Chapter Six: The Trojan Horse.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.
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"What if I fucked Sansa Stark," Roger Ryswell smiled lasciviously, "Like her uncle did to Barbrey? Showed old Ned what it feels like to suffer the humiliation of a deflowered maiden." He adjusted the horse head pin which was attached to his thick, rich woolens so that it glared straight forth.
"Sister holds a far stronger position than you presently do, brother," Roose, the third born Ryswell son, spat out in response. "Do you wish to think what her wrath might bring upon your fortunes if I betrayed such a vile remark regarding her honour?" They sat with a seat between them in the Great Hall of their ancestral holding, Stallion's Brook. Patiently awaiting not only the arrival of the final Ryswell brother, but the Stark guests as well. "Besides. You are much too old to ever draw the gaze of a maiden like Sansa Stark. I hear they call her the Red Rose of Winterfell."
"I hear she is as wild as that Lyanna Stark ever was. Pulled a dirk onto Lord Wull only a week or so ago. Even stood alongside her brothers while Alliser Thorne was executed." The lecher grinned, a look which bespoke an arrogant handsomeness that had begun to lose its luster long before. Brown hair which once gleamed like a barrel of chestnuts had begun to recede in the corners. Wrinkles crinkled the corners of his eyes as he turned slightly to peer at Roose. The lad looked quite like he himself once had even though they differed so mightily in temperament. "You have not had a woman, have you little brother?" Roger taunted. "Lasses like that are a struggle to bed, and they know exactly the sway they hold over our heads. Until they encounter an 'older' man. Practiced indifference is where they wind up in trouble. A peek of their breasts to send our hearts racing, a glimpse of their bottoms to make our pricks throb, and then they lift their pretty skir-."
"Enough!" Roose lost his edge in the argument as a flush spread across his pallid face.
Roger merely drank from his mug of mead with a victorious demeanour. The man had always resented the lad for being their Lord father's favourite. Intelligent, little Roose who was always focused on proper matters. So very unlike his whoremongering, drunken, waste of an elder brother. He was not quite so much a lackwit as to not recognize that this was the root of their discord. No, Roger merely did not see much point in bothering to rectify the fraught relationship. He alone could become Lord of Stallion's Brook after his father passed into the beyond. Then Roose would wind up leaving anyways to discover his own fortunes as the second spare. "Would you rather speak of Shiera Seastar then, brother?" The man snickered, "Her cunt will certainly not be quite so tight as sweet Sansa Stark's. Though she doubtlessly possesses the prowess of a dragon in the sheets."
He ignored his annoying brother's outraged response. Remembering the time Ned Stark's sorceress adviser had visited the Rills to inspect the productivity of House Ryswell's mills. She was truly a ferocious creature. So lovely that it left him incapable of speech, yet so intelligent that it had left him feeling eviscerated. Perhaps he could change that dynamic this time around with his father's defiant little ploy. No sooner did that thought cross his mind than the doors to the Great Hall opened. Rickard, the second born, led the very slighted Stark host through the doors to the feast hall. Roger delighted in seeing Robb Stark, much older than when he last visited Winterfell, scowling. In an impetuous reversal of the feudal order his vassal's children were left standing before where he sat in his father's seat.
On either side of the fuming little Stark whelp stood a horse-faced girl, and the famed Shiera Seastar. Both of the Stark children did not bother to hide their displeased frowns at having not only having been greeted by a second son, but for the feast to have commenced without them. The Great Bastard simply smiled a dangerous grin which caused Roger's glee to begin sinking towards his boots. Beside her stood, without any doubt, Lady Sansa who in turn was flanked closely by her Highborn Ladies-in-Waiting. Lovely as they all were, excepting Jonelle Cerwyn, none of the maidens came close to the blossoming beauty of Ned Stark's daughter. "Welcome to Stallion's Brook," Roger extended his arms wide in a tipsy gesture, betraying how much drink he had imbibed. "I trust my brother has already broken bread and salt with our esteemed guests?"
The answer came not from Rickard, but from Robb Stark. "After a third reminder he did, aye." Dark murmurings of assent rumbled from the Stark guards who still stood behind him. All were drenched with the rain after having been left outside for such a long while. Shiera Seastar placed an inappropriate, guiding hand upon her temporary ward's shoulder. Roger wondered if he was the only man to notice how she squeezed the muscle beneath with reassuring tightness, and the heir of Winterfell visibly relaxed in response. "It is merely regrettable that your father was unable to greet us, and fulfill the ceremonial customs himself. Especially after having confirmed through letters with Maester Luwin that he would be in attendance for our arrival." It was a trap, of that much Roger was certain, though he wondered why she was using their obvious show of disobedience as the bait.
