Chapter Ten
–
Better to break your word
than to do worse in keeping it.
—
Disclaimer: I own no rights to the Game of Thrones series written by George R.R. Martin. Eleonora, Nyx, and Moon are my own inserts, but I own no other characters.
—
Jaime had four days to find Arya Stark and unite her with a man named Yoren whom he had never met. If he did not find her in time, he would be forced to depart to Casterly Rock without keeping his word to Eleonora Stark. He would not break his promise even though it took two days just to track down the inn that Yoren was sleeping in. He was commanded by his lord father to leave for Casterly Rock to assist with assembling the Lannister forces. He did not have time to help a tiny wild wolf girl from a warring house find her way home. He thought himself such a fool for giving Eleonora Stark his word. He had no loyalty to her, quite the opposite. However, he made a promise and he was now sworn to keep it. He would sneak out into the city when the moon was bright and the night was quiet. He searched all the brothels, inns, and ale houses but had found no sign of her the first night under the full moon.
Arya had never seen so many men on the walls. Gold cloaks, most of them, armed with spears. Some of them knew her by sight. What would they do if they saw her running across the yard? She'd look so small from up there, would they be able to tell who she was? Would they care?
It took three days for her to step outside of the stable she had been hiding within. Stepping out into the night was the scariest thing she'd ever done. She wanted to run and hide, but she made herself walk across the yard, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other as if she had all the time in the world and no reason to be afraid of anyone. She thought she could feel their eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. Arya never looked up. If she saw them watching, all her courage would desert her, she knew, and she would drop the bundle of clothes and run and cry like a baby, and then they would have her. She kept her gaze on the ground. By the time she reached the shadow of the royal sept on the far side of the yard, Arya was cold with sweat, but no one had raised the hue and cry. The sept was open and empty. Inside, half a hundred prayer candles burned in a fragrant silence. She said a silent prayer.
"Stark?" a voice whispered loudly, echoing off the walls of the temple. It was Jaime Lannister, the Golden Lion.
Arya clutched Needle in her hand and pointed it at the man creeping towards her through the shadows. She was cornered, the door was behind her enemy.
"Stay back!"
"You Starks and your eagerness to die for your honor," he said in his dry, listless voice. "Put your splinter down, little wolf, I'm not here to hurt you today."
"I don't believe you," she hissed. "You killed Wyl!"
"And they say all Starks have coal stones for brains," he said, rolling his eyes. "I don't know who 'Wyl' is, but perhaps I did. I don't blame you for not believing me, but it is true. I am here because of your sister."
"Sansa?" she surmised, assuming he was on orders from Joffrey's keep.
"No, Eleonora," he replied as if her name was a filthy word. "I gave her my word I would get you out of King's Lansing alive, and I intend to keep it."
"Why would you do that?" she snapped. "Your evil sister and Joffrey have guards searching for me everywhere."
"I know," he said in an annoyed tone, rolling his eyes. "If you come with me, I will keep you safe. You may keep your splinter sword and stick me if you must, but I am going to get you out of the city and on the kingsroad north."
"No, it's a trick," said Arya slowly. "You're trying to trick me."
"Stark, do you honestly believe I have nothing better to do than spend my time plotting out clever ways to convince a little girl to trust me?" he scoffed. "The Night's Watch sent a Wandering Crow called Yoren to King's Landing gathering recruits for the Black. You can ride north with his crows to your bastard brother at the Wall."
Arya stared at Jaime for a long time in silence, "you're not going to kill me?"
"No, little wolf," he replied with a bemused grin, extending his hand for her to take, "not today."
And the god of death listened — not today.
—
The Karstarks came in on a cold windy morning, bringing three hundred horsemen and near two thousand foot from their castle at Karhold. The steel points of their pikes winked in the pale sunlight as the column approached. A man went before them, pounding out a slow, deep-throated marching rhythm on a drum that was bigger than he was, boom, boom, boom.
Lord Rickard himself led them, his sons Harrion and Eddard and Torrhen riding beside him beneath night-black banners emblazoned with the white sunburst of their House. Old Nan said they had Stark blood in them, going back hundreds of years, but they did not look like Starks. They were big men, and fierce, faces covered with thick beards, hair worn loose past the shoulders. Their cloaks were made of skins, the pelts of bear and seal and wolf.
They were the last to arrive in Winterfell. The other lords were already here, with their hosts. The maester had taught every one of the Stark children all the banners: the mailed fist of the Glovers, silver on scarlet; Lady Mormont's black bear; the hideous flayed man that went before Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort; a bull moose for the Hornwoods; a battle-axe for the Cerwyns; three sentinel trees for the Tallharts; and the fearsome sigil of House Umber, a roaring giant in shattered chains.
And soon enough he learned the faces too, when the lords and their sons and knights retainer came to Winterfell to feast. Even the Great Hall was not large enough to seat all of them at once, so Robb hosted each of the principal bannermen in turn.
"How many is it now?" Robb asked Maester Luwin as Lord Karstark and his sons rode through the gates in the outer wall.
"Twelve thousand men, or near enough," he relied.
"How many knights?"
"Few enough," the maester said. "To be a knight, you must stand your vigil in a sept, and be anointed with the seven oils to consecrate your vows. In the north, only a few of the great houses worship the Seven. The rest honor the old gods, and name no knights . . . but those lords and their sons and sworn swords are no less fierce or loyal or honorable. A man's worth is not marked by a ser before his name. As I have told you a hundred times before."
