Chapter 13
~Lyanna Stark~
This was a mistake.
Lyanna had been having second thoughts about accompanying Torrhen to Winterfell ever since they left the Dreadfort. Partially because she hated that she had to travel in a coffin during the day but mainly because she worried about her self control.
I want to see Jon, I want to hold my son. But what if I get hungry?
True, she hadn't had any issues or slip ups since Torrhen had arrived at the Dreadfort, he made sure she fed regularly and they practiced calming exercises together, but the fear was still there. Torrhen had told her that Jon smelled delicious because of his Targaryen heritage, if her babe was in her arms would she be able to resist?
All I would have to do is lean down, his neck would be right there. Would Krell be able to stop me?
As uncomfortable as Lyanna sometimes felt about having the giant of a man following her around, she had to admit he was the perfect person to stop her if she lost control. Krell was unbeatable in the yard, not even Oswell had managed to win a match and the former Kingsguard was much better with a sword than Lyanna was. Krell had become even more unstoppable thanks to his newest weapon. Whereas before he had wielded a two handed greatsword with one arm, paired with a shield, now Krell only possessed an absolutely massive double bladed long axe that Lyanna doubted most other people were even capable of lifting, let alone using in battle.
Not that the axe would be of much use if I started feeding on Jon. Krell would cleave straight through me and Jon both, unless his aim was true enough to avoid my son.
Lyanna couldn't deny how effective a warrior Krell was with the weapon, but she had to wonder why Torrhen had commissioned it from the Dreadfort's blacksmith. It wasn't as if they were about to go off to war, Krell's sword should have been perfectly adequate.
Surely there were better uses of the time and material, the axe didn't need to get made now. I'm sure Garth needs help building that parchment press or whatever it was. Another one of Torrhen's weird ideas of generating coin.
Her brother seemed almost obsessively focused on counting coppers and finding ways to make more. It was unseemingly but Lyanna had to admit that, since he wasn't a Stark anymore, Torrhen had figured out a way around it. While a Great House couldn't appear too mercantile, a newly raised house, from a foreigner no less, was practically expected to embarrass itself.
Just look at the Freys, they still don't behave properly.
Lyanna was acutely aware of the hypocrisy of that statement. That she, of all people, would judge another noble for not acting like their station demanded. But her past behavior was partially why she could do it. She knew how many lives could be ruined by one person refusing to do what they should, refusing to be dependable, refusing to accept the role they were to play in life.
Smallfolk work, merchants make coin, lords rule, and daughters marry who their fathers tell them to.
Lyanna felt herself move in place as the coffin shifted.
Wait no, Lyanna realized. Not shifted, lifted. It's not on the cart anymore. That must mean we've arrived. Guess I was so lost in my thoughts I didn't even notice, only explanation for why I didn't hear anything before now.
She shifted back and forth with the swaying gait of whomever was carrying her protection from the sun. This went on for only a short time. There was a thunk from below her as the coffin was set down. Lyanna could make out the sound of discussion but not any specific words. Eventually, it went quiet and almost immediately after that, the lid was pulled off and Lyanna was looking up at the faces of her brothers. Benjen and Ned were smiling, Torrhen still had the cloth covering his mouth. They were in a storage room that Lyanna recognized as being near the stables but small enough that it rarely saw much use.
"So what's the story we're going with?" Lyanna asked as she sat up.
"You felt like revisiting various locations of the keep you grew up in and so broke away from Torrhen's group as soon as you entered Wintertown to make your own way," Ned said. "You snuck up on me in my solar and gave me such a fright that I fell out of my chair."
"I added that last bit," Benjen said while pulling Lyanna to her feet. "Giving the story something embarrassing helps make it more believable."
"And though I objected to it, I'm also helping out," Torrhen said. "You sure about this, Ned?"
The Lord of Winterfell nodded.
Torrhen sighed. "Alright, but you literally asked for it."
Lyanna watched in shock as Torrhen lashed out and punched his twin in the face.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" she shouted as her brother stumbled from the blow.
