"The Ironmen suffered losses in taking the castle. King Robb's garrison fought most bravely," Gawen Manderly told him as they looked over Moat Cailin from the northern side. "However there are thousands inside still."
"What of those who were working on it's construction?" Tristan asked.
Gawen pointed to one of the towers still rising from the earth. "We believe that they are being forced to continue their work for the Ironmen," he said.
That was good, Robb wouldn't need to get new workers to replace them when they had ousted the Ironmen. He knew Daryn was waiting with the men of House Hornwood along the Causeway, ready to attack from the south when the men from the north were storming the walls as well. Domeric had ridden off to the west, to rally the men of Dustin and Ryswell, to whom he was related on his mother's side. He would lead the raids on the Iron Fleet and draw most of the garrison out from behind the walls and leave it relatively undefended. He had hoped the Crannogmen would be willing to help in the assault, but with the rebuilding it was too difficult for them to do so, and emerging to fight in the open was not how they fought. He respected that, and Lord Howland Reed promised to bleed white any hostile army that marched up the Neck.
His host gathered in the North was made up most of men from House Manderly and Lord Wyman's bannerman. One and a half thousand men, mostly footmen, were ready, along with soldiers from the Hornwood, sent by Lord Wyman's cousin, Daryn's mother. It wasn't the largest force he could assemble, but it would serve. They could hide this number easily so the Greyjoys didn't spot them and they could take Moat Cailin easily. Then they could roll up the western coast of the North, clearing the Ironmen from his homeland.
Still, Tristan wondered how his brother had pulled off so many ambushes. It was dead dull waiting for your enemy to act. But that was what he had to do, sit, wait, and watch day in and day out as he waited for the Dustins and Ryswells to raid the Iron Fleet and lure the garrison from the castle. Shield shared his impatience, constantly trying to rush off north, towards Winterfell. He would see Bran and Rickon again, he was positive, but they could wait a little longer, they had to. Just a little while more.
The next day a messenger came racing down the Kingsroad to meet them. "Ser Gawen!" He called out, racing through the camp.
"What is it?" Gawen asked, looking up from the table where the two of them were breaking their fast.
"It... I..." he saw Tristan and bowed. "My Prince! Forgive me, we weren't aware that you had returned."
"I haven't been here long," he replied. He recognised the man, he was one of Winterfell's garrison, the men Robb had left behind. What was he doing here? 'speak up man. Why are you here?"
He got to his feet. "My Prince, I bring word from Ser Rodrik, the Ironmen assaulted Torrhen's Square. He led Winterfell's garrison and repelled them."
"That's good," Tristan said, slightly angered that he had missed yet another chance of battle. But why did he ride so fast? If he had a victory to report, what could be so vital so as to nearly kill the horse. "Why did you come racing so fast?"
"Because... my Prince... Ser Rodrik... I am sorry, my Prince, but it was not the main Ironmen assault. It was but a diversion. When Ser Rodrik rode to liberate Torrhen's Square, Theon Greyjoy slipped behind him and has taken Winterfell."
... What... how... what... but... no.
The messenger was still speaking. ".. men from House Tallhart have gathered, and Lord Cerwyn has also mobilised men to join Ser Rodrik. They are marching now and mean to retake the castle from Theon Turncloak and hold him for King Robb's justice."
"No," he said, black rage boiling within him. His father had treated Theon as a son... a guest in his home, and this was how he repaid him. "It will be my justice. I will kill him myself." He slammed a fist on the table and felt a jarring pain shoot through his arm. 'ser Gawen, this battle is yours, I will be riding north."
Gawen did not object. "I will take this castle for you, my Prince," Gawen said. "Go... reclaim your home and put the Ironmen to the sword."
"Oh I intend to," Tristan said and raced to find his horse. "They will burn for this. They will all of them burn!"
()()()
He was glad that Gawen had provided him and the twenty men riding with him additional horses, if he had only had the one, he likely would have killed it. Gawen had also offered some Manderly knights to join him, but on that Tristan turned him down. Winterfell was the home of these men, they lived there, laughed there and loved there, they understood his haste to see it retaken. A man of White Harbour might urge caution and restraint, and he would have ignored them at best. At worst...
They arrived outside Winterfell in the evening of a crisp autumn day. He saw Cerwyn battleaxes, Tallhart trees, Karstark suns, and the moose of Hornwood. Coming up from the White Knife were more Manderly men along with the Flints, bringing knights, warhorses and siege engines. The camp was wide and spread around the castle, although he doubted the men in the camp numbered more than two thousand, if that. Outside the main gate of Winterfell was the large Stark Banner that told him Ser Rodrik was waiting there. He put his spurs to his horse and galloped for it.