"That is not the question I asked, maester," said Robb with slight impatience in his voice. "How many knights?"
Maester Luwin sighed. "Three hundred, perhaps four . . . among three thousand armored lances who are not knights."
"Lord Karstark is the last,"said Robb thoughtfully.
"You will feast him tonight."
"Of course," said Robb.
"You must march soon, or not at all," Maester Luwin said. "The winter town is full to bursting, and this army of yours will eat the countryside clean if it camps here much longer. Others are waiting to join you all along the kingsroad, barrow knights and crannogmen and the Lords Manderly and Flint. The fighting has begun in the riverlands, and you have many leagues to go."
"I know." Robb felt certain because he had to. "I simply wish to—"
As they passed beneath the gatehouse portcullis, Eleonora smelled the sweet breath of home. After more than a fortnight on the Wind Witch, the familiar stone castle felt like a soft bed after a journey. Jory and Jacks were the only two Stark guards to survive the attack on the kingsroad. The four of them had followed Jaime's plan to sail safely north successfully, but only Eleonora knew Jaime had told her of the ship or that Jaime had even appeared to save her at all.
There had been so many comings and goings that Robb ordered both portcullises kept up and the drawbridge down between them, even in the dead of night. A long column of armored lancers was crossing the moat between the walls when Eleonora emerged from the crowd, limping; Karstark men, following their lords into the castle. They wore black iron halfhelms and black woolen cloaks patterned with the white sunburst. Robb spotted her instantly, those big Tully eyes and long black hair. She was so small, but she stood out amongst the thousands of northmen. She walked Moon by the reins behind her, Rickon sitting on her saddle. Jory and Jacks walked their two horses behind them.
Robb left his conversation with Maester Luwin and sprinted forward through the crowds. When he reached her, Robb wrapped his arms around his sister tight enough to never let go. He lifted her up so her face nestled in the nook of his neck and she breathed one syllable, "Robb."
"I was so frightened I'd never see you again," he whispered in her ear, quiet so only Eleonora's ears could hear.
Robb was her best friend, and he always had been. They were twin flames in a world of ice and snow. Robb seemed half a stranger to her now in the physical sense, transformed, a lord in truth, though he had still not yet seen his eighteenth name day. He had grown taller, more braud and confident. He had to be self assured the north would surely crumble in the wake of their father's wrongful imprisonment.
"We were so worried you had been dragged back to King's Landing," said Maester Luwin, smiling behind Robb as he held Eleonora's face in his hands as tears swelled behind his eyes. "We heard your party was attacked on the kingsroad, but every whisper we hear is impossible to prove."
Eleonora released her brother and embraced the Maester she loved as her own blood, kissing his cheek as a granddaughter would her grandfather. She squeezed his wrinkled hands in hers reassuringly.
"We were, that's how I injured my leg," she frowned, looking back over her shoulder. "We're all that's left. Fat Tom, Donnis, Heward… bones left to rot in the heat of the south. Has there been any word on father or the girls?"
"Father remains a prisoner under Joffrey's order," said Robb, eyes dark and hollow. "They have Sansa certainly, and we have heard nothing of Arya. We assume she is with Sansa."
Rickon climbed down to the earth with Jory's help and ran in between his eldest siblings. Robb lifted Rickon into his arms and embraced him, "I hardly recognize this one. This young man cannot possibly be my littlest brother. He's too big and strong."
"Robb, we sailed on a great ship, and we escaped from the bad men, and we went so far out into the sea that there was no more land!"
"What an adventure you've had," said Robb, kissing the top of Rickon's mop of hair. "Why don't you go on with Maester Luwin and find Bran? He will want to hear every detail."
Rickon hopped down from Robb's arms and took the Maester's hand to lead them towards the castle. He would tell Bran of the Wind Witch and escaping the bad men and then he would find Shaggydog and tell him, too.
Eleonora locked her arm in Robb's and allowed him to slowly lead her through the bustling courtyard towards the godswood where they would find quiet. Her leg was still healing from the break but her limp had just begun to fade thanks to welcomed rest upon the ship. Jory and Jacks led the horses to the stables, dreaming of a bath and good night of sleep.
The godswood's plethora of trees created a dense canopy over old, packed earth and humus and moss. At the center of the grove stood an ancient weirwood with a face carved into it, a heart tree standing over a pool of black water. Across the godswood from the heart tree, beneath the windows of the Guest House, an underground hot spring fed three small pools, with a moss-covered wall looming above them. It was quiet and it was beautiful and it was theirs.
"I've done my best to shield Rickon from the dark storm that looms south," she sighed. "He does not comprehend what is surely to come."
"Let him live blind to the threats for as long as he can," said Robb. "If we were all so lucky. Bran has done well. He clings to every bit of information he hears, asks wise questions like a little lord should. I know he resents mother for leaving. She is in the Riverlands, still. She was not here when he woke. You know their bond."
"I imagine he will not see her again for some time," she replied. "Word in Deepwood Motte is you'll be leading the bannermen south towards mother now and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell."
"Yes, and he'll be safe with Maester Luwin and with you as his council," said Robb, taking a seat where their father had so many times before under the weir wood tree.
"I will go where you go, Robb," she scoffed. "I may be a woman, but I am more useful with a bow in my hand by your side than whispering silly reassurances in Bran's ear."