"It's fine, it's fine," Ned said. "I asked him to. I should have a bruise forming now." He touched his face and winced. "Certainly hurts enough."
"Ned hit his face on his desk when you scared him out of his chair," Benjen explained. "And yes, it was his idea."
"All three of you are idiots."
Her brothers shared a look between each other and then, as one, they shrugged.
"Regardless, you and I should make our way to my solar so we can be seen in that area," Ned said. "Meanwhile, Benjen will escort Lord von Carstein to meet us in the main hall."
"All this just to hide the fact that the sun burns me," Lyanna grumbled as they left the room. "Seems a bit much."
"Until I've more firmly established the von Carstein name as a loyal and trustworthy House of the North I'd like to avoid what associations I can with curses and evil magic. That includes the sister of my Lord Paramount no longer being able to go outside during the day after living with me."
"Don't state facts at me when I'm complaining, I don't want to hear about how something makes sense and I'm being unreasonable."
Torrhen chuckled as he and Benjen took a turn in the hallway while she and Ned continued straight.
"Jon and Robb get along quite well," her brother said after a moment.
"Ned, they're still babes, of course they get along. Give them each a toy and sit them next to each other and they'll be friends for years."
"I don't think it's quite that simple. . ."
Lyanna shook her head. "Sometimes I think you came out of Mother already three and fifty. Do you even remember what it was like being a child? Who we were to spend our time with?"
"Well, Torrhen and I-" Ned started but paused as a servant came running up.
"Lord Stark! Oh, Lady Stark, good to see you as well. Lord Stark, Walton has some concerns about the von Carstein guards. He wanted to talk to you before you formally greet Lord von Carstein."
"Where is Walton?"
"He said he'd wait by your solar."
Lyanna held back a grimace. According to their cover story, they were supposed to be there already.
"We just came from there," Ned lied. "Must have just missed him in the halls. Still, it is good that you caught me before Lyanna and I made our way to the main hall. Please go there and inform Lord von Carstein that I may be late."
The servant nodded and, after giving a quick bow, hurried off.
She turned to Ned. "Any ideas what Walton is so worried about?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing."
"There shouldn't be anything suspicious. It's not like we brought along anything dead." Lyanna paused for a moment and then added, "Well, other than ourselves and Krell."
"About that," Ned said, unsurity in his voice. "Why is it I had to learn from Benjen that you were learning magic? That you could make corpses dance a jig?"
She raised an eyebrow at her brother. "If I sent a raven both the Dreadfort's maester and yours would read it."
"You could have sent it on horseback."
"I could have. But when I mentioned it to Torrhen he said he was looking into owl delivery because of. . . some kind of artisan, I don't remember exactly, a potter maybe."
"Owl delivery?"
"Don't give me that look. You didn't send anything either, Ned. I learned about your marital troubles from Benjen."
His posture was stiff and his voice stilted as he spoke, "I hardly think my wife and I still learning about one another is worthy of informing the realm. Besides which, Catelyn and I are doing a lot better."
Lyanna rolled her eyes. "It's cute that you're embarrassed by this. But I'm not trying to castigate you, Ned. It's fine that you didn't tell me, I'm not mad. I'm merely saying that we're not children anymore, we don't live in the same castle. Time will pass, we won't always inform each other of every little event in our lives, that is just the way of things."
"You speak true but that doesn't mean I like it," he conceded with a frown. "Since we are together for the moment, is there anything that you would like to inform me about?"
I wasn't told not to talk about it so why not? "Torrhen can't enter the Dreadfort's godswood."
"I - I'm sorry, what?"
"His skin started to smoke when he stepped into it. For some reason, he decided to venture within sight of the heart tree and by that point he had flames dancing across him. I had to haul him out of there, the fire didn't burn me though."
"That's, I don't. . ." Ned sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Did Torrhen have an explanation?"