"Our father found himself compelled to visit our sister Barbrey in Barrowton. She requires assistance with a household matter. He awaits you there, as you intended to visit our Lady sister as well." Roose piped up predictably, much to Roger's chagrin.
"Odd, given that I was always under the impression that Lady Dustin was a rather ruthless administrator," The Targaryen beauty insinuated coyly. "Does she often struggle with the matter of overseeing the Barrowlands? Perhaps it would be better for one of the Dustin cousins to assist with such matters. For the sake of autonomy at least…"
"Autonomy between the Rills and Barrowlands ended the moment Ned Stark returned North without Willam Dustin's and our uncle's bodies in his procession." Rickard spat this out in response to Lady Shiera's threatening remarks.
Instead of the woman dictating the course of conversation further, however, Sansa Stark stepped forth daringly. "You are named for my grandfather, Lord Rickard. Do you forget his death, the deaths of my uncle and aunt as well? Willam Dustin and Mark Ryswell fought to avenge the unjust executions of their liege and his family. I doubt that such honorable men would wish for their memories to be used as the justification of a rebellion."
"Rebellion?" Roger scoffed with a dismissive chuckle following close after. He knowingly stared for far longer than was proper at Sansa Stark's silk-clad form. "Did Lord Stark send you all simply because we refuse to build his roads with our own coffers? You question matters of autonomy, yet we must comply to every whim which seeps from the walls of Winterfell?" Lady Seastar had arrived to Stallion's Brook with a pack of pups. Woefully, humiliatingly unprepared children.
"We recognize, as my sister said," Robb Stark spoke loudly over the sounds of the Ryswell household whispering behind him as they all feasted, "That Ser Mark's sacrifice in Robert's Rebellion might not have been sufficiently rewarded. Which is one of the true purposes of our visit to the Rills. Such bold and loyal vassals as the Ryswells deserve far more recognition." He paused, by the mild crick in his pale throat it was clear that the Stark heir wished to glance back at Lady Shiera. Though he did not as it would have weakened the strength of his words significantly. "Lord Stark has sent us to honor the Lords Rickard and Roose with becoming the first of a new class. Esteemed members of the Order of the North."
Roger realized too late that he had lost. Rickard and Roose were the sort that would slit his throat in sleep for a chance to gain some prominence. "You will be tasked with travelling all corners of the North. Finding promising warriors from both the Nobility and Smallfolk. Recruiting them, training them to fight just as well as any Southron Knights," Robb Stark continued, "And assisting the Night's Watch whenever needed."
"You will uphold the will of our Northern Gods," Sansa Stark slipped easily into the fray again, confidence brimming from those Tully-blue eyes. "Ensure that the laws of our ancestors and Robert Baratheon are executed. My Lord father has also bequeathed Moat Cailin to the Order of the North. Your ranks will return it to its former glory." A sweet smile paired with fluttering eyelashes caused half the room's men to swoon. "In turn House Stark will settle the finest, most distinguished of your Order upon the lands of the Gift. After winter has passed, of course."
At that, Rickard knelt before the Starks while Roose stood only to contort into an awkward bow. His father's ploy was officially a failure, for in his absence the Starks managed to drive a wedge into the unity of their family. "You both will leave for White Harbor on the morrow," Shiera Seastar stared gloatingly upwards at him instead of his overly ambitious brothers. "There Lord Manderly's knights are to assist you in laying the foundations of this honourable Order."
"I find myself obliged to wonder where this most honourable Order of the Weirwood will secure its funding," Roger finally overcame his shock enough to swipe at the profound declaration.
"There is much wealth to be found Beyond-the-Wall, Lord Roger," Lady Shiera smiled wickedly upwards at him. Her flatteringly, well-fitted gown of silver cloth tightening as she swept forth slightly. "Such will serve as incentivization for the Order to assist the Night's Watch as often as possible in their raids against the Wildlings. In the meantime House Stark will provide what is necessary for this vital organization to grow. While your brothers shall be tasked with recruitment, Ser Marlon Manderly shall be entrusted with training new members. Wendel Manderly is to act as treasurer. In half-a-year's time you four, and any newly appointed commanders, shall elect a General of the North's Cavalry."