He didn't pause, some men barely had time to dive out of the way of his horse or Shield as he rode hard for the banner. He passed men in northern livery, catapults and scorpions, and horse lines. He pulled his horse to a stop near it and, before it had truly stopped, he slid off the saddle and rushed for the tent just next to the large Stark banner.
He tore open the tent and the three men around the table turned to him. "Prince Tristan?!" Rodrik asked in alarm. His whiskers blowing tentatively in the wind. "What... how?"
"I heard the North was under threat," he replied simply. "I came to drive the Ironmen away and found them in my home."
A man he recognised as a Tallhart, with pale blue eyes, dropped to one knee. "My Prince," he said. "We are honoured to have you here."
He nodded. "And you have my thanks... I'm sorry, your name escapes me."
"My name is Leobald," he replied, not seemingly slighted in the least. "Leobald Tallhart. My brother is Helman, Master of Torrhen's Square."
"Well, Leobald, thank you for coming to assist my house."
"We are loyal to House Stark, always," he replied earnestly.
He nodded and looked to the third one. A young man in Cerwyn arms, with armour clasped around his body. Then his jaw dropped. "Cley?"
His friend nodded. "Indeed," he said, "it's good to see you Tristan." Tristan hugged his friend tightly.
"And you," he said. "I am sorry about your father." Lord Medger had been captured when he was defeated by Tywin Lannister. He had died of his wounds in Harrenhal. Lord Bolton had his bones put into a heavy chest and they were currently with Daryn.
Cley nodded, looking saddened. "He fought for the North," he replied. "As will I. When Ser Rodrik asked for help, I answered."
"Lord Cley fought valiantly, he killed four Ironmen at Torrhen's Square," Rodrik said.
"I would surrender all of those kills to have been here when the Turncloak attacked," Cley said. "If I had been, I could have stopped him."
"You're here now," Tristan said. "We'll take Winterfell back, and punish Theon for stealing it."
"And for your brothers," Leobald Tallhart added.
Tristan nodded. "Yes, he no doubt caused them a lot of distress." He shook his head. They were not supposed to be in harm's way, not in Winterfell.
The other three were looking at each other nervously. "My Prince... perhaps you will want to put down your sword," Rodrik said.
"Why?" He asked.
"You should," Cley confirmed, tentatively holding out his hand.
He looked at them suspiciously. Rodrik always told him to put down his sword when he got angry. Why would he get angrier than he was? His horse had taken the brunt of it on the ride up here. "What's going on?"
Ser Rodrik looked at the ground in shame. Leobald Tallhart bowed his head in respect. Cley took a breath. "Tristan. Theon... he... Bran and Rickon tried to escape and he... he... I'm sorry. But he had them executed."
No... Bran... Rickon... they were children. They... no...
"That's... that's not... no... he... how could... no..." he said. He clutched the edge of the table as images of Bran's broken body flashed before him, Rickon curled around on the floor, blood trickling from his lips, his eyes open and glassy. His breath came fast, rattling through his throat. Shield howled a low, mournful howl outside the tent.
He vaguely heard Rodrik lament that he should have left more men behind. Cley repeating that he should have been there, but it meant nothing. Bran and Rickon were dead. The table blurred as breathing became harder and harder. He had promised mother... in his letter... that he would not let any harm come to them. He had sworn so...
"Tristan," a voice echoed from far away. A weight fell on his shoulder but he lashed out, throwing it off as shadow crept into his vision.
"I...I... I..." He caught himself on the table as he fell, but the wood was smooth, there was nothing to grip, and he slid to the floor like a wet fish. His chest was in pain and his vision foggy and dark. As darkness and silence came over him, he heard voices calling his name, growing fainter and more distant every second.
()()()
He awoke with a shudder. It was morning outside the tent, cold blue light creeping underneath the flaps. "You're awake," he heard a voice say and turned. Cley was sitting watching over him.
"I... am," he confirmed, sitting up. His head spinning a little. He vaguely remembered falling... entering the tent... Bran and Rickon. He closed his eyes, feeling tears come to them and trickle down his cheeks, leaving slimy wet trails down them. "What... what's happened?" He had to think of something else. Pity wouldn't help him, he reached down into his depth to find his fury.
"Ser Rodrik went to negotiate with the Ironmen," Cley told him, passing him a cup of cold water. "Theon refused to surrender. He has put the noose around Beth Cassel's neck, and is threatening to hang her if the host doesn't retreat by sundown."
