"Are they here yet?" He called up to the top of the walls.
"Not yet my lord," the men up there replied.
Grumbling, Tristan lay his head back on the hard stone of the low courtyard wall, on which he was lying. He absently tossed a stone up and down, the sound as repetitive as a leaky roof on stone floor, and nearly as maddening. "They'll be here," Cley reminded him. The young Cerwyn was sat against the wall, watching Daryn and Domeric sparring in the courtyard with the light that remained. Their fathers and their armies had all arrived to support Robb. The Cerwyn's had been the first to arrive, only being half a day's ride from Winterfell anyway; Robb had expected them to marshal by their fortress to be picked up on the march, but Lord Medger had wasted no opportunity in being at Lord Robb's side from the beginning. Then the Boltons had arrived, Domeric bearing the main banner at the head of the column, with his father behind him. The Hornwoods had arrived the next day. The next to arrive had been the GreatJon and the men of House Umber. Tristan remembered well how Lord Umber had seemed to threaten Robb. He had been about to draw his own blade, but Robb, faster than he was, had just twitched his fingers and Grey Wind leapt at the GreatJon, eating two of his fingers as punishment. Now the GreatJon was claiming to be Robb's greatest champion. The Mormonts had arrived the day after.
The Glovers and their bannermen were supposed to come before them, but they had been delayed travelling through the Wolfswood. Now the Karstarks had arrived, and Robb had to see to them, so he had told Tristan to greet and dine with the Glovers and their bannermen, and that he would visit them all in turn and apologise the next day. The other great houses and their bannermen, Locke, Dustin, Ryswell, Manderly, and the others would be joining them on the Kingsroad in the south.
A cheer made him look around as Daryn held his sword against Domeric, who was sprawled on the ground. "Got you, Bolton."
"Laugh all you like, moose," Domeric replied, getting to his feet. "On horseback, you're mine."
"But we aren't on horseback," Daryn laughed as he clapped Bolton's shoulder. "And you're the one with dust on your britches."
"We"re off to go to war," Tristan called over, "don't do him too much harm." Then a short sharp pain hit his forehead as the stone he had been tossing rapped off his head and skittered to the floor. He cursed as he sat bolt upright, rubbing his forehead, he'd lost focus and this was his price.
Cley chuckled and even Shield, curled up beside the wall seemed to be smirking at him. "Shut up," he growled at the wolf. "You too," he added, shooting Cley a look.
"I'm not coming south," Cley replied. "You get to go to war, allow me this at least."
Tristan only grunted and blinked away the last of the pain. "If those Glovers don't turn up soon," he muttered "I will not be happy."
"You say that like you would be if they had arrived an hour ago," Domeric said. "You'd still be angry at having to sit down and entertain guests." Domeric likely remembered well Tristan's displeasure at having to sit down and eat with Lord Bolton's guests during his service at the Dreadfort.
He was about to retort when a voice called down from the Walls. "Lord Tristan, the Glover men are approaching."
"About bloody time," he muttered, getting up and stretching his arms and legs.
The Glovers and their vassal bannermen entered Winterfell without their soldiers, but there were still several of them. He saw the brothers of Deepwood Motte, Master Galbart and his brother Robbett, leading them, but recognised some others as well. Lord Forrester and his eldest son were close behind, and Tristan felt his fist curl. Rodrick had beaten him before, once, long ago, but the defeat still rankled him; he also saw Lord Woods and a man in the Bole livery entering as well as others he didn't recognise.
"Master Galbart," Tristan called, approaching, arms wide. "It's good to finally greet you."
"Lord... Tristan?" Galbart replied, apparently surprised. "I did not expect you."
No, you expected my brother. "No, there has been somewhat of a clash of timing, earlier this day the Karstarks arrived, and my brother is feasting them at present. He has asked me to feast you this evening, and he will meet with you first thing tomorrow."