She nodded. "Vampires have a variety of weaknesses, but they don't always manifest in the same strength for every one. Like how I burn in the sun but Torrhen is mostly okay so long as he covers his skin. He said places of worship and holy items are usually anathematic to the undead, but that particular curse seemed to have skipped me."
"I will defer to his knowledge then. Did he say why he kept moving into the godswood if it was causing him pain?"
"Because he's a lackwit," she said flatly. "He gave some excuse about needing to test it in a safe environment and having the time to heal from it, and he was confined to his bed for several days afterwards, but he's still a lackwit."
"I don't know how someone so smart can be so stupid sometimes."
"It's because he's so smart that he's so stupid. He knows more about magic than anyone else so of course he wants to continue being the expert, always pushing himself to learn more. He spends more time practicing his spellwork in his solar than he does actually ruling. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the smallfolk living in the Dreadfort have never actually seen him before."
Ned stopped walking, causing Lyanna to stop a pace ahead of him. When she turned around he had a somber expression on his face. "That is a serious issue for a lord. Have you talked to him about it?"
"I tried but he doesn't take my concerns seriously. 'Martyn is doing a fine job as castellon' he said, which is true, I have nothing but praise for Martyn's willingness to shoulder the task of running the Dreadfort and how well he's been doing it, but Torrhen doesn't seem to grasp what the specific problem is. That it doesn't matter how good of a job Martyn does, that he's just the castellon, not the lord."
"I'll talk to him."
"You're his twin, I hope you are able to get through to him where I failed."
"I just wish I knew about this before now. Even if you didn't send a message I thought Martyn would have. I sent him to help Torrhen but I did ask him to keep me informed on anything he thought I should know."
She shook her head. "I wouldn't hold it against him. Martyn has been doing a remarkable job, as I said, but it's also clear that he's been getting overwhelmed by. . . everything. He's taken to drinking moonshine with every meal." At her brother's confused look, she explained. "Torrhen and his maester have been working on some new kind of alcohol. While they haven't gotten it to the point that Torrhen wants, it's still quite good, very potent though. We brought three casks with us, one is for you."
"The other two?"
"One for the Glovers when we pass through Deepwood Motte, one for the Mormonts when we get to Bear Island."
Ned nodded. "A wise idea. I was unaware you planned on going for the full trip though."
"Truthfully, I'm still unsure if I will or not. As Torrhen pointed out, we should avoid giving aid to any rumors that we are" -she shuddered- "bedding one another. If I accompany him on his trip to meet a potential betrothal. . ."
"It could imply that she needs to meet your approval or any number of other things."
"But the alternative is remaining here and. . . I'm worried. I didn't do well with just Krell and Oswell for company, Ned. Torrhen is the only one who knows what it's like being a vampire, these urges. Gods, do you have any idea how hard it is not to look at everyone around me like animals? There are some I like, they can be pets, but others are nothing more than food that hasn't been to the slaughterhouse yet. Do you realize how fucked that is? That I keep catching myself thinking like that?!"
"Lyanna, I-"
"Nevermind," she said sharply. "Just forget it. You need to talk with Walton."
The pair resumed moving through the halls of Winterfell. Neither sibling spoke, both lost in their thoughts. Lyanna didn't know for sure what Ned's were on, presumably Torrhen, her outburst, and whatever the issue with the guards was. Her own mind was a jumble, thoughts bouncing back and forth from one subject to another. Like a horse running wild, fleeing a pack of wolves, her mind wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. She wouldn't dwell on what she had said, she didn't want to fall into that pit of despair. Instead, as they passed by a window looking outside (which she carefully ducked under to avoid the light) she started reliving cherished memories, from back before the war, before their family was torn apart, before Brandon and Father were killed, before she became this. It seemed far too short of time had passed before they were outside Ned's solar. Waiting for them was Walton, a member of the household guard for as long as Lyanna could remember.
Walder must have died during the war. Walton was a good choice to replace him as captain of the guard, responsible, always told me to pay attention in my lessons.
"M'lo- Lyanna! I didn't see you when the von Carsteins contingent arrived."