"That won't happen," Tristan said.
"It won't," Cley confirmed. "Rodrik has given Theon that time frame to surrender the castle before he attacks."
Tristan got to his feet. "Where is Elmar?" He said. His squire would dress him for battle.
"Outside," Cley said.
He nodded. "I must arm myself," he said. "I will be participating in this attack."
"I'd expect nothing less," Cley said, standing up himself. "I'll send him in and go and tell Ser Rodrik you're up."
"Thank you," he said as Cley departed.
Elmar entered, his mousy brown hair damp with sweat, he had clearly been doing something. "My Prince," he said, bowing his head. "I'm... I'm sorry about your brothers."
He highly doubted that Elmar, who had more siblings than fingers and toes, truly knew what it meant to lose two of your three brothers in one swoop. Then he remembered that two Freys were also in the castle, although he didn't know if they had survived or not. "Thank you, Elmar," he replied. Elmar had been eager to talk to Arya as they rode from Harrenhal to the Twins, but Tristan had kept their conversations short, formal and had concealed their betrothal from Arya. He had just found her and didn't want her running off. A short explanation that it would be best if their mother told Arya, and the threat of feeding his heart to Shield if he did anything that caused him to lose her was enough to make Elmar keep his silence. "Arm me," he said. "I intend to battle this day."
Elmar did so. He was getting increasingly better at arming him, which was good. He made only one or two fumbles with the straps this time, far better than the Green Fork where he had put the armour on in the wrong order a couple of times. "Well done," he said, when Elmar was done. "Now come, we go to see Ser Rodrik."
Ser Rodrik was with Leobald and Cley watching the grey walls of Winterfell from the edge of the camp. "My Prince," his Master at Arms greeted him. "The turncloak makes no movements to surrender the castle. It seems we will be storming the walls."
"We have more than enough men," Tristan noted. "It will be swift."
"But will it be swift enough for Beth?" Rodrik asked, his voice slightly hoarse. The man was effectively sacrificing his only surviving child to carry out his duty.
Tristan remembered Beth's infectious laugh and bouncy red hair. "I won't let another die," he said to Rodrik. He looked at the walls. It had been a long time, but in the past he had scaled them.
"How can we prevent it?" Rodrik asked.
He stroked his beard, remembering when he had been forced to shave it for the southerners. He had told his mother that he would stop Bran climbing that day. He hadn't. How much harm would have been prevented if he had? "How many are there?" He asked Rodrik.
"Not many," his Master of Arms assured him. "A captive we took at Torrhen's Square told us that Theon took the castle with fewer than forty men."
"They can't be watching every approach," Tristan said. "Take the horsemen and ride around the castle, sound warnhorns, wave banners, draw the eyes of the ironmen garrison. I will use that opportunity to sneak closer to the walls and scale them. I will keep Beth safe, I promise."
"Will that work?" Cley asked.
Tristan nodded. "I'll dull my weapons and armour with mud, that will prevent them from seeing the glint of sun on metal, and I'll stay close to the ground."
"It may be the best way," Rodrik said. "Take some men of the garrison with you. Keep low to the ground and drag a ladder with you, it should be disguised against the earth, and then scale the wall. Make sure you wear only mail," Rodrik added. "It will be enough to protect you and the bulk won't show up against the grass."
Tristan looked over the wall and the stretch of grass. He was right, you can dull full plate as much as you like, but it would still be grey and very bulky, he would stick to his mail. The south eastern tower had a large Greyjoy Kraken flowing from it. "I'll scale the wall there," he said, pointing to the wall near the tower. "As I go to save Beth, the men will cut down that banner. When they do, the men should attack, we can overwhelm the Ironmen."
"And betray our offer to the Ironmen."
Tristan nodded. "They aren't going to honour it. Besides, I won't tell anyone, and none will blame us. Not when Winterfell is ours again."
"All are eager to see the Turncloak dead," Cley confirmed.
Ser Rodrik looked uneager. "My prince, betraying them like this... it is not the most honourable route."
"You made the agreement, Rodrik," Tristan reminded him. "I did not. If anyone betrays an oath, let it be me, and I will suffer the consequences, and I will suffer them gladly."
"It is the best chance for your daughter," Leobald Tallhart reminded Ser Rodrik. "The taste of victory will mask that of breaking an oath with oath breakers and turncloaks."
Rodrik did not need much persuading. No doubt he saw Theon as part of his own failure. "I gave that boy steel, taught him how to wield it," he muttered. "Very well. I will lead the horsemen."