Galbart nodded, he may have been offended, he may not, Tristan was not the best judge of character in this instance, just another way that Robb was his superior. "If the Karstarks are here, then we must be the last to arrive," he commented as he and his bannermen approached. "We'll be marching soon then."
Tristan nodded. "Aye, we shall," he beckoned a guardsman over. "Go tell my brother that the Glovers have arrived," the guard nodded and made his way to the great Hall. "I suspect that tomorrow morning the order of the march shall be determined, and then we go."
They made their way to a side chamber, the largest they had. It was still nothing compared to the Great Hall, but the Glovers should have come in time if they wanted to be in that Hall. He patted his thigh and Shield came bounding over as they entered the keep. "So that's one of the wolves," Robbett Glover commented.
He nodded, reaching down to scratch him behind the ear. "Aye, this is Shield," he said. "He'll be coming with us, along with Grey Wind and Nymeria, two of the others."
"Three wolves," Lord Forrester commented as they entered the side chamber. "Are three Starks coming then?"
Tristan shook his head. "Nymeria is my sister Arya's wolf. They had hoped to go south, but the Queen took... issue with wolves coming. Smart move, if they had, they'd have ripped her throat out the moment she ordered my father's arrest." The northmen laughed at the thought. "Maybe they'll still get their chance, if I don't first."
"Let us join in that will you?" Rodrik Forrester asked genially.
"Maybe I will," Tristan said. "We'll see, won't we? But for now," he said, gesturing to the table laden with mead, meat and ale. Let's feast!"
They all tucked in, swapping tales of home and dreams of war with each other. "So, Lord Tristan," Robbett asked part way through, "you and your brother, you're reaching the age of marriage, aren't you?"
"Some have married younger," Lord Forrester commented.
"A man can't have two wives, Lord Forrester," Tristan replied, grinning and picking up his blade, drawing it slightly and kissing the blade to laughter from around the table. "And it would take quite the woman to separate me from my beloved."
More laughs came from that. "And what about Lord Robb?" Domeric asked. "What kind of woman could become the Young Wolf's beloved?"
Tristan chewed on a piece of meat slowly while he thought of his answer. "A fat one," he said finally. "If they aren't fat, wrinkled and grey, he won't be interested." The table laughed again.
()()()
"Do you have to go?" Beth asked him as he prayed in the Godswood.
Tristan finished his prayer before getting to his feet and nodding. "I do," he said, simply. "I would like to stay, Beth, but-"
"No you don't want to stay," Beth cut across him. "You want to go to the south and kill southerners."
"True," he nodded. "But still, Winterfell is my home, and I'll miss it, and the people in it."
Beth wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. "Just come back, Tristan," she whispered. "I don't want you to go again."
Tristan knelt. "I know," he said, cupping her cheek. "And I'll miss you, but I need you to be strong for me, okay? I'll be back, don't worry." She nodded and wiped away her tears. She had given him an exquisite night before he had left for the Dreadfort, but she had not repeated the process last night, he knew she still felt guilt, and he owed Ser Rodrik more than to seduce his daughter. If she had come to him though, then there was no reason to hold back. "Be strong Beth," he said. "And please, look after Rickon and Bran, they'll need their friends."
She nodded. "I will."
"Speaking of the little devils," he said, getting to his feet. "I should say my farewells to them as well. Take care Beth."
"Tristan wait!" He turned back to her, eyebrow raised. She took a small length of silk, red as blood, and kissed it before handing it to him. "Here, my favour."
He took it, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do with a piece of silk. But he didn't want to upset her, so he smile and kissed the other side of it. "I'll do my best to return it," he said simply.
Outside the godswood he was met by Robb. "Good, Tristan, you're here," he said. "Rickon is refusing to let anyone near him, we can't say goodbye."
Tristan nodded. "I'll see to him." Since father had left, he had more of an affinity with their youngest brother. Perhaps it was because he had come back when no one else had, who knew.
"You may wish to take Shield with you," Robb added, glancing back towards the castle. "Shaggydog has already taken a chunk out of Farlen.