"Given that near everyone in the group are from Winterfell originally, doesn't it seem a little odd to call them von Carsteins?" Lyanna wondered aloud, avoiding responding to Walton's almost-question.
"Oh, um. Yes, I suppose that's true," Walton admitted. "But that relates to what I wanted to talk to you about, my lord. And perhaps you can help out, my lady. It's about the giant."
"You have concerns about Krell?" Lyanna asked.
"Yes, while we rarely have guards disarm when visiting with their charges, it is just as rare that we have someone as big and well armed as him. How trustworthy is he?"
"If it wasn't for Torrhen, Krell would be dead in the ground," Lyanna said. "While I admit being around someone as big as him can be unsettling, especially in the sparring yard when he starts swinging around that axe, he's everything one could want in a sworn shield."
"And Lord von Carstein is loyal? Unlikely to cause any problems?"
"He did save my life," Lyanna deadpanned. "That is why Ned made him a noble, after all."
Walton winced. "My apologies m'lady, m'lord. I didn't mean to cast doubt on your judgement. It's just that as the captain of the guard the safety of everyone at Winterfell is my responsibility. While I normally have confidence that any visitors that may misbehave could easily be contained. . ."
"Krell on a rampage would take quite the collection of men to stop," Lyanna agreed. "But you don't need to worry about him getting into trouble. He'll be following me the majority of the time."
"Your assurances are enough for me, m'lady," Walton said with a bow.
"In that case, I must go greet our guests," Ned said. "Have they already been offered bread and salt?"
Walton shook his head. "Not yet, no. I wanted to talk to you first. I told Lord von Carstein that you would want to offer it to him yourself so he shouldn't suspect anything is amiss."
"Then that needs to be done immediately," he said in a 'Lord of Winterfell' voice that was reminiscent of Father and began striding off before Lyanna realized it.
Is this just to keep up appearances? It's not as though Torrhen will care much about guest right given that we're all family. Then again, it would be very obvious to all that heard about it that something was wrong if we didn't do it.
The trio eventually arrived at the main hall, where the von Carstein procession was waiting. Lyanna spotted Arya talking to Oswell, of all people.
Not that Oswell is rude or anything but I've never found him to be chatty. The only person less likely to talk to me is Krell. Arthur wasn't that bad so I don't think it can be blamed on them being wights, unless he's an odd exception. I'll have to ask Torrhen what Gerold was like.
Despite being a crofter's daughter with absolutely no courtly training, Arya was becoming an adequate lady-in-waiting. She wasn't good, the girl was terrible with a needle, knew only three ways to braid hair, and had a horrendous singing voice, but she made up for it with her earnestness and desire to please. And she came with upsides Lyanna hadn't considered at first. Whereas most noblewomen would object to spending hours practicing archery, considering it unladylike and manly, Arya was perfectly happy to do so. And once Lyanna had revealed her magic, Arya had trusted her enough to get on the undead horse in the middle of the night so that they could both go riding.
Lyanna could honestly call Arya a friend, which was odd to think about. It wasn't that she treated smallfolk poorly, Lyanna always strove to treat each person with the respect deserving of their station, but the differences in their birth would always be there, hanging over them like a cloud, or so she had thought. Instead, Arya's treatment of Lyanna was reminiscent of the same she had received from Benjen, growing up, Lyanna was idolized and viewed as someone to aspire to. Whatever Lyanna was interested in, Arya wanted to know about. Whatever Lyanna did for fun, Arya wanted to participate and get good at.
And there's Torrhen talking to our goodsister. . . who does not look happy.
Ned's wife had a bit of a pinched expression on her face. She would nod and smile at Torrhen periodically, but Lyanna could tell it was only because Catelyn was striving to be a good host and not offend a guest.
"Lord von Carstein, my apologies for taking so long," Ned called out. "Please, take some bread and salt." At his words a servant stepped forward with a plate of the offered food.
"It is no worry, Lord Stark. I am glad to see you located your sister. She gave us the slip when we arrived and I feared what punishments might befall me if she got into trouble."