What she failed to announce was that neither of the Ryswell recruits would ever likely become 'General of the North's Cavalry'. Roger wished he could voice this thought just to watch the fool's faces fall, though could not think of an artful way to phrase it. Instead he opened both arms wide, "On my father's behalf you have the deepest gratitude of House Ryswell. Please join us in the bounteous feast." Eyes smoldering he turned from the approaching Starks to glare at his brother. "Leave with Rickard this evening for White Harbor. Pack now during the feast, and depart once our guests have left." Withholding his choicier words the man looked up in time to catch the triumphant gazes of the Starks as they milled into their seats.
Any tension slowly eased away as the Stark retinue joined with the Ryswell household in all of the festivities. Reluctantly he conversed with false enthusiasm to Robb Stark who sat beside him, steadfastly ignoring Shiera Seastar's gloating aura. Roger truly doubted that either his father, or his clever sister would be able to handle the force headed their way. They would underestimate the Stark children much like he himself had. Dismiss them as stupid, unskilled tykes when they were intelligent enough to listen to their mistress. Bitterly he allowed himself to slink into mild drunkenness only after Shiera Seastar and Sansa Stark slunk from the feast.
Late in the morning Roger found himself stumbling through the keep when he happened upon something quite strange. Clad only in a white shift was the Red Rose of Winterfell. Standing in front of the doors to his chambers she had caught the full radiance of the moonlight now that most of the torches had died down. Hair as redder than weirwood sap, fiery as blood on the battlefield pooled down to her willowy waist. The form-fitting silk cast an almost ethereal virginiality innocence to her features. "Lord Ryswell," She smiled, and his body ached at a mere glance. "I, foolishly, wandered through Stallion's Brook without a chaperone. Now I am hopelessly lost. Might I ask you for your assistance?"
He stepped forth slowly. Mind addled by the drink Roger was ashamed to admit that he took the desirable situation for granted. That mistake would cost him sorely. In a sweeping movement Sansa Stark bent to lift the hem of her white shift. Only a moment later she lashed outwards with a knife in hand. So startled was Roger Ryswell that he stumbled backwards into a wall. Able to do little more than gasp while clutching at the bleeding wound on his shoulder blade. "Do not dare to curse me. Simply listen while I explain the new dynamic between Houses Stark and Ryswell." She spoke in a callous tone now, boldly reaching forth to wipe the blade upon his tunic. "In the morning you will profess to Lady Jonelle how enamoured with her you have become. The poor woman, so starved for affection, will be thrilled. That is when you shall whisk her away to the Godswood for a secret wedding."
"I will do no such thing," The Ryswell heir hissed, "My father would disown me. The woman is uglier than a poxed cock. Older than any bride ought to be."
"Your father will be pleased with your decision to finally produce heirs. He will be overjoyed to have advanced his influence even closer to Winterfell's walls," Sansa Stark paused thoughtfully, "Accordingly, he will be very displeased that you attempted to rape me."
"I did no such-." Roger realized then that he was clutching at a wound which would prove otherwise. Robb Stark would have him beheaded before the morn began if he did not comply with the girl's whims.
"Yes," Her smile was beautiful, adeptly obscuring the wickedness beneath, "You will send a letter to Medger Cerwyn promptly after Lady Cerwyn has, finally, been deflowered. He will be overjoyed at having finally managed to accomplish what he once thought impossible." She turned into the darkness only to pause with a meaningful glance shot over the shoulder. "I need not add that you will treat Lady Jonelle very well. She is not to be abused, or turned into a cowering mouse. I expect her to be in excellent condition when you next visit Winterfell."
Roger sagged to the floor while wondering how he had been bested by a such wisp of a girl.
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"I am nervous," Robb admitted aloud as their destination rose before the Stark party. Sixty guards led by Jory Cassel surrounded them all in a loose flank. Beside him rode Shiera Seastar from atop a lovely, white stallion. Her hair glimmered like pale fire in the sunlight of the Barrowlands, sumptuous figure ramrod straight despite the constant movements of the horse beneath. "Roger Ryswell was difficult enough for me to handle. Even with all of those lines you had me memorize." He froze with a white face, "How am I supposed to handle both Barbrey Dustin and Rodrick Ryswell at the same time?"
Up ahead Sansa rode with Arya, reaching out with one hand to fuss with the girl's windswept locks of brown. He envied his sister's adept political ability. Almost overnight it seemed as though she had turned from a silly child to a master manipulator worthy of Lady Seastar's attentions. The young man's attention was shocked back to the woman beside him when she spoke. "You envy your sister. I can read it plainly on your face, as can she." The Stark heir respected her intelligence enough to not bother denying it. "Though you must learn to appreciate her. She is every bit as much a Stark as you are. Where you are weak, she is strong. Where she is strong, you are weak. Work in tandem against the rambunctious Lords we are set to face. That is how you shall succeed, Robb Stark."