"I will command men to assault the western wall," Leobald Tallhart said. "We will move as soon as we see the southern assault go in."
"That leaves the south to you," Tristan said to Cley. "Order the attack as soon as you see the banner fall."
"Gladly," Cley said, smiling. "I will help you make the Turncloak pay for what he's done."
"Remember," Tristan said. "Theon must be taken alive. I will not let a story of his valiant last stand emerge. He must die a traitor, at an executioner's hand. At my hand."
"I will tell the men," Rodrik said. "You had best get your men ready," he told Tristan.
"I will," he assured the three of them. "Ready yourselves, today we retake Winterfell."
()()()
"This is your chance to back out," Tristan told Elmar as he smeared mud on his own weapons.
Elmar shook his head. "I am your squire. My place is at your side," he swore.
Tristan nodded. He couldn't doubt the boy's courage. "Very well," he said. He turned to the dozen men who would be coming with them, mud on their helms, mail and swords. "Are you ready?"
"Aye," they answered. They dragged their ladder towards them. While they had been preparing themselves, others had been wrapping leaves and foliage around the ladder to give it a little more disguise against the grasses outside Winterfell.
'then let's go," he said, and they all got to the ground and wrapped one arm around the ladder. Behind them they heard the camp as a flurry of activity, men banging spears on the ground, hammering swords against shields and sounding drums and warhorns. Such activity was going on around the entire castle, to disguise their approach to the wall.
Dragging the ladder was an uncoordinated mess of a task. They hadn't had the time to practice their dragging and work in tandem, so sometimes their under arms got jarred as the rung below them slammed into it. But luckily, nothing seemed to have seen them, so they moved inch by inch closer to the walls. He wished Shield were here, but there was no disguising a Direwolf, so his faithful companion had remained behind.
The ground was soft beneath him and his fingers dug in several times. One time his boot did as well, but Elmar, coming up behind him was able to jerk it free for him, and they pressed on, the sound from the camps dimming as they got closer to the wall.
When the ladder's prongs hit the wall, Tristan and the man on the other side of the ladder dropped their holds and scrambled against the walls. Each of the men behind them continued crawling until they were all against the wall. "Ready?" He asked them in a whisper. They nodded. "Then let's get this ladder up. We have to be as fast as possible. Go!" His men rushed to take the ladder and raise it up, the prongs dragging along the stone as it was raised higher and higher before it settled against the wall and they forced the prongs on the bottom into the soft ground to keep it stable. He ascended first, clambering up the ladder ahead of the rest. He kept ready to draw his dagger if there was someone waiting for him at the other end.
But there wasn't, the Ironmen didn't seem to have enough men to man the walls, which fitted with what Rodrik had learned at Torrhen's Square. He drew his sword and stepped to the side to let Elmar and the rest over. When Elmar and the first two men were over the first wall, he pulled them to one side. "We"re going to save Beth," he whispered to them. He tapped the next one to come over with his sword. "Gather the rest and go and tear down that banner." He nodded and Tristan turned. He had to find Beth, as soon as the assault began, she would be set to swing. Hopefully Theon didn't think Rodrik would dare attack while his daughter was threatened. They raced across a bridge linking the outer wall to the inner wall and, when he looked down into the courtyard, he saw her. Beth was standing at a gibbet in the courtyard, a rope around her neck and standing on a bucket, two ironmen on either side of her. Her shoulders were shaking in fear. "Down there!" He hissed and turned to race for the tower. He took the steps two at a time, racing down, Elmar and the men struggling to keep up. The sound of horns and trumpets and drums suddenly rose into a glorious crescendo, and he knew the attack was beginning, he had perhaps half a minute before the ironmen set Beth to swing. He burst out of the door of the tower and, ignoring everything else raced towards Beth, sword held high.
The ironmen looked surprised and slightly unsure at what to do. But they came to their senses and they grinned, rushing him, one with two axes in hand and the other with a longsword. The one with the sword paused only to kick the bucket out from under Beth who flailed around desperately, legs kicking the air.
The one with the axes aimed a strike with both of them, one for his head, the other for his legs. He dropped low, blocking the axe going for his legs with his sword while letting the other fly over his head, missing it by a foot. Reaching out he clasped the tip of his sword with his hand and wrenched hard, jerking the axe out of the ironman's grip and ramming his shoulder into his stomach, winding the warrior and sending him to the ground with a gasp. Then he dived to one side to get out of the way of the swordsman, who charged him, sword raised. A thrust beats a slash, he charged forward and thrust up, the point of his steel punching through the ironman's neck. He pulled his sword out and left the man to choke on his blood as he raced forward to the unprotected gallows where Beth was flailing desperately her face bright red. With a single slash he cut through the rope and she fell to the ground gasping. Jumping over her form he strode towards the warrior with one axe, now clambering to his feet, and took his head off with a single slash of steel and a spurt of bright red watering the ground.
