Madonna of the Barrows
Chapter 1
"I like it," Barbrey told the dressmaker, while Dalia did her hair. Barbrey tried to smile her best smile at the frightened woman, but as usual it came out crooked. Barbrey couldn't remember the last time she had smiled freely.
"M'lady I could have done better," the dressmaker stuttered. "But Jard got the silk very late because of the war, and there was no lace. Also the time...The dress is good. But not a fitting wedding dress for..." she trailed off and glanced at the door behind which Barbrey's father was waiting, realizing that she might be putting words in Lord Ryswell's mouth if it came to her being punished for the dress.
But what did the idiot woman know? As long as his daughter warmed the bed of a Stark, Lord Rodrick Ryswell couldn't care less what she wore for her wedding.
Barbrey turned bitter again, and set her eyes at the mirror. Something must have shown on her face, for now the dressmaker looked ready to piss herself in fear. "Leave us," Barbrey commanded. "The Steward will pay you, and then you can go."
"Maybe I can work on the..."
"The Lady told you to leave us! Did you not hear her," her handmaiden Dalia snapped, and the dressmaker scurried away.
Some of the candles wavered as the door closed behind the dressmaker. After doing the final touches to Barbrey's hair Dalia stepped behind her chair, and together they gazed at Barbrey's reflection in the mirror. "You look divine my lady," said Dalia.
"If you say so," Barbrey replied back. But she had to agree. She did look good. The dress fit her well, the jewels looked good, and her hair had been done well, maybe even better than her previous wedding.
"Being the Lady of Winterfell is a great honor. You will live a wonderful life. "You..you need to be happy and forget the sorrows of your past, my lady."
Bile rose up Barbery's gut as she glared at Dalia. Oh yes. What choice do I have but to be happy? The handmaiden meant well, but at that moment Barbrey could have slapped her hard enough to bounce her head off the dresser, and then have her dragged and flogged bloody through all the Rills. The thought made her awfully giddy. That would show the insolent wench to tell her to be happy. Dalia would scream and wail sure, but it would feel good to punish her, to make something happen on her own, to have a semblance of control.
A few years back Barbrey would have danced with happiness if she was to be the Lady of Winterfell, when life had been clean and full of possibilities. But that time was gone. Her Lord of Winterfell was dead. And his replacement already had a chubby-cheeked red-haired heir from his first wife, the Tully boy who'd have first right on everything Barbrey's children were to be bestowed. And to put the cherry on the cake he also had a bastard boy, who'd envy and plot against her children all his life.
But she was a widow too, wasn't she? And she hadn't gone to her first husband a maiden. Her family kept telling her this ever since they had promised her to Ned Stark.
There was a time when such a bleak future would have crumbled Barbrey, but she was not that girl now. That girl died when she had heard of Brandon's death, and then of William's death. Whatever was to come, Barbrey would face it fearlessly. Like a Northerner.
Dalia was still talking her platitudes. Barbrey placed a fist on her frail shoulder. "We need to go now." Barbrey said.
They found Lord Rodrick outside sitting on a chair. His eyes examined Barbrey up and down. "All seems good," he said. "I don't know what the dressmaker's problem was."
"Could have listened her talking then," Barbrey said. "Gods know I had to."
"Oh I know what she was saying. All wedding dresses are the same more or less. You look beautiful Barbrey." He smiled, and Barbrey's knuckles tightened. Father had the maiden cloak with him. He came behind her and draped her in it, the final nail in the coffin. "Shall we?" He asked when it was done, offering her his arm.
Barbrey's smile came crooked again. "Sure, why not."
Of course the man couldn't care less, but he gave her the same look he had given her when she had been informed of the match. ''Lady Catelyn passed, and now the cup has passed to you, to us. It has been generations since Ryswells have wed Starks, and you can change that."
The fact that Stark already had a trueborn didn't seem to bother him. Rodrick Ryswell was ready to settle for less, and he was using her to get whatever he was settling for.
Barbrey glanced at his face as they walked to her second wedding. Perhaps being married to Ned Stark might have an upside after all. One day she might get to slap her father, and even have him flogged through the streets. And he would have to take it. She would be the Lady of Winterfell. The cup passed to her didn't it?
The Godswood was shimmering in candlelight. People stood up when she walked in with Lord Rodrick. Her new husband was waiting for them by the Heart tree. Barbrey had to admit, with clean shave, groomed hair, and lordly clothes Ned Stark cut a good figure. He wasn't as tall or handsome as Brandon, but he looked strong and had the rugged look of a soldier. When he came forward to receive her there was no smile on his face, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
"You look very lovely my lady," he said. He didn't smile though. Good, thought Barbrey. She wouldn't have to fake smiles now.