"I will not see you in danger," he replied. "I am Lord of Winterfell until father returns, and that is my command."
Eleonora chucked lightly, "oh, sweet boy, you forget I am your big sister. I respect your word and honor your title, but I will not be separated from you again. What sort of Stark would I be if I allowed the northern houses to fight in my name while I hide away like a coward behind stone walls?"
"You forget yourself," said Robb firmly. "Father allowed you your unconventional hobbies, but no northern man wants nor expects a lady to fight for her keep."
"You should certainly inform Maege Mormont of this notion," said Eleonora. "It's a long journey back to Bear Island."
"Eleonora—"
"I'll gather my things and prepare for the journey south," she said. "Winter is coming."
—
Eleonora quickly fell into place beside her brother. He sought her counsel and appreciated her quick tongue if any of the elder northern lords attempted to test them. Jory became his right hand, his staunchest champion. He had a knack for tactfully suggesting alternatives while also appreciating the contributions of all men with decades of battle valor. Jory had been colder in the north to Eleonora. He had not forgiven her for her sharp tongue lashing on the kingsroad. He had told her he understood and he thought little of it, but she knew he was lying. She had hurt his pride and his heart, but she knew most certainly that she would do so again. She would protect the lives of her younger siblings at the cost of her own every time, and she would never allow any man to challenge her authority — even a man she loved.
She imagined Jory had also distanced himself slightly while both Eleonora and Robb continued to be bombarded with unbetrothed sons and daughters of northern houses. Maege Mormont told Robb that she had a granddaughter she would be willing to have him marry. Soft-spoken Lord Cerwyn had actually brought his daughter with him, a plump, homely maid of thirty years who sat at her father's left hand and never lifted her eyes from her plate. And when Lord Umber, who was called the Greatjon by his men and stood as tall as Hodor and twice as wide, brought his son Smalljon to fight and hopefully wed the untouched beauty that was Eleonora Stark. Smalljon had always fancied her even as children. He had nearly proposed marriage to her at a disastrous namesday dinner, but instead, admired her from afar as so many other northern lords did.
Her body felt warmer in the north as if it had been forever scarred. She sat in Old Nan's rocker in front of the hearth, rocking Bran in her arms. Nyx snoozed on the floor at the end of her feet beside Summer. He objected to her coddling at first, but agreed as long as his elder brother would not see. Rickon had been put to bed an hour prior and Robb had been staying up to such long hours that she slipped a bit of honey wine into his evening drink to force him to an early slumber. Eleonora rested her chin on top of Bran's head.
"I hear Sansa and Arya bickering in the halls at night," said Bran solemnly. "I can see mother and father in the courtyard. It's as if they haunt the north."
"We will see them again," said Eleonora. "The North has a way of calling us home."
"But you're leaving in the morning with Robb," he protested. "You're just going to leave Rickon? He needs you."
She knew it was Bran's subtle way of telling his eldest sister he was frightened and he would miss her terribly. Sansa always made similar excuses to avoid any damage to her pride.
"Rickon will have his brave brother and Jory looking after him," said Eleonora. "And you, pup, will have Maester Luwin, Hodor, and Old Nan to keep you company until we will be together again. Besides, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. If Robb is in the south, there is no one better to watch over Winterfell, Bran. No one. Mother and Father would be so proud."
"Will you see Mother in the south?"
"Yes, I suppose so," she replied. "I'm certain she misses you terribly."
"Then perhaps she should have never left," said Bran coolly.
"Bran, sometimes the decisions we make are more complicated than they seem," she said. "If things were different, you know she would be right here with you."
Their grandfather, old Lord Rickard, had gone as well, with his son Brandon who was their Father's elder brother, and two hundred of his best men. None had ever returned. And now Ned had gone south, with Arya and Sansa, and Donnis and Heward and Fat Tom and the others, and later their Mother and Ser Rodrik had gone, and they hadn't come back either. And now Robb and Eleonora meant to go. Not to King's Landing and not to swear fealty, but to Riverrun, with a bow over Eleonora's shoulder and a sword in Robb's hand. And if their lord father were truly a prisoner, that could mean his death for a certainty. It frightened Bran more than he could say.
"You and Robb will watch over each other," said Bran, as they watched the flames dance, "And Theon too, I suppose. I'll pray to the gods to keep you safe. I'll pray you defeat the Lannisters and save Father and bring them all home."
"I'll pray the gods listen to your prayers, pup," she smiled, kissing the top of his head again. "They never seem to hear my own Zu."
—
Robb wheeled his courser around and trotted away. Grey Wind followed, loping beside the warhorse, lean and swift. Hallis Mollen went before them through the gate, carrying the rippling white banner of House Stark atop a high standard of grey ash. Theon and Greatjon fell in on either side of Robb, and their knights formed up in a double column behind them, steel-tipped lances glinting in the sun. Eleonora's black mare was anxious to follow the others as she gripped her reins.
"I don't want you to go," Rickon cried. "I want to go with you."
"Listen to me, sweet boy," she said, fighting her own tears. She pushed away her little brother's tears, kneeling down in front of him. She held his face in her hands to keep his eyes locked on hers. "You will be safe. Jory, Osha, and Maester Luwin will keep you safe until we can all be together again at Winterfell. I promise we will see each other again soon."
"But who will keep you safe, Nora?"
