Chapter Fourteen: No Longer Children.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.
Yeah. So, I had a little blurb here when I first posted this chapter. Obviously I have deleted it. I am not going to bother explaining my plot decisions. As was stated in the first chapters you all can go along with this fic or leave. My intent in the beginning was to write it for myself. It's great that so many people have liked this story, but I am not going to worry over it anymore. This is something I do for myself, and I won't be bashed in the reviews. Have fun, hopefully you enjoy my double update, and if you don't I really have no fucks to give.
OOOO
Catelyn found herself enjoying that lovely sound. The birds of the Riverlands were always so happy and carefree. Unlike in the North where everything seemed to carry an air of secrecy. Of heavy, obsolete ominousness. She tugged her shawl more tightly about herself. Eyeing the seven men her brother had offered up as protection on the way back to Winterfell. Their parting had been surprisingly warm despite the massive row they shared her final night at Riverrun. The new father returning after having heard word of his bannermen having been suddenly arrested. Such was unsurprising. She had, after all, managed to clear up many issues for him during her tenure as Lady Paramount. Not to mention that Riverrun's coffers would soon be very full indeed.
"How is the babe?" Catelyn asked the nursemaid after slowing down a pace.
"Strong and healthy as always." The edentulous woman crowed merrily. "I think this little lass will be a good rider herself one day. If all this travelling on her part throughout Westeros is any indication." Those eyes crinkled forwards curiously as the guards began to tighten formation. Another party was approaching from ahead.
They did not slow to exchange pleasantries though. Fifteen men garbed in Lannister colours rode on by. Sitting in the middle of their company was none other than Tyrion Lannister. His mismatched eyes peering darkly in her direction as he passed. The last Cat remembered hearing of the dwarf he had been travelling throughout the North. Searching for his deserter brother. As they passed out of view she began to feel uneasy. "Hand me the babe," She commanded, taking the bundle into her arms. "You," Her voice was directed at a nearby soldier who had been boasted as her brother's fastest rider. "Take Lady Hayford to Seagard. It is the nearest castle to us. Tell Lord Mallister that if we do not arrive behind you he is to send out word to Riverrun, Winterfell, King's Landing, and the Eyrie that I have been ambushed by the Imp. Now leave!" He hurried away not a moment later with the baby Ermesande clutched tight to his jerkin.
They changed course to ride after him, albeit at a much slower pace. "My Lady," A man called, "If we all travel around the Sunset Canal instead of that ferry it will prolong our journey. Mayhaps even by days."
"I do not care," Catelyn answered back with a sniff, "We will be passing through Seagard, Ser." She felt unwell. Her stomach rife with unexplainable nervousness. The only relief coming from the fact that Ermesande was safe from any possible harm. They travelled for at least another hour. Only stopping so that the men could urinate behind a thicket of trees several paces away. The feelings intensified in that moment as she shifted nervously on her horse.
"You should calm yourself, milady," The nursemaid suddenly said, reaching a hand out to pat on Cat's shoulder. "We are safer than most women travelling these parts. With seven Knights and guards to mind after us, no less." Those were the last words the peasant woman spoke. Seconds later a crossbow bolt was ripping through her skull. Steel was drawn as Lannister men poured from the trees to savage her pissing Tully guards. Cat wasted no time at all trying to ride forwards and away. Only to be dragged off and thrown so hard into the mud below that any breath escaped her lungs.
"Lady Stark," That ugly dwarf rode into view, glaring the whole while, "I believe you know what your husband did with my brother. You can tell me on the way to Casterly Rock."
OOOO
There was perhaps nothing more terrifying than sitting on the other side of a desk from one's father. Especially as he glared cooly forth with plated fingers. Bran seemed to be sufficiently cowed by their father, Arya noticed. Like any good, chivalric son of the North should be. Sansa instead appeared remarkably unimpressed. Though being the Lady of Harrenhal did tend to undermine any beholdency one had towards their father. "You three took the King hostage, threatened the Crown Prince, captured Maester Pycelle, and took control of a continent's capital for more than a fortnight." He suddenly pounded down mightily upon the table with his fist.
"Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell agreed with us father," Bran protested in response, surprising Arya with his defiance. "They did not believe that the Queen was right to have you arrested. Especially when everyone knows you had no part in the Kingslayer's desertion of the Kingsguard." He scowled suddenly, "The King also dared to attack my sister's modest-."
"Silence," The newly reinstated Hand of the King still bore the grey face of a recent recovery. "Your sister acted a whore. That alone is why she was attacked." He bore the full intensity of his gaze into Arya's matching pair. "I have seen you manipulating the King since Winterfell. Whispering in his ear. Exploiting your resemblance to your aunt whenever it suited you. Now do not act surprised that our drunkard King took advantage of your lack of a chaperone with his addled state of mind." Hidden from view Sansa squeezed tightly at her sister's hand in a show of solidarity. "You did this to yourself, Arya. I am of half a mind to wed you to any available man so I never need look at the shame you brought on this family again." He paused with a scowl, "I let you run amok. Let you grow just as wild as she was."