He watched when she rode ahead after having finished speaking. The radiant beauty slowed upon arriving beside Syggi Magnar. Apparently the Magnars owned one of the last herds of unicorns on Skagos. Using this fact in conjunction with Winterfell's new alliance with Skagos the Great Bastard had been plotting ferociously to revitalize the declining species so they populated the entire North. Focusing away from the ambitious woman's antics Robb observed the ancient stone wall built amidst the Barrowland hills. It was not quite high enough to block sight of Dustin Hall, or Goldgrass, yet the town within was completely obscured from view.
Upon riding through the gates Robb observed how Barrowton thrived like nothing he had ever seen before. Movement could be seen wherever the eye peeked, bustling between the older timber structures, and relatively new ones crafted from stone. Impressed by the sheer life to be seen in Barrowton Robb found himself peering upwards. Dustin Castle rose high overhead with a cold presence, as though it was only crafted for survival. Across from it towered the keep of Goldgrass. House Stout, built by a petty Stark son who found favour with some long-forgotten Dustin Lord, occupied the boxed fortress. The devil appeared at Robb's thoughts. "We are honoured to host the Starks within our town!" Lord Harwood Stout crowed from beside his son Ronnel.
What followed was the breaking of bread and salt. Soon afterwards most of their party were escorted within the Castle to face an immeasureable threat. Breathing deeply Robb allowed himself to be led like a horse. Many floors passed them by, and most of their household diminished except for Jory Cassel who remained to guard them. He was stationed outside of the solar, as they entered. Lady Barbrey, a very handsome woman, sat in a large chair behind a suitably large desk. Her father stood with crossed arms before a tall window. Robb had expected some sort of feast to preced discussions though he forgot that these Nobles did not care if the Starks were slighted. "Welcome to Barrowton, my Lords and Ladies," Barbrey was colder than frost as she stood gracefully. Sweeping into a flawless curtsey. Sansa, Arya, Lady Shiera did the same while Robb stood ramrod straight instead of nodding. Refusing to display courtesy for the most discourteous aristocrats he had ever encountered.
"I recieved a raven," Lord Ryswell spoke in a harsh, unfriendly tone, "From my heir this morning. That not only were my other sons drawn into the new Order of the North, but that he wedded Lady Jonelle Cerwyn."
"She is the Lady of Ryswell now, my Lord," Sansa corrected sharply, "And your son is quite lucky to have won the heart of such an effective conductor of household affairs. She served as Lady of Cerwyn Castle for many years after all."
"Many years indeed," Rodrick Ryswell sniffed indignantly. Behind Sansa's back Lady Wylla had visibly stiffened at the slights being pressed upon her friend. Robb wondered that the man could even control his rage at all after the chaos wreaked by Lady Shiera and his sister at Stallion's Brook. Two of his sons now having the means to be free of his control after having, presumably, been loyal for many years. An heir wedded to a Stark loyalist who was possibly too old to even bear children.
"Unfortunately," Robb forced himself to speak up, "We have not come here today to speak of good tidings. There is business to be overseen." Beside him Arya listened intently as the Great Bastard had instructed her to.
"Yes, Lord Stark," Babrey Dustin roved him over with her eyes as though about to eat a feast, "There is the matter of your Lord father's roads to be dealt with. Neither myself, nor my father, will be able to construct such behemoths. There is simply no need for it."
"My grandfather, the Lord of White Harbor," Wylla stepped forth, green hair shining prettily, "Has already spoken of increased profits. With only a road to Oldcastle completed our coffers have benefited greatly." She slunk backwards after the surprising display of political canniness.
Clearly pleased with the development Sansa spoke, "It is your responsibility as the overseer of these lands to welcome new opportunities, Lady Dustin. Especially one that has the potential to help your smallfolk survive the coming winter. How many greybeards will be spared an unthinkable sacrifice this season? How many mothers shall be protected from having to bury their babes?"
"My sister is correct," Robb pounced instantly, remembering Lady Shiera's instructions, "Winter is coming. For millenia our people have barely survived much less been able to focus on growing, or even thriving. This is an opportunity to connect our lands. To break the chains of isolation which have kept us sepparate from one another. Lend your strength to this task, and we all can fight for survival together. With a steady supply of trade to keep our bellies full."
"The flaw in your argument," Lady Dustin folded her fingers together rather haughtily, "Is that my smallfolk have never struggled to survive. We take care of our own well enough, but you would have us dedicate our resources to support other Houses that cannot fend for themselves?"