"It's more that she found me," Ned said. "Caught me by surprise in my solar."
He's gotten a lot better about lying. Used to be if Benjen or I did something we weren't supposed to, Mother would ask Ned what happened. No matter what he said, she was always able to figure out the truth from him.
"Well, far be it from me to object to siblings reuniting after time apart." Torrhen spread his arms wide as he spoke, his deep voice echoing throughout the room, and bowed low. It was an odd bow, however, more akin to a dance move with the way his back curved and his face almost brushed the floor. "I will, of course, leave you to it. I shall go make myself a nuisance of your maester and invade the Winterfell library. Until the feast tonight, my lord."
Lyanna noticed Catelyn was outwardly frowning at Torrhen's antics. Probably doesn't like the level of familiarity he is displaying towards his liege lord.
"If that is how you wish to spend your hours, you are dismissed, Lord von Carstein," Ned said.
Torrhen turned and left the room, not even hesitating at Ned's words. He just ignores his household and whether or not they are being seen to, his behavior is getting worse. Ned really needs to talk to him.
"Benjen, it is good to have you back in Winterfell. Did you enjoy your time in the Dreadfort?"
Lyanna ignored the pageantry as her brothers exchanged greetings back and forth. Her eyes had returned to her goodsister. How is the southern woman adjusting to the North? Ned said they have improved their relationship but that's just between the two of them. Is she a good lady of Winterfell or has she been trying to run things like they do below the Neck? Torrhen doesn't act like a proper noble, true, but we aren't as formal as she's used to. The Umbers in particular will likely try her patience. Mayhaps I should spend some time talking to her while I'm here.
Lyanna was drawn from her thoughts when she heard her name being called. Ned asked, "Do you wish to go see Jon?"
Krell will be there, Arthur will be there, he'll be safe from me. "Yes, where is he?"
"Let me escort you," Catelyn offered. "He should be napping with Robb."
Lyanna glanced at Ned, but he said nothing. Hope you're fine with your wife finding out about me if a brawl breaks out because I couldn't control myself.
The two women left the main hall, Lyanna pausing only long enough to wave at Arya to follow. She'll know to grab Jon and run if things turn violent. Catelyn is liable to freeze in shock.
"Lady Stark, Winterfell is so amazing," Arya gushed. "Tis even bigger than the Dreadfort."
"Aye, I grew up in Riverrun and, though it is certainly large, it does not compare to Winterfell."
"Riverrun? That's. . . that's a long ways away, isn't it? Past the Neck."
Catelyn gave Arya a confused look. "Riverrun is the seat of House Tully, Paramounts of the Trident. The Riverlands share a border with the North so it's not that far away. Who oversaw your history lessons?"
"My Ma taught me 'bout the Boltons and the Starks, the important bits anyway. Flaying and such."
Lyanna watched with amusement as Catelyn struggled to politely say what was on her mind. She decided to take pity on her goodsister. "Despite the quality of her clothes, Arya isn't a noble. She's wearing my spares."
"I grew up in a three room hut, now look at me! Lady-in-waiting to my lord's lord's sister."
"Oh. . .well, good for you." Catelyn seemed to have mostly regained her barings. However, that was quickly lost as Krell came strolling up to the group, flanked by a pair of Stark guards.
Krell is indeed tall, Lyanna thought as Catelyn practically gawked at the large man, looking up at his helm covered face. Isn't until you're standing next to him that you truly realize it.
Let's get this over with.
"Well, come along. Krell, did you ever meet Jon in Dorne? I was. . . not very aware of my surroundings for a good time after the birth."
"I was in the same room as the babe several times," the giant rumbled.
"So you've seen him more than I have." Lyanna's heart ached at the admission but she knew it had been necessary, might still be so.
Before she knew it, they had arrived. The same nursery Mother used for all of us. The door looked the same, but seemed so much. . . more. More intimidating, more serious, more everything. It's just a door.
"Lyanna?" Catelyn asked softly.