"Don't you worry about me, my love," she smiled sadly, pushing away his tears again. "As long as I have my bow on my shoulder and Robb by my side, no one can hurt me."
"You must practice your archery to make your big sister proud when you see each other again," said Osha, a sad smile on her lips as she approached him from behind. Eleonora learned the kindness she had shown her brothers since her initial tumultuous encounter in the woods. She had quickly become a Stark confidant rather than the prisoner she once was. "Now kiss her once more, little lord, before she leaves until you see her again."
Rickon wrapped his arms tightly around his sister's neck and Eleonora lifted him up into her arms. She kissed her cheek for a long while, the little boy she raised. Her tears soaked his cheek. She handed him to Osha and nodded her appreciation. Rickon cried into Osha's shoulder as she carried back into the warmth of the castle.
Eleonora held her horse's reins, Nyx at her side as the courtyard emptied. She ran her fingers affectionately through Nyx's fur. Nyx would stay behind in the north to keep her brothers safe. She belonged in the north just as Eleonora did, just as they all did. Jory approached her, a faint sad smile on his lips. She wiped away her tears again.
"I wish I was coming with you," he said.
"There is no one Robb trusts more than you," said Eleonora, placing her hand on his cheek. "No one I trust more than you to protect Rickon."
Eleonora and Robb had made the difficult but necessary decision to send Rickon to Castle Black if there was the slightest threat to Winterfell. Robb had written Commander Mormont for his assurance of Rickon's protection if the unthinkable were to happen. He immediately gave his word that Rickon would always have a home and remain safe at Castle Black.
Jory and Osha would leave in the night with Nyx, Lady, and Shaggydog for protection on their journey to the Wall. Eleonora was leaving Moon behind for Rickon. There was no better horse in the snow, and she wanted to give them every advantage possible for a safe journey. Neither of the young Stark boys knew of their elder siblings' plan, and that was intentional. No one but Robb, Jory, Maester Luwin, Osha, and Eleonora knew what must be done if the time came.
Jory leaned over and pressed his forehead against hers. She looked up into his eyes, her eyes were glassy with more unshed tears. She would miss him in the north without her but there was no one she trusted more to keep her brothers safe.
"We may be apart a long while," he said, his eyes wet. "Things will never be the same again."
"I know," she said, holding his face in her hands.
"Distance will not dim the love I have for you," he said, kissing her lips. "I'll wait for you, however long it takes."
"I love you," said Eleonora, climbing up to saddle her grey mare but pausing to look at Jory. "No matter what happens, no matter what the future holds, always."
—
Beyond the castle walls, a roar of sound went up. The foot soldiers and townsfolk were cheering Robb as he rode past, cheering for Lord Stark, for the Lord of Winterfell on his great stallion, with his cloak streaming and Grey Wind racing beside him. When the distant cheers had faded to silence and the yard was empty at last, Winterfell seemed deserted and dead.
It was too far to make out the banners clearly, but even through the drifting fog she could see that they were white, with a dark smudge in their center that could only be the direwolf of Stark, grey upon its icy field. When she saw it with her own eyes, Catelyn Stark reined up her horse and bowed her head in thanks. The gods were good. She was not too late.
Catelyn rode beside him. Ser Wylis and his brother Ser Wendel followed, leading their levies, near fifteen hundred men: some twenty-odd knights and as many squires, two hundred mounted lances, swordsmen, and freeriders, and the rest foot, armed with spears, pikes and tridents. Lord Wyman had remained behind to see to the defenses of White Harbor.
The three surviving towers command the causeway from all sides, and any enemy must pass between them. The bogs here are impenetrable, full of quicksands and suckholes and teeming with snakes. To assault any of the towers, an army would need to wade through waist-deep black muck, cross a moat full of lizard-lions, and scale walls slimy with moss.
Standards had been raised atop all three towers. The Karstark sunburst hung from the Drunkard's Tower, beneath the direwolf; on the Children's Tower it was the Greatjon's giant in shattered chains. But on the Gatehouse Tower, the Stark banner flew alone. Catelyn made for it, with Ser Brynden and Ser Wendel behind her, their horses stepping slowly down the log-and-plank road that had been laid across the green-and-black fields of mud.
She found her son beside his sister, inseparable as children and inseparable now, inseparable always. She knew Eleonora would refuse to stay behind if Robb pledged his journey south. Catelyn did not like seeing either of her children surrounded by their father's bannermen without him. It was eerie. It frightened her.
Catelyn saw them in a drafty hall with a peat fire smoking in a black hearth. Robb was seated at a massive stone table, a pile of maps and papers in front of him, talking intently with Roose Bolton. Eleonora wore her hunting clothes, leather pants and boots laced to her knees, a white linen blouse, leather corset, and fur cloak with her hair in a thick braid down her back.
Catelyn likened her to her father, wild, fierce and determined as she scribbled down strategies and battle plans. He would be so proud if he could see her, she thought. At first neither of her children noticed her. Greatjon Umber tapped his fat index finger on Eleonora's parchment, physically agreeing with something particular she had written. Eleonora zealously nodded her agreement and wrote faster, listening intently to the wise words of battle veterans. The lords fell silent one-by-one when they spotted Lady Catelyn, and Robb and Eleonora looked up at the sudden quiet and saw her.
Catelyn wanted to run to them, to wrap them both in her arms and hold them so tightly that they would never come to harm . . . but Robb was playing a man's part now, and she would not take that away from him. Eleonora strolled across the room to where she stood. Catelyn embraced her daughter tight enough to nearly choke her.