None of them were allowed to think more deeply on his strange comment for he turned to Sansa next. "You will not be breaking your betrothal. We are Starks. We keep to our word. I do not care if the Crown Prince-."
"Threatens to kill our Direwolves? Disrespects his future Queen's House? Murders Farring girls and whores on a daily basis, father?" Arya cut him off ferociously, "We would not want the little shit to mistake me for a whore, of course. Given that the resemblance is so strong."
"Sit, child-," Lord Stark tried to sound intimidating but it did not work. The Wolf's Blood Arya had tampered down at Shiera's insistence was boiling white hot for the first time in years.
"I am not a child. Not since your precious friend tried to force his cock up my cunt. Neither is Sansa. She is the Lady of Harrenhal. If she wishes to leave then she may." Grey eyes blazed, "I would not blame her. The quick thinking she showed is the only reason you are not festering in a prison cell, or I have been raped to death by a fat beast." A sarcastic snort ripped out of her contorted, sneering face. "Also, just try to marry me away to some old Lord I have not chosen. We both know I will bite his cock off and shove it down his throat."
A door opened as her father rocketed to both of his own feet to tower over his unusually tall daughter. "My Lord," It was a Stark guard with a red face, "This message has come from Seagard for you." He hurried over to force it into her father's hand. Then stood to the side with a bowed head. Arya's anger was forgotten as her pigheaded father suddenly stumbled, knees buckling. He was forced to grip the table until she raced around to help him into his seat.
"Father," Bran asked, "What is wrong?"
Sansa cleverly reached over to grab the message for herself. Eyes going wide. "I will have the Imp's head for this!" She snarled, "Tyrion Lannister thought he could abduct our mother with no repercussion?" Bran gasped as Arya gripped at her sword handle. Nearly ready to go and murder Cersei Lannister in retaliation. "I must send a raven to Harrenhal. Grandfather will need the supplement of men I can prov-."
"No." Her father suddenly cut her off, "I will send all of the troops we brought to the city. They can deploy faster." He nodded to himself, "Yes. Tywin Lannister blames us just as much as Tyrion Lannister for the Kingslayer's disappearance. With your mother as a hostage he will be emboldened to attack any force the Riverlands might muster. Our men will be there faster."
"They are not all your men though, father," Sansa snapped back, "They are mine, and they are all that is keeping us safe here. After what happened with Cersei Lannister the instant you resigned can you really call yourself safe? Arya and I cannot even keep a court for fear of our Ladies' safety here." She softened her face, whether it was a manipulative tactic or genuine, Arya did not quite know. "Please let me send word to Harrenhal. We must be patient, and we must not be rash."
"I am not rash. I am thinking pragmatically, Sansa," Their father responded firmly, causing his eldest daughter's mouth to fall open in shock. "You forget that I am the Hand of the King. Not just your father! If I see fit to take command of your men, men sworn to defend the crown against upstarts like Lannister, then it is my right." He glared, "Unless you are a turncloak in addition to an oathbreaker." There was a long silence.
"I am leaving. Leaving this stinking, shitty capital, father." Sansa finally declared with cold eyes. "Bran and Arya are coming with me. All of us have tried endlessly to keep you safe. Unfortunately, it seems as though ever since you set foot in this city your mind has gone unused. I will not be treated like a foolish, little girl when I know I am cleverer than you by scores." Her Tully-blue eyes could have murdered a weaker man with that disapproving glare alone. "You know it too, deep down, I am almost sure. Yet rather than embrace my input you dare call me a traitor?"
"Arya and Bran will be staying." He stared at Sansa with a sad look, "They are still beholden to Winterfell and my say. You are free to make your own choices, my Lady. Just know that if you defy the crown in any way I will be forced to put my own daughter in the Black Cells." With a snarl Sansa stormed out of the solar in a tornado of silk and red hair. "Do you have something else to tell us?" He turned to stare punitively at the messenger who still stood there with a bowed head.
"Yes, Lord Hand," He nodded, "Sers Vance, Darry, and Piper are here to speak with you. They bring reports that Gregor Clegane began leading attacks on the western border of the Riverlands. Six days ago." Their mother had allegedly been abducted nearly twenty days earlier, Arya noted grimly after reading the date on the letter from Seagard. Tywin Lannister was certainly moving very quickly to begin bleeding the populous, increasingly wealthy Riverlands.
"Show them in," The Hand said sternly. "You two are dismissed." He paused to rest his face in his hands. "Our guards have been ordered to confine you both to your chambers. Do not cause any more trouble for me."
Arya could only imagine how much pressure their still-injured father felt. His wife abducted by the Lannisters, western mutiny against the King's peace, and the sudden news that nearly all of the offices overseen by the Master of Coin had been emptied due to violent assassinations. The girl could not, however, feel much sympathy for him. Not when he had proven himself to be just as prejudiced as every other man in Westeros. So narrow minded as to side with a slovenly King over his own daughter. She tried to ignore the disappointment, remembering that in this world women could only depend on themselves.
The lesson cut deeper than she ever could have anticipated.