"Sorry, I just - he's in there?"
"Yes. Your son and mine, both just inside."
Lyanna stepped forward and pushed the door open, barely aware of how Krell had raised his arms behind her, ready to grab her if she made any aggressive moves. Judging from the outraged squawk behind her as she entered the room, Krell had likely stepped in front of Catelyn in order to stay within range of Lyanna.
Seated in a chair to her left was a wetnurse, a babe suckling at her breast. To Lyanna's right was a small bed. Standing over it, in full armor, was Arthur. She gave him a nod which he returned. Lyanna took a single step forward and froze.
Torrhen had mentioned that Targeryean blood smelled far better than any other and how he had to constantly control himself when he was around Jon or Rhaenys, but if anything he had undersold it. The scent was heavenly, she became aware of just how poorly First Men and Andal blood satisfied her. She would soon taste the blood of the dragonlords, it was like Lyanna had spent all her life lost in the deserts of Dorne and was finally within sight of an oasis of water. She could quench her thirs-
Lyanna snarled when she felt herself being hoisted up off her feet, Krell's powerful arms wrapping around her, one against her neck and the other across her stomach. Her legs kicked futility in the air as she tried to claw herself free, her nails not finding purchase against Krell's thick armor.
His blood, I need it!
She was aware of people yelling but couldn't find it in herself to care. All that mattered was, despite her attempts to escape his grasp, Krell was carrying her out of the room, away from the wonderful smell, away from the blood.
A deep voice cut through the air as a hand grabbed her face, forcing Lyanna to look into a pair of milky white eyes. "You know, I trusted that Arthur and Krell could stop you if you lost control but it was as I was walking to the library that it occurred to me they would probably be terrible at calming everyone down. I see I was right."
~Bartimus~
Never before had he been in a place so accurately named. It was as if the builders had set out to make the Dreadfort as creepy as possible.
Though it was built by Boltons, so maybe that was the goal. Why else would someone have a door engraved with the images of daggers or. . . by the Gods, that door is covered in men being flayed!
It felt wrong to find joy in anyone dying from the grey plague but given the stories Bartimus had heard about the Boltons he felt that if anyone in the North had to die from that sickness, he was glad it was them.
I'm being taken to be given guest right, I should be feeling welcomed, not nervous. Fucking Boltons.
As the (undecorated) doors to the main hall were pulled open and Bartimus and his retinue entered he had to frown. Of the two men waiting to receive him, neither were Lord von Carstein. One was a maester, the other was adorned with the ten wolves of House Cassel.
Cassels are sworn to the Starks, so why is one- oh wait, Lyanna is staying here. Probably a sworn shield. . . so why is he the one to welcome us? That doesn't seem like a duty he should have.
"Greetings, I am Martyn Cassel, the Dreadfort's castellon. Have bread and salt and be welcome."
That answers that question, Bartimus thought as he took the offered food and bit into it. Oh my, this is delicious.
Ever since he had returned to White Harbor after saving his lord's life, Bartimus had not had a single bad meal. That was not to say he had spent the past year constantly feasting, but Bartimus had been always welcome at the New Castle and the Manderlys enjoyed quality food. Bread used for extending guest right was not normally made fresh, it was often stale and left over from meals days before. But this bread would not have been out of place at a feast for nobles. It was warm, fresh, and sweet, with a hint of some other flavor that Bartimus couldn't identify.
His surprise must have shown on his face because the maester spoke, "If you're enjoying the bread, know that it tastes like that thanks to a recent discovery. Carstein Syrup can be used in many meals and is something that is available for trade with White Harbor."
Bartimus turned to Hoth. The long haired man had been the equivalent to a squire for Lord Manderly's steward, now he was serving as Bartimus' maester, being knowledgeable about trade and counting coppers and such. Handing him the remaining bread, Bartimus waited while he tasted it.
Did my eyes get that wide? If they did I feel like the price of the syrup has jumped from whatever they were planning on charging us.
"I have never tasted bread quite like this," Hoth said once he swallowed the food. "You say this is because of only one ingredient?"