"Mother," said Eleonora, nuzzling her chin into her mother's auburn hair.
Catelyn whispered in her daughter's ear, "I was so worried."
"I know," she said softly in the crook of her mother's neck. "We will bring them home."
Catelyn held her daughter's face in her hands and smiled, kissing her cheek, "of course we will."
"Have no fear, Lady Stark," the Greatjon interrupted in his bass rumble. "Winterfell is safe. We'll shove our swords up Tywin Lannister's ass soon enough, begging your pardons, and then it's on to the Red Keep to free Ned."
"My lady, a question, as it please you." Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, had a small voice, yet when he spoke larger men quieted to listen. His eyes were curiously pale, almost without color, and his look disturbing. His gaze often fell silently on Eleonora entirely too long, it made her skin crawl. "It is said that you hold Lord Tywin's dwarf son as captive. Have you brought him to us? I vow, we should make good use of such a hostage."
"Tyrion Lannister is innocent until his guilt is proven," said Eleonora, her eyes piercing. "No harm should come to him until he answers for any crimes he has committed. We are not savages, we are not southerners."
"I did hold Tyrion Lannister, but no longer," Catelyn was forced to admit. A chorus of consternation greeted the news. "I was no more pleased than you, my lords. The gods saw fit to free him, with some help from my fool of a sister."
The lords were anxious to question her further, but Catelyn raised a hand. "No doubt we will have time for all this later, but my journey has fatigued me. I would speak with my children alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords." She gave them no choice; led by the ever-obliging Lord Hornwood, the bannermen bowed and took their leave. "And you, Theon," she added when Theon lingered. He smiled and left them.
There was ale and cheese on the table. Catelyn tilled a horn, sat, sipped, and studied her son. He seemed taller than when she'd left, and the wisps of beard did make him look older. "Edmure was eighteen before he grew his first whiskers."
"I will be eighteen soon enough," Robb said.
"And you are seventeen now. Seventeen, and leading a host to battle. Can you understand why I might fear, Robb?"
His look grew stubborn. "There was no one else."
"No one?" she said. "Pray, who were those men I saw here a moment ago? Roose Bolton, Rickard Karstark, Galbart and Robett Glover, the Greatjon, Helman Tallhart . . . you might have given the command to any of them. Gods be good, you might even have sent Theon, though he would not be my choice."
"They are not Starks," said Eleonora.
"They are men seasoned in battle. You were fighting with wooden swords not long ago, both of you."
"Father would not send men to die in battle for his House if he were not willing to fight alongside them," said Eleonora. "What would you do, Mother? Send us back to Winterfell and abandon our bannermen?"
Catelyn saw a familiar passion in her eyes at that, but it was gone as quick as it came.
Catelyn sighed. "I should. You ought never have left. Yet I dare not, not now. You have come too far. The day will come when you need them to respect you, even fear you a little."
"That day is today, Mother," she said.
"There was a letter," Robb said, scratching his direwolf under the jaw. "The real message is in what Sansa does not say. All this about how kindly and gently the Lannisters are treating her . . . I know the sound of a threat, even whispered. They have Sansa hostage, and they mean to keep her."
"Was there no mention of Arya?" Catelyn pointed out, miserable.
"No," said Eleonora. "We are praying to the gods she escaped King's Landing."
Catelyn took Robb's hand. "I will not soften the truth for you, either of you. If you lose, there is no hope for any of us. They say there is naught but stone at the heart of Casterly Rock. Remember the fate of Rhaegar's children."
She saw the fear in his young eyes then, but there was a strength as well. "Then I will not lose," he vowed.
Robb nodded and rolled up the map. Eleonora swallowed hard, her chest felt tight. She knew that moment she would do anything, sacrifice whatever she must to ensure her brother's safety.
—
Each night with the stars littered the sky, the northern lords fell to their beds drunk on wine, and Grey Wind howled in the distance during his nightly hunt — the Stark siblings held tight to the other's company in private. This evening was different, this evening would not be littered with jest and memories of their father. This evening would determine the rest of Eleonora's future and perhaps the future of their house.
"Lord Glover spoke all evening about your skill with a bow," said Robb, a sly smile sneaking across his lips. "He said he had never seen a man half as capable with a weapon, and certainly never one as beautiful."
"Do not tease me," she said, stealing his plate of bread. She plopped down across from him at his table, covered in plans and notes. She dragged a piece of bread through oil and tossed it into her mouth.
"I'm not teasing you," he smirked, "not really."
"Well, it is very kind of him to say," she sighed.
"Greatjon concurred and said Smalljon had been searching for you all evening to thank you personally—"
"You are enjoying this too much for my liking," said Eleonora.
"We need alliances now," he said. "There is no better way to accomplish this than by marriage."
"You sound like Father," her words cut like a blade.
"There are a dozen honorable men from great houses who would give anything to be your husband," he replied. "Lord Galbart Glover is a widower, and Deepwood Motte is close to the Bay of Ice. You love to visit the frozen sea," Robb went on. "Last Hearth is only a day's journey from the Wall. If you were wed to Smalljon Umber, you could visit as often as you like."
"If my husband allows," she seethed.
"Alright, Harrion Karstark," he continued. "He's handsome to most and you always loved visiting Karhold when we were children."
