his back. Their Lord Father had left it behind in Winterfell, claiming it belonged in the North. As Robb was the eldest son and heir to the North, he had the right to wield it.
"You don't have to come with me." Robb said as Brynden approached him, grabbing the reins of his black steed from his brother's hands. "You can stay here in Winterfell, with Bran and Rickon."
Brynden scoffed. "I will not sit behind castle walls like some craven, brother. I have been raised to lead armies. My place is on the battlefield. Besides, you need someone to watch your back."
"And who will watch yours?" Robb asked, his voice oozing with worry.
Brynden finished attaching his satchel and sword to the saddle on his horse before turning to Robb with a wolfish grin on his face. "I can take care of myself, Robb. Don't forget, I'm the best swordsman out of you, me, Jon and Theon. Besides, I'll have Balerion."
"I don't think our enemies will care much about which one of us is a better swordsman." Robb stated with a chuckle, calling Grey Wind over to his side. He patted the smoky grey Direwolf on the head once he trotted up to him before looking back at Brynden, his features now serious. "It's time to leave. It'll be a long march to Moat Cailin."
"Aye." Brynden replied with a nod as he got up on his horse. The bannermen were all ready to leave, only awaiting Robb's command. The eldest son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark climbed onto his steed as well and rode ahead. Brynden glanced back at the Main Keep of Winterfell looming overhead, before turning his back to his home and urging his horse ahead.
The roar of the footsoldiers and smallfolk met them as they rode out of Winterfell. Brynden and Robb had pushed through to the front with the eldest Stark son leading the host and the second son at his right. Balerion and Grey Wind bounded ahead of them, the direwolves just as eager as their masters for the taste of battle. As the cold winds blew past them and the birds flew overhead, Brynden couldn't help but welcome the grin onto his face as he and his brother rode off to war.