"I will," he said. "And where can I find our brother?"
"By the broken tower," Robb said. "I'm off to go and see Bran. Come after?"
Tristan smiled and clapped his twin on the shoulder. "Of course."
Rickon it seemed, had somehow gotten hold of a steel blade, and Shaggydog was ready on all fours to pounce on any who approached his master, who waived his sword violently when anyone approached, forcing them to keep their distance. "Rickon!" He yelled at the boy. "Put the sword down and stop this."
"No!" He yelled back. "You can't go, not again, why is everyone leaving me!"
"We have to," he replied. "We have to go and save father and your sisters, and bring them home. Now put the sword down." He drew his own for good measure, and the guards backed off, leaving him and Shield facing Rickon and Shaggydog.
"No," he said defiantly, pointing it at him, the tip unwavering, Tristan couldn't help but be impressed that he was holding it so steady.
"Very well then, Shield, go!" Shield leapt forwards and locked into combat with Shaggydog, fighting the black furred wolf back. Tristan lunged forwards and locked blades with Rickon, twisting and rolling his wrist so that Rickon lost his grip and his blade clattered to the stones. Planting his foot on the handle before Rickon could duck down and retrieve it, he slid it backwards, hoping a guard had the foresight to pick it up. He slid his own back into his holster and seized Rickon, who tried to rush past him. He pulled the squirming boy into his arms, trapping the boy's arms and placing his hand over Rickon's mouth. "Stop," he said loudly and firmly into Rickon's ear, holding him tightly until he stopped squirming. "Now, you are going to calm down, like Shaggydog." Shield had fought Shaggydog back, and now the black wolf was submissive before Shield. "Now Rickon, I know you're angry and frightened, and you don't want us to leave. But we are Starks, we have to look out for the pack, especially when it's in trouble. That means Robb and I, we have to go south, we have to save father, Arya and Sansa, and then, we'll bring them home, mother too. But Bran needs you here, and he needs you to be good until I return. Remember, he can't run or walk like he used to be able to. Which means you need to protect him, be kind to him. Can you do that, Rickon?"
Rickon nodded jerkily. Tristan kissed his hair. "Good, now, go and apologise to Robb for worrying him, and say goodbye."
Apparently Rickon had done as he'd bid. "He won't be happy until we return," Robb told him as they pulled their horses into the courtyard.
"Will he happy if we do?" He asked his brother. "He"s not even four."
"It's not like we have a choice. I am Lord of Winterfell, I will not sit as a craven behind Winterfell's walls and send another in my stead, and you'll turn into a deer before refusing to help me. I wouldn't not have you at my side anyhow, even if you willed it. This is our war."
Tristan nodded as he looked up at Rickon's room, the shutters firmly shut. Shaggydog was chained to a post by the kennels until the two of them calmed down, but that only made Rickon more sorrowful and hurt. "Mother will be home soon anyway," he reminded himself. She could calm Rickon down, she always could.
"They'll all be home," Robb corrected him as he mounted his horse. "Mother, father, Sansa and Arya, we'll bring them all home."
"You have a plan already?" He asked, pulling himself up onto his own stallion. Robb trotted towards the gate, around them swirled the cloaks of Robb's sworn swords and companions.
Robb glanced over his shoulder to him as he followed his brother. "We don't know enough to form a full plan yet," he reminded him. "In this moment I only need to know one thing. Are you willing to follow my orders, brother, whatever they may be? Will you have my back?"
He pulled the horse to a halt. "It's where I am now, Robb."
Robb's face split into a wide smile. "And so it is."
The roar of the footsoldiers and smallfolk met them as they rode out of Winterfell. Hal Mollen went before them, the Stark banner flapping on a great lance of grey ash. He was at Robb's right shoulder, Shield, Nymeria and Grey Wind bounding ahead of them. Theon was at Robb's left and behind them a double column of armoured lancers folded into a single great spear. He welcomed the grin onto his face as he rode off to war.