"Robb, if my hand will strengthen an allegiance, broker an alliance, or settle a debt then betroth me to whomever you like," she said, her throat tight and painful. "If it'll help bring father, Arya, and Sansa home then I'll marry whomever you choose. You do not need to sell me families I've known my entire life like cattle to auction. You know how painful this is for me, no matter who I wed. Tell me a name and make the match. Slit my throat instead of bleeding me dry."
"Smalljon Umber," said Robb because he knew all along who he wanted. "The Umbers answered our call without hesitation when Father was taken. Smalljon is my most trusted personal guard. He is a good man, and his love for you is true even if unrequited. You'll be close to Jon."
"As you wish," she breathed, an invisible dagger stabbing her chest so deep that she could barely breathe. "Greatjon will want to celebrate our betrothal. I imagine a great feast and ale will help with morale, but do not allow your men to fall too out of order."
"Of course, sister," said Robb.
"And you must be the one to tell Mother," said Eleonora, nodding. "I am certain she'll be pleased, and I do not think I can bear it."
Eleonora left Robb's tent and emptied her stomach onto the cold grass beside a barrel of lentils. She was colder still.
—
"I must have that crossing!" Robb declared, fuming. They needed to cross the Twins to journey south. "Oh, our horses might be able to swim the river, I suppose, but not with armored men on their backs. We'd need to build rafts to pole our steel across, helms and mail and lances, and we don't have the trees for that. Or the time. Lord Tywin is marching north . . . " He balled his hand into a fist.
Eleonora sat to his right, Greatjon to his immediate left at the long wooden table that sat many experienced northern warriors. Theon sat beside Eleonora, nearly vibrating in his seat as he fed off of Robb's fury.
"Lord Frey would be a fool to try and bar our way," Theon said with his customary easy confidence. "We have five times his numbers. You can take the Twins if you need to, Robb."
"Not easily," Catelyn warned them, "and not in time. While you were mounting your siege, Tywin Lannister would bring up his host and assault you from the rear."
Robb glanced from her to Eleonora, searching for an answer and finding none. For a moment he looked even younger than his seventeen years, despite his mail and sword and the stubble on his cheeks. "What would father do?" he asked his sister.
"Find a way across," she told him with confidence and a twinge of sadness. Any mention of the Frey house made her stomach lurch. "Whatever it took. Mother, you must seek guidance from the Blackfish."
—
The next morning it was Ser Brynden Tully himself who rode back to them. He had put aside the heavy plate and helm he'd worn as the Knight of the Gate for the lighter leather- and-mail of an outrider, but his obsidian fish still fastened his cloak.
Their uncle's face was grave as he swung down off his horse. "There has been a battle under the walls of Riverrun," he said, his mouth grim. "We had it from a Lannister outrider we took captive. The Kingslayer has destroyed Edmure's host and sent the lords of the Trident reeling in flight."
A cold hand clutched at Catelyn's heart. "And my brother?"
"Wounded but alive and taken prisoner," Ser Brynden said. "Lord Blackwood and the other survivors are under siege inside Riverrun, surrounded by Jaime's host."
Eleonora hadn't thought much of Jaime beyond his mentions from the northern lords when plotting battle plans. She had an odd sensation in her abdomen whenever she thought of him. Their last exchange was so abrupt and violent that she had nearly blocked it from her consciousness.
Robb looked fretful. "We must get across this accursed river if we're to have any hope of relieving them in time."
"That will not be easily done," their uncle cautioned. "Lord Frey has pulled his whole strength back inside his castles, and his gates are closed and barred."
"Of course they are," said Eleonora, rolling her eyes. "Once a coward, always a coward."
"Damn the man," Robb swore. "If the old fool does not relent and let me cross, he'll leave me no choice but to storm his walls. I'll pull the Twins down around his ears if I have to, we'll see how well he likes that!"
"Has the decade of lessons in diplomacy by father been wasted on you, brother?" asked Eleonora. "Nothing would bring me more joy than seeing every Frey skull rotting on a pyre, but words can move mountains where swords cut ties."
Robb's neck reddened at the rebuke.
"The Freys have held the crossing for six hundred years," said Catelyn, "and for six hundred years they have never failed to exact their toll."
"What toll? What does he want?"
That is what we must discover," said Catelyn.
"And what if I do not choose to pay this toll?"
"Then you had best retreat back to Moat Cailin, deploy to meet Lord Tywin in battle . . . or grow wings. I see no other choices." Catelyn put her heels to her horse and rode off, leaving her son to ponder her words. Eleonora sat beside him on her horse, both Starks watching their mother trot off without another word.
"We'll, she is in an especially pleasant mood," said Robb finally.
"She's right, you know," said Eleonora. "The graveyards of the Seven Kingdoms are full of brave men who had never learned that lesson."
—
It was near midday when their vanguard came in sight of the Twins, where the Lords of the Crossing had their seat.
The Green Fork ran swift and deep here, but the Freys had spanned it many centuries past and grown rich off the coin men paid them to cross. Their bridge was a massive arch of smooth grey rock, wide enough for two wagons to pass abreast; the Water Tower rose from the center of the span, commanding both road and river with its arrow slits, murder holes, and portcullises. It had taken the Freys three generations to complete their bridge; when they were done they'd thrown up stout timber keeps on either bank, so no one might cross without their leave.