Robb struggled in that moment is stunned silence surrounded the room at her blatant greed. He wondered how his ancestors had ever dealt with the defiance of the Ryswells. In that moment of shock something bubbled from the depths of his brain to the tip of his tongue. A memory of Shiera teaching him of motivations. "As long as I have lived," He spoke with enough steel to hack away at her icy demeanor, "My father has denied House Dustin a charter. The rulers of Barrowton have long resented the opulence of White Harbor. Though given your resistance today to helping the rest of the North in surviving the next winter I find it unsurprising that my ancestors were not inclined to impart such a reward."
"That is too great a prize though, brother," Sansa smiled brightly at his clever wit, "For only a few mere roads in exchange. If our father were to be convinced to grant such a charter it would require sacrifice. A sign of goodwill."
"How much goodwill?" Barbrey Dustin did not bother to hide her interest in this proposition.
"Your heir, the son of Willam Dustin's deceased cousin will be sent to Winterfell as a squire for Ser Rodrick Cassel. The eldest daughter will serve as the first Lady-in-Waiting to Lady Arya, who in turn will one day soon determine who the girl shall wed." To her credit, the youngest Stark daughter did not betray any surprise at Shiera Seastar's words. "The proposed roads will be constructed from the coffers of Houses Ryswell and Dustin with no financial assistance from Winterfell. I expect them to be completed no later than six months from this day." A thoughtful pause, "Given your close proximity to the confluence of the Crown River I expect that a city not unlike Lannisport shall develop around Barrowton. A steward of Eddard Stark's choosing shall preside over administration of the port itself, while taxes will be paid to House Dustin. A proper bride from Barrowton shall be chosen after his tenure is announced. Obviously, your taxes will rise as well."
"I shall have my Maester draft an agreement," Lady Dustin stared at them. "My father shall certainly agree in exchange for such an impressive opportunity."
"Actually," Sansa interjected, "I have one further request to make of you, Lady Dustin." She slipped forth, auburn hair burning, Tully-blue eyes blazing dangerously. "Lady Shiera and myself have decided that since there will be an Order of the North, there should also be an Order of the Weirwood. They will work in tandem on many common goals, though they shall be two sepparate faces of the same coin. Whomever is elected as the Master of Ships for the Order of the North shall be in charge of selecting the commander of the Order of the Weirwood."
"The purpose of this other Order?" She practically spat out at the Stark girl.
"To ferry the cavalry Beyond-the-Wall. You will, upon having the profits necessary, construct a fleet of warships with the assistance of Wyman Manderly's new shipwrights. Using your port the two orders shall have proper footing for western raids against the Wildlings. Until enough spoils have been seized from the Wildings to provide adequate funding you will be responsible for funding the western sect of the Weirwood Order."
A deep pause followed this declaration. "You are as clever as your grandfather was, girl," Rodrick Ryswell spoke in a grudingly admiring tone. "I will assist my daughter in funding the Order of the Weirwood, so that the port may be built. While we draft the contract with Lady Shiera you all should enjoy the feast that has been prepared in the Great Hall. Only the finest for the children of our liege has been provided." Robb was almost surprised by his mild change in attitude, though charters for lucrative ports tended to do that. He started to levea the room only to notice how Shiera Seastar pulled Wylla Manderly close. Whispering something in her ear whilst pressing tightly bound scrolls of parchment into her hands.
He felt the curiosity gnaw at him throughout the entire feast. So consumed by Lady Seastar's secrets that he barely even remembered the name of the eldest two Dustin cousins. Little Artos Dustin chittered excitedly about how he was set to become a knight, while his twelve year old sister, Jocelyn, was visibly enamoured with Arya's fine silk gown. When the dancing began Robb saw an opportunity to extract the answers he needed so desperately. It was as though having succesfully won over Lady Dustin and Lord Ryswell awoke his ambitions. A deeply hidden, largely unexplored, thirst for secrets. With Lady Wylla in his arms, blushing red from shameless flirtations, he pulled Shiera's words to the air.
"She wishes for me to travel to White Harbor tomorrow to give one of these letters to my grandfather. As for the others I am uncertain of their contents." A perfect curtsey was given to him. "Fear not my Lord Robb. I will certainly intercept the party before you have reached the Riverlands though." With that she fled away for an early night's rest.
Leaving the heir of House Stark to wonder whether he would ever be capable of piercing the Targaryen Princess's veil of secrecy.
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There will be a time jump soon after the next few updates, so don't become discombobulated in the future. As I said, the characters will all be older though it should not change much for the younger children. Arya on up, however, will deal with much more mature matters.
Next Chapter: The She-Wolves of Winterfell.