The Godswood went silent as the ceremony began. They said the words that were to be said. Stark's voice was hoarse, Barbrey noticed, hoarse yet calm, composed, almost mechanical. He has done it before after all. Barbrey wondered how her voice had sounded to Stark.
When the time came for the cloaking Ned Stark moved behind her to remove her maiden cloak. Despite being shorter her new husband still towered over her. The proximity suddenly made Barbrey nervous. She could hear his breathe, deep and rhythmic, and feel his eyes trained on her neck as he untied her cloak. His fingers touched her bare skin, and she almost jumped.
She composed herself in the short pause when her husband moved away to receive the Stark cloak from his brother. When he draped the cloak around her his calloused fingers lingered on her skin for a bit. Barbrey realized that he was shivering.
"With this kiss, I pledge my love," Stark announced. Of course there was to be a kiss, why hadn't Barbrey thought of that. She stared at him with wide eyes as he came near her and leaned. But it was over before she even realized it. Stark placed his hands, his shivering hands, on her cheeks and gave her a peck on the lips, and moved back to his place. Some wedding kiss that, thought Barbrey, but she felt relieved as she turned and smiled at the applauding audience.
But then she remembered that he would bed her tonight, and the relief vanished.
The ceremony was over. "Come, my lady," Stark offered her his hand.
She took it. "Thank you, my lord," she said.
"Please, call me Ned," he said, unsmiling. And then he added. "We have to start somewhere, and that would be good start wouldn't it." They walked together to the Rills Hall, and Barbrey kept glancing sideways at 'Ned', thinking about what he had just said.
Brandon used to call him Ned, whenever he talked of him. The sweet quiet Ned who was too dutiful for his own good. Even Barbrey had called him Ned, when she and Brandon used to talk of their families.
"What did Ned write to you?"
"Once we wed, we can visit the Eyrie. I want to see the mountains, and you can see Ned."
"You are too reckless. You need to be more like Ned."
Those memories pained her. This man was not Ned. He was Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and hero of Robert's Rebellion. She could never call him Ned.
They had decided to do the gifts before dinner. Barbrey received many things that she soon lost track of (jewels, clothes, saddles, books, what else was there). She did spend some time examining the model of the ornate wheelhouse Lord Hornwood had gifted her along with two beautiful steeds, the most lavish gift so far.
When everyone else was done, Lord Wyman Manderly came forward.
"Many congratulations to my Lord and my Lady," greeted the fat lord. "May you always look as fair as you do today, and find comfort in each other in the coming days." he clapped his hands, and two serving men brought forward the model of a fabulous carrack. "Best shipwrights of White Harbor are working on this as we speak, built from the finest timber from Hornwood. It will forever be Winterfell's. When the ship is done, I urge my lord and lady to visit White Harbor and set sail. Perhaps visit Bravos, or Pentos, or even Volantis. The sturdy ship will take you anywhere. Witness the many promises the sea holds, which land sadly lacks."
My my, aren't you a clever man? The man's quixotic smile could perhaps put some at ease, but the words weren't the sack of suet that he was.
"I thank you Lord Wyman. We will surely visit soon," said Eddard. Lord Wyman beamed.
"Thank you, Lord Wyman. The ship is beautiful. The best gift we have had," said Barbrey, all courteous, but she gave him a knowing look. Lord Wyman clearly wanted something, and it would be best to have it be revealed on its own.
In response the man's shrewd eyes twinkled even more. "You are kind to say so my lady. But this is not the only gift I bring," he exclaimed. With a smile he produced two small books from his large pocket and presented them to Eddard and Barbrey, one each. The books were small, more like the ledgers the Stewards used to carry around. "Hope you find time to read these, and ponder over the words. I know I did."
"Thank you," said Barbrey as she received the book from Lord Wyman's massive hand. Lord Wyman stepped back, and they put the books in the pile.
The feast began. The hall was full and lit with every remaining candle in the Rills. Eddard and Barbrey were seated side by side on the dais. On Barbrey's right sat her mother and brothers. Barbrey had wanted little Domeric to sit with her, but the child had chosen to sit with his father instead. Barbrey's father on the other hand had chosen to sit on Eddard's side, and beyond him sat his brother Benjen, and then three of his war companions, Jon Umber, Howland Reed, and Rickard Karstark,. Everyone else was seated below.
Two cows had been slaughtered that evening, and served as the main meat for the feast. Apart from that they had capons, wheat and oatbread, cheese, roasted chestnuts, and a thick soup that looked unappealing to Barbrey. To go with it there were casks of ale, mead, even a generous amount of Southron wine. She ate quietly beside her husband, who'd have been quiet too had her father not been chattering away like a fishwife.
"Good harvest we got despite the war. The larders are almost full. Perhaps you can come see the fields for yourself. Lord Bolton and I are planning to visit the countryside tomorrow. I urge you to grace us with your presence. The meadows have some fine horses if my lord wants some for his castle."