The timber had long since given way to stone. The Twins—two squat, ugly, formidable castles, identical in every respect, with the bridge arching between—had guarded the crossing for centuries. High curtain walls, deep moats, and heavy oak-and-iron gates protected the approaches, the bridge footings rose from within stout inner keeps, there was a barbican and portcullis on either bank, and the Water Tower defended the span itself.
One glance was sufficient to tell that the castle would not be taken by storm. The battlements bristled with spears and swords and scorpions, there was an archer at every crenel and arrow slit, the drawbridge was up, the portcullis down, the gates closed and barred.
Eleonora had never felt more ill. Though he was long dead and burned to dust, she felt as if she was standing before a crypt that held her raper's body.
The Greatjon began to curse and swear as soon as he saw what awaited them. Lord Rickard Karstark glowered in silence. "That cannot be assaulted, my lords," Roose Bolton announced.
"Nor can we take it by siege, without an army on the far bank to invest the other castle," Helman Tallhart said gloomily. Across the deep-running green waters, the western twin stood like a reflection of its eastern brother. "Even if we had the time. Which, to be sure, we do not."
As the northern lords studied the castle, a sally port opened, a plank bridge slid across the moat, and a dozen knights rode forth to confront them, led by four of Lord Walder's many sons. Their banner bore twin towers, dark blue on a field of pale silver-grey. Ser Stevron Frey, Lord Walder's heir, spoke for them. The Freys all looked like weasels; Ser Stevron, past sixty with grandchildren of his own, looked like an especially old and tired weasel, yet he was polite enough. "My lord father has sent me to greet you, and inquire as to who leads this mighty host."
None of the living Frey's stood nearly as tall and wide as Black Walder. They were nothing but meek-looking cowards. However, all of them had the same black, soulless eyes that still haunted her dreams. Eleonora swallowed hard.
"I do." Robb spurred his horse forward. He was in his armor, with the direwolf shield of Winterfell strapped to his saddle and Grey Wind padding by his side. He exuded every ounce of strength the Frey's did not.
The old knight looked at Robb with a faint flicker of amusement in his watery grey eyes, though his gelding whickered uneasily and sidled away from the direwolf. "My lord father would be most honored if you would share meat and mead with him in the castle and explain your purpose here."
His words crashed among the lords bannermen like a great stone from a catapult. Not one of them approved. They cursed, argued, shouted down each other.
"You must not do this, my lord," Galbart Glover pleaded with Robb. "Lord Walder is not to be trusted."
Roose Bolton nodded. "Go in there alone and you're his. He can sell you to the Lannisters, throw you in a dungeon, or slit your throat, as he likes."
"I will go in my brother's place," said Eleonora before she could stop herself. No matter how much fear and trauma filled her veins, she would put her life in jeopardy a thousand times for Robb.
"You, my lady?" said Greatjon, visibly opposed.
"Absolutely not." Clearly, Robb was not in favor of the idea either. "You are just as valuable as I am."
"You are wrong, brother," she said. "The Lannisters have at least one sister, my value is far less than you with your army and inheritance. Let me be your voice."
"No, I will not allow it," said Robb sternly.
"I'll go," Catelyn said glibly. "Lord Walder is my father's bannerman. I have known him since I was a girl. He would never offer me any harm."
"Mother—" Robb and Eleonora chimed in United opposition.
"I am certain my lord father would be pleased to speak to the Lady Catelyn," Ser Stevron said. "To vouchsafe for our good intentions, my brother Ser Perwyn will remain here until she is safely returned to you."
"He shall be our honored guest," said Robb through gritted teeth. Ser Perwyn, the youngest of the four Freys in the party, dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a brother. "I require my lady mother's return by evenfall, Ser Stevron," Robb went on. "It is not my intent to linger here long."
Ser Stevron Frey gave a polite nod. "As you say, my lord." Catelyn spurred her horse forward and did not look back. Lord Walder's sons and envoys fell in around her.
—
Awaiting Catelyn's return gave the northmen a short rest. Smalljon Umber wasted little time seizing the opportunity for a moment alone with his future wife.
"You have truly made me the happiest man in all the Seven Kingdoms, my lady," said Smalljon, bringing Eleonora's hand to his lips.
Smalljon Umber had a large heart to suit his enormous stature. He was handsome, but not striking. He stood as tall as the Hound with broad shoulders, a square jaw, and an easy smile. He had a dark brown beard that was coarse and wiry that grew a few inches outwards. He had curly brown hair that fell just below his ears and freckles on his pink cheeks. His eyes were hazel and seemed to shine when he laughed or smiled, which was his most handsome feature. He had an infectious laugh and a warmth about him that could make even the most sullen of persons feel joy.
And Eleonora did not love him.
He was smart in games of war and battle and good with a sword. He fought with honor and was beloved by the community of Last Hearth. He was kind to those less fortunate, and was never quick to anger like his father could be. Smalljon Umber was a good man, and every eligible woman in the north had hoped to be the lucky one to marry him. Eleonora Stark was not one of them.
He had loved Eleonora since she was eight and he was eleven, when the Umbers visited Winterfell, and she raced him to the godswood one morning after breakfast then broke his nose when she lost. He knew he would marry her right then, with blood pouring from his nose and two black eyes. This tiny mouse of a girl, barefoot even in the cold, cheeks dirty, long black hair as wild as a horse's man. She kept insisting on her right to break his nose even as Lord Edward Stark threw her over his shoulder while she kicked and screamed in protest. That was when he fell in love with Eleonora Stark. He loved her before she became a beauty, before she learned how to flirt and spellbind men with her developed charm.