He raced back to Beth, dropping his sword and pulling out his dagger, cutting through the ropes binding her wrists and what was left of her noose. A bright purple ring of a bruise circles her neck and her hands leapt up to it as soon as they were free. "It's okay," he whispered to her, pulling her to her feet, "it's okay Beth you're safe now, I'm here, and your father's coming."
She began to regain her breath, but nodded, her eyes watering and clutched at his body closely as Elmar and the other two men arrived on the scene. "Elmar, take Beth and watch over her." Elmar nodded and tried to take one of Beth's arms but she snatched it away, looking at the twin towers on his surcoat with fear. "It's okay Beth, Elmar is my squire and he'll watch over you." Beth shook her head violently and refused to be parted from his arm. "Beth please, I need my arm."
"Tristan!" A roar sounded and he looked up. Theon the Traitor stood with another four ironmen having just emerged from the main keep, his men armoured and armed and Theon with his bow in hand.
"Bastard!" He hissed
"Kill him!" Theon ordered and his men advanced charged.
He tried to tug away from Beth as he heard more sounds coming from the walls, Rodrik must have begun his attack. "Get ready," he ordered his men who stepped up, swords in hand. "Beth I need my arm!" But she clung on.
The first of his men grunted, an arrow through his chest and he staggered. As an ironman attacked him he tried to raise his sword but a second arrow punched through his chest and a battleaxe carved through his chestplate. "Beth!"
The other soldier tried to fight three enemies at once but only glanced one blow off his arm before he too was cut down. Elmar had frozen in terror as the first ironman, axe still dripping blood descended on him. With no time to wait he dragged Beth and threw himself between his squire and his attacker. The grate of axe on steel was nearly as unbearable as the pain that shot through his ribs, but his mail held. He lunged forward with his dagger the only weapon he had left and plunged it into the eye of the ironman. "Elmar, your sword!" He roared, releasing his dagger and holding out his left hand awkwardly, his own longer blade lay discarded by the remains of the noose. 'sorry Beth," He whispered, hefting her weight and throwing her aside, her fingers tearing from his sword arm, freeing him for battle. "Elmar guard her!" He raised his sword to block the first attack deflecting it aside and ducking low, cutting across the stomach of his attacker. Like a hundred eels the ironman's guts wriggled free of his stomach, flopping on the floor with a squelch and a rain of red fluids as the man's upper body fell back gracefully until his head touched the ground, his two halves only connected by his spine. But there were still two left. He leapt forward, adjusting his grip and locking blades with the first attacker, pushing his own sword along until the two crossguards were interlocked.
"My lord, the traitor!" Tristan glanced at Theon and saw him raise his bow. He shoved the ironman back and leapt in front of Elmar, a slamming pain going through his chest. He reached up and jerked the arrow free, bloodless, it hadn't gone through his mail and aketon, but by the gods he was feeling it. He attacked the ironmen again ducking under a sword strike and driving his sword through the swordsman's stomach. A warm blood ran down his wrist and he heard a chuckle in his ears and the man's arms tightened around him, gripping him in a bear hug. The final attacker closed in, axe raised and a wide grin on his bearded face. He grunted and tried to pull free but the dying man was holding on tight. As the last attacked stopped before him he raised his axe high, ready to bring down. Then Elmar slammed into him, Tristan's dagger plunging into the attacker's legs, and then again, and again, the steel a blur as it rose and fell into the ironman blood spurting out in small fountains.
The man holding him groaned in frustration and anger that he wouldn't take Tristan with him to whatever hell he went to, but then pulled his head back and slammed it into Tristan's face. He cried out as blinding pain shot through his features staggering him and making his ears ring. "My lord, Beth!"
He blinked his eyes again and saw that Theon's bow was raised and aimed at the now prone and quivering Beth. "I told Rodrik I would kill her if I was attacked."
I won't let her die! He dived in front of Beth and a second pain in his wrist joined that in his head as the great gates of Winterfell opened and Rodrik led the northmen back into Winterfell. But it was all becoming dark, all of it, he turned to make sure Beth was okay but rolled onto his left hand, heightening the pain and he cried out weakly. "My lord!" Elmar's voice was distant, like he was calling from across a lake or within a crypt when the darkness took him, leaving him with only pain.