"Indeed. Lord von Carstein heard tales of how to make it during his time in Essos. Once I arrived at the Dreadfort, he had me look into it. And I'm proud to say I succeeded, and for the benefit of my lord, House von Carstein is now the sole source of it."
The castellon was giving the maester a queer look but Bartimus barely noticed, more focused on what Hoth was whispering to him, "We have to get some of that. No matter what they charge, it's going to be cheaper than importing honey and sugar from the south. Lord Manderly will likely consider this entire trip a success based on how much coin he can save from just that alone."
"I will be happy to discuss pricing with your lord regarding the Carstein Syrup at a later time," Bartimus said. "By the way, where is he?"
"Um, ser," Hoth said politely. "He's not here, remember? He's making a trip to Bear Island, to possibly arrange a betrothal for himself. Lord Manderly informed us before we left White Harbor."
Fuck, he did tell us that. And I just made a fool of myself in front of everyone. Barely arrived and I'm already making mistakes. I'll have to pray in the Godswood before I rest tonight, ask the Old Gods to give me the wisdom to not fail Lord Manderly.
Trying to recover his dignity, Bartimus said, "By your leave, I should oversee my people settling in."
Martyn nodded. "Of course. Take your time, dinner is not for some time. We shall have numerous dishes for you to taste. Bran, the guard behind you, will show you to your rooms."
Bartimus dipped his head in thanks before following the guard out. He has a truly impressive mustache, I've known men unable to get their beards that long.
As the group was escorted through the keep, Bartimus found his opinion of it unchanged, everything about it seemed designed to be intimidating. Every torch holder I've seen has been skeletal human hands, every single one. Do they polish them to get them that white? They contrast sharply with the dark stone walls, really draws the eye. Surprised there aren't a bunch of tapestries featuring people being tortured hanging on the walls. But as soon as he had the thought, Bartumus knew why such tapestries and artwork weren't there. Such a display would undoubtedly be about the Boltons, something Lord von Carstein likely had very little interest in.
What did he have done with all those, I wonder? Burn them? I'm sure he could sell them for something. Or give them to the Citadel maybe, maesters like history and old things.
Bartimus suppressed a groan as they were led to a staircase. He knew it had been unlikely but he had still hoped to room on the ground floor. He had gotten a lot better at moving around ever since Lord Manderly had commissioned a wooden leg for him but he still had trouble with certain things, such as riding horses or going up and down stairs. Things would be so much easier if they had taken my leg below the knee instead of half way up my thigh. Not being able to bend this fake leg is where all the difficulty comes from.
He ended up getting carried up the stairs by two of his guards which saved quite a bit of time though it did make him feel like a cripple. I fought at the Trident, saved Lord Manderly's life, got knighted, and yet I can't even make it up a set of stairs by myself. Truly, the Gods take away just as often as they give.
Bartimus sighed in relief when they reached the grouping of rooms that Bran indicated were for them. Though they hadn't intended to, when Torrhen and Halder had carried him up the steps they had bumped his wooden leg, causing it to shift against his stump and rub uncomfortably as he walked the rest of the way. He grabbed the first visible chair in the nearest room and started adjusting his leg while everyone else began unpacking.
"We may have to discuss our rooms with the castellon," Hoth said. "I just looked at the ones we've been given and I don't see one available for our unmarried women."
Bartimus gently rubbed his stump. "They're whores, I doubt they'd mind an audience. But you're right, gonna be hard for them to learn anything if they can't bring men back because they don't want an audience."
Bartimus was in charge of the expedition and was the one required to write the reports to send back to White Harbor, but all the actual work, whether it was spying or negotiating the specifics of a trade deal, would be done by the people Lord Manderly had assigned. It was downright impressive. It wasn't just the whores who would be searching for information though, everyone had been tasked to learn anything possible while they were here, even the cook who had accompanied them (an old, bitter woman named Torra) had been given such instructions by their lord.
"As you say, Ser Bartimus."