"No need Lord Rodrick," said her husband, answering dutifully. "Winterfell doesn't lack for horses. Besides, Lord Hornwood's steeds for the wheelhouse should be enough horse gifts for now," Eddard's voice had a fixed quality to it, but at that moment Barbrey detected a tinge of irritation.
"Of course. Lord Hornwood really outdid himself didn't he," Father said, trying to ilicit a response. "That wheelhouse must have cost a fortune."
"You would have to ask him my lord," Eddard replied.
Lord Rodrick began again after a pause. "Hope everything was to your liking Lord Stark."
"Everything was perfect my lord." Eddard might have been irritated, but he never let it show to her oblivious father. Dutiful to a fault, Barbrey realised fondly.
"Indeed," Father continued on. "After the war.."
"Perhaps we should eat first Father," Barbrey interrupted. "My husband wants peace and quiet for once, after the war." She had only interrupted to come to Eddard's rescue. But seeing the curdled look on father face suddenly made the food five times tastier for her. Eddard looked at her and she gave him a knowing smirk, and he smiled. He poured himself a mug of ale, and drank deep.
After a while she felt Eddard's eyes on her.
"Did you like the food my lady," he asked. His even voice had an uncertain flavor now.
"It was good my lord." She answered, sipping her wine. No more words came to her, until she said. "Did you like it? The Rills aren't renowned for the cuisine."
"Everything was perfect my lady," he repeated, dutiful as ever. "After the war, the comfort of being in the North has been a welcome one. I've cherished my stay in the Rills. Given how things are, even Winterfell seems distant and foreign at times. It is empty and full of ghosts these days." Eddard looked away. Barbrey's eyes never left him though. She had never seen someone so withered.
Barbrey watched him as he reached for his ale. Eddard Stark was her husband now. For all her bitterness on how her own life had turned out, Barbrey had to remember that Eddard had suffered more. In the previous year he had lost a father, a brother, a sister, and then a wife. His loss was greater than hers, and here he was, carrying it sturdily like a Northmen.
And suddenly Barbrey was tempted to say that she was sorry for his losses, but her wisdom awoke right at the moment and stopped her. She was scared where that conversation would lead to, what wounds it would open.
"I understand my lord," she said instead.
He smiled weakly. There was a long pause during which he drank some more. "There is someone I want you to meet," he spoke. He raised his hand in signal, and from the tables in front a short man rose and approached them. He was wearing all grey.
A Maester.
It felt like someone had dropped a cold brick in her insides. This was the man who had ruined it all. What was his name? Walys? Yes that's it. It was the maester who had worked to steal Brandon away from her. He was exactly how she imagined him to be. A pathetic grey rat scurrying around the lords for leftovers, and eventually killing them all.
"Something wrong my lady," Eddard asked her, concerned.
"Everything is perfect, my lord," she replied. He didn't look convinced and looked at her warily.
"My Lady, may I present Maester Luwin. He will be our aide and advisor in Winterfell."
That confused her. "Luwin? I thought.."
"Maester Walys sadly passed away two months ago my lady," said Maester Luwin. He had a deep voice. "I have been sent as his replacement. I look forward to serving you to the best of my abilities my lady."
Barbrey smiled a feral smile. She couldn't wait to peel away this man's fake courtesies to find the ambitions hidden beneath. One didn't spend years in the CItadel listening to old men and cutting dead bodies unless he had ambitions.
"Yes. I am sure you are." She said back. Luwin gulped when he noticed her hostility, and left after a bow. She felt her new husband fidgeting beside her, no doubt wondering why she had become hostile all of a sudden. She might tell him one day, right after he tells her how the married and dutiful Eddard Stark got himself a bastard, and whether he was really dutiful after all.
When the feast was over someone from the tables shouted the words Barbrey had been dreading. "Time for the bedding ceremony." Men and women suddenly rose and came forward. Her husband had stood up with a clenched jaw to protest, but it was the GreatJon who had stood first.
"Back off! The Lord and Lady are tired and in no mood," he bellowed. Barbrey watched in awe as the GreatJon Umber covered both Eddard and Barbrey behind his massive figure. "Back off!" He shouted again.
"What the fuck GreatJon," Jory Cassel shouted.
"Shut you hole Cassel." Rickard Karstark shouted and stood up as well. "No bedding. Go! Go!"
When everyone had returned to their tables Eddard spoke. "Shall we, my lady," he offered a hand. Barbrey looked at him, at his dark grey eyes which were regarding her warily. She knew this was coming, so no point delaying it. Barbrey took the hand, and together they left the table and the dais. Eddard was struggling to maintain his gait, clearly a tad drunk.
"Thank you Jon," Eddard told the GreatJon as they passed him by.