When she turned sixteen, he had built up the courage to ask for her hand in a grand gesture that turned into a catastrophe. He didn't have the chance to make his proposition before Eleonora had vomited and a candle had caught a panel of curtains ablaze. It became a known fact soon after that Eleonora did not wish to be matched at all. Her father would choose her match when the time was right but after Eleonora's twentieth name day neared, it appeared unlikely that time would ever come. He waited for her still.
However, when Lord Robb greeted Smalljon and Greatjon with the offer of his sister's hand, the gods' had finally smiled down upon their union. Smalljon agreed to a ceremony once the Stark family was reunited but a feast in the meantime to celebrate their betrothal.
"I hope I do not disappoint you," said Eleonora.
"You could never do that," said Smalljon, shaking his head fervently. "It is I that worries I may disappoint you as a husband. You deserve so much more—"
"Jon," she said sweetly but firmly, placing her thin fingers over his large calloused hands. "We have known each other our entire lives. Let us not act as strangers now. My father always told me that the most important pillar of a marriage was trust and mutual respect for one another. You have mine."
"And you have mine," he replied.
"We are not yet married," she smiled softly. "Let us build upon the strength we have united together as friends and allow those feelings to grow in time."
Smalljon smiled a tight lip grin and nodded, leaning down quite far to reach Eleonora's cheek to place a gentle kiss upon it. She turned her head, closed her eyes, and swallowed hard.
—
A swollen red sun hung low against the western hills when the gates of the castle opened. The drawbridge creaked down, the portcullis winched up, and Lady Catelyn Stark rode forth to rejoin her eldest children and Stark lord's bannermen. Behind her came Ser Jared Frey, Ser Hosteen Frey, Ser Danwell Frey, and Lord Walder's bastard son Ronel Rivers, leading a long column of pikemen, rank on rank of shuffling men in blue steel ringmail and silvery grey cloaks.
Robb galloped out to meet her, with Grey Wind racing beside his stallion. Eleonora rode beside him.
"It's done," she told them. "Lord Walder will grant you your crossing. His swords are yours as well, less four hundred he means to keep back to hold the Twins. I suggest that you leave four hundred of your own, a mixed force of archers and swordsmen. He can scarcely object to an offer to augment his garrison . . . but make certain you give the command to a man you can trust. Lord Walder may need help keeping faith."
"As you say, Mother," Robb answered, gazing at the ranks of pikemen. "Perhaps . . . Ser Helman Tallhart, do you think?"
"A fine choice."
"What does he want?" asked Eleonora, skipping directly to the point.
"If you can spare a few of your swords, I need some men to escort two of Lord Frey's grandsons north to Winterfell," she told him. "I have agreed to take them as wards. They are young boys, aged eight years and seven. It would seem they are both named Walder. Your brother Bran will welcome the companionship of lads near his own age, I should think."
"Is that all? Two fosterlings?"
"I imagine he asked for much more," said Eleonora. "Go on, Mother."
"Lord Frey's son Olyvar will be coming with us," she went on. "He is to serve as your personal squire, Robb. His father would like to see him knighted, in good time."
"A squire." He shrugged. "Fine, that's fine, if he's—"
"Also, if your sister Arya is returned to us safely, it is agreed that she will marry Lord Walder's youngest son, Elmar, when the two of them come of age."
Robb looked nonplussed. "Arya won't like that one bit."
"He asked for Eleonora," said Catelyn with distaste. "She was strongly his preference."
Eleonora swallowed hard.
"As what, a sculpture?"
"For himself."
"He is mad," said Robb, furious now. "He insults us."
"I kindly informed Lord Walder that your eldest sister was recently betrothed to Lord Umber, and he very begrudgingly seemed content with his current child bride," said Catelyn, softening her son's words with her own. "You are to wed one of his daughters, once the fighting is done," she finished. "His lordship has graciously consented to allow you to choose whichever girl you prefer. He has a number he thinks might be suitable."
To his credit, Robb did not flinch, "I see."
"You can't ask Robb to marry a Frey," said Eleonora, "or Arya for that matter. I object—"
"This is your brother's decision, Eleonora," said Catelyn firmly. "Do you consent, Robb?"
"Can I refuse?"
"Not if you wish to cross."
"I consent," Robb said solemnly.
Eleonora jerked the reins of her horse forward. She could bear no more talk of marriage pacts, most certainly not with a Frey.
They crossed at evenfall as a horned moon floated upon the river. The double column wound its way through the gate of the eastern twin like a great steel snake, slithering across the courtyard, into the keep and over the bridge, to issue forth once more from the second castle on the west bank.
Robb caught up with Eleonora and rode with her at the head of the serpent, with their mother and her uncle Ser Brynden and Ser Stevron Frey. Behind followed nine tenths of their horse; knights, lancers, freeriders, and mounted bowmen. It took hours for them all to cross.
The larger part of the northern host, pikes and archers and great masses of men-at-arms on foot, remained upon the east bank under the command of Roose Bolton. Robb had commanded him to continue the march south, to confront the huge Lannister army coming north under Lord Tywin.
Winter was coming for House Lannister.
—
Coming Soon: The North goes to war, Jaime predicts the future, the tale of the Ice Moon is foretold, and the North remembers.
—
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