They entered their bedchamber, and Eddard closed the door behind. He wasted no time to collapse on an armchair. Barbrey was still standing, and was unsure of what was to happen next. She was nervous, perhaps more nervous than she had been on her first time. To skip some of the unease she looked around. The bed had already been made, and embers were crackling in fireplace "That was nice of the GreatJon," she said, to break the ice, "what he did, when they called for the bedding."
Her husband was sitting on an armchair with his face buried in his hands. "Yes. Jon is a good friend, so is Rickard, and Howland. They know what I am going through, most of it at least." He looked up at her, and his gaze was almost piercing.
"They try their best, but they don't know it all," he said to her. "But perhaps you are the only person who knows, my lady."
"My lord?" Barbrey was puzzled.
"I know about you and Brandon," said Eddard.
And suddenly Barbrey felt rooted to where she was standing. Why did he bring up Brandon? She didn't know what to say, so for clues she searched her husband's intoxicated face. No judgement, some disgust, and some accusation. But most of all and dwarfing everything else, confusion. Eddard Stark looked lost.
But wasn't that how she had been feeling? She spoke. "I don't owe any explanation to you about Brandon my lord. It is a thing of the past, and we hadn't even met back then. I am all done grieving for him, and William too. I don't think you wanted a virgin bride, for had it been so you wouldn't have married a widow."
"As for what is to come, that is entirely upto us. Our match was to heal and bind the North together, but mostly to fulfil my father's designs. My father said that the cup of Winterfell has passed to me. You heard him prattle during the feast. For him I am nothing but a way to get a piece of Winterfell's favor."
"Yes I got that impression," said Eddard. "And at times I also got the impression that you probably want nothing to do with me."
That derailed Barbrey. She looked at her husband incredulously, feeling betrayed and sickened all of a sudden. And then she responded. "You have a son, my lord. Two sons. Tell me, how did honorable Eddard Stark lay with another woman when he was already married."
"I will not talk about..."
"Your brother used to say that you wouldn't visit a brothel even if they paid you for it." She felt her temper rising and her walls breaking. "You said we have to start somewhere. We could have started tonight. You think I don't think about Brandon? About your Tully heir and your bastard? But then I realised that you grieve too. I was ready to be bedded tonight. All I needed was for you to be ready too, and together we could have put it behind us. But clearly you didn't want it. You brought up Brandon, on our wedding night. Why did you have to do that?" she shouted. "Why, when you have a bastard of yourself."
Eddard looked chastised. "That is different. I did not lay with your.."
"That boy will envy everything my children will get." She cried, blinking back angry tears. "How could Brandon have been so wrong about you. You did fuck a whore didn't you? Or was it different? Did you rape a..."
"Enough!" Eddard rose up and thundered. "I will not have you accuse me of such filth. Do you hear me?!" Many outside probably heard him, but that didn't deter Barbrey.
"And I will not have you deflect my question? Who is the boy's mother? Did you rape a woman?"
Stark turned to menace towards her, but she kept glaring daggers at him. What will you do? Strike me and rape me too? And then all fight left Eddard. His eyes became hollow, nothing but two grey orbs of grief and pain. "His mother...was very dear to me. I made her a promise, to keep the boy safe. I gave her my word, on her deathbed, and I intend to keep it."
Barbrey realised the truth that was staring at her. Her eyes softened, and tears rolled down from them. Eddard walked upto her, and gently took one of her hands. Clearly there would be no bedding tonight, so Barbrey let herself be led to the bed where he made her sit down. He took to his knees.
"I hurt you tonight, Lady Barbrey." He spoke, guilty and trembling like a leaf. "I was being selfish and didn't think about you. Please find it in your heart to forgive me, whenever you can. When I said that we had to start somewhere I meant it, and I am willing. But I am not always myself these days. In time I will get better. Our match is good for the North. I want it to be good for us as well."
With that he stood up. "I pray that one day we will find happiness with each other. I promise, that I will do right by you." He promised her, in an iron tone that took her breathe away.
She watched as her husband picked up two blankets and a pillow and made himself a bed on the floor.
"My lord.." Barbrey felt compelled to say.
"Do not worry my lady. As a soldier I have had worse beds," he said. "Good night."
When they had both settled for bed Barbrey took to her side and waited for sleep to come. Stark had put her on a spot, accused her, even shamed her, but in the end apologized and promised to be a better husband. The whole thing had been harrowing, but now Barbrey felt good that it happened. This man was to be her husband after all.
But in the whole exchange, her husband had unwittingly revealed a truth, a truth that was all but written in his sad hollow eyes.
Eddard didn't visit a whore or camp follower, or any woman for that matter. And he certainly didn't rape someone. The bastard was not Eddard's child. He was someone else's. And Barbrey had a good idea of whose it was.
Hello! A plot idea I had in my mind ever since that reread of A Dance with Dragons. Found time to write finally. Eager go the distance, based on the reviews.
Please review.