OOOO
Myrcella's fingers shook as she walked through the Red Keep. In the four days past her position as the family black stag had become even more solid. Her brother referring to her as 'traitor' for visiting so frequently with the Starks after all that happened. Mother saying that the mere sight of her only daughter was 'disgusting' still rang through the Princess' head. Now as her feet carried her to fulfill the King's summons in the training yards Myrcella felt terror. Her own father terrified her after the tale Bran had shared. It opened a floodgate of mental criticisms the smart girl had avoided contemplating her whole life. That this slovenly, uncaring man had allowed others to rule through him by proxy. None of them particularly charitable to the needs of the smallfolk. How he enabled Joffrey's horrible, disturbing traits by ignoring the boy. Thereby cursing Westeros to suffer beneath at least two poor rulers.
Now the man's lechery corruptness had grown so engorged that he no longer saw issue with attacking the daughters of High Lords. If something like what happened to Arya Stark occurred again it would not be long until all of Westeros stormed King's Landing. Forcing herself to remain strong the Princess observed her father from afar. Before him was a table. Standing nearby with stern posture was Mandon Moore. Behind stood Meryn Trant and Ser Selmy. With a proud tilt of her head Myrcella stopped in front of the table, and curtsied elegantly before her father. "Your grace," She spoke firmly, "You summoned me?"
"Pick two," The King answered with critical eyes. Strangely enough he did not seem to have been that deep in his cups. She glanced down at what actually occupied the table's surface for the first time. Weapons of all shapes. The only common feature between the different objects was that they had been crafted with a woman in mind. All were smaller than a man's regular armaments were. "Bran Stark likes to tell me how clever, and special you are. That Stark girl can fight as well as any man. You should be more than capable of picking two sufficient weapons." He stared at her with a dark expectancy. A look that dragged shivers across her spine like claws.
Myrcella knew that she had no choice in the matter. Even though Ser Barristan clearly disapproved of the situation he would never dare contradict his king. She remembered how Joffrey had once been presented this very choice for a hunt. He had slaughtered a deer with a crossbow earning the title of coward, and his father's disgust. The Princess was too clever to make the same mistake. Earning an approving grunt from the King she hefted the war hammer up with one hand. Though it had been modified to be just wieldable by a woman, that did not make the thing any less heavy. Letting it sink to the dirt on her ride side she observed the other weapons. If the King intended to turn her into Arya Stark then there was no point wasting the opportunity. She was better off learning to actually defend herself than worrying over her diminished marriageability.
To that end she lifted a light falchion blade off of the table. Imagining that whilst her warhammer could be wielded in the right hand to pierce armor, or rip away shields, the blade could hold back any retaliatory attacks from her left. Myrcella watched as her father stood to both feet. "Your grac-." Selmy tried to speak in warning until being silenced.
"Fuck off, Selmy," Robert Baratheon ground out. "I have let myself fall far enough out of shape. Besides, who better to teach the girl than her own father?" Myrcella understood immediately that this was meant to serve a dual purpose. To embarrass her mother and brother for Joffrey's weakness in combat, as well as to get the King back in shape. Likely the man had grown obsessed with Lyanna Stark's alleged twin in all but name. Perhaps being rejected so resoundingly by Lady Arya had made him decide to pursue this folly.
Mandon Moore interrupted these thoughts by handing her beastly father his own war hammer. The King's face turned red at gripping the massive thing, though he made no comment. The man wasted no time striding towards her. Even though she was a Princess who had never dreamt of wielding a weapon in her entire life. The boot connected sharply with her chest almost immediately after he knocked the weapons from her grip. Writhing in the dirt, pretty dress already ruined, Myrcella gasped for air. Wondering why the Gods were so unjust to give her such an idiotic, cruel father. "Hold tighter. If you do not have blisters tonight your grip was to weak," The King bellowed what would be the first of plenty bits of wisdom. For the first time in her life, Myrcella secretly learned to enjoy the thrill of making oneself get back up from a training yard.
No matter how she hated the man teaching her, the pain caused her blood to sing like never before.
OOOO
"You have been spending almost every evening here, this past moon," Wisdom Rourke noted. "Will the important people of the Red Keep not notice?" Sansa Stark merely shrugged as she continued to shift the sand about with a stick. Her long hair was unbound, like a pool of silk. Her delicate features smudged by soot in some places. She finally managed to even the sand room out to sufficient proportions. He had noticed early on how efficient the future Queen was. She learned quicker than most and was extremely effective at everything she did. He had possessed no qualms in training the beauty in the art of Wildfire production. Only the week earlier the fast learner had completed the last step of the ancient ritual. Throwing something precious, her bracelet of Valyrian deities, into the dangerous vat. A necessary sacrifice intended to remind apprentices of what they were risking. Standing to both feet the Noblewoman shut the trap door tightly back in place.
"You pay close attention to me, Wisdom Rourke," Sansa noted, stepping closer to him, eyes flashing. "Many men do that, of course. Yet I find you more intriguing than most other men."
"Why is that?" The Wisdom asked. His words thick and heavy on his swollen tongue. She knew what she was doing to him. By practically pressing her bosom to his arm. Those pretty eyes complimented by her soft hair.
"You have seen what I am capable of. Most men would be terrified by me for it. Though you still teach me more of what you know. Show no hesitancy at all in making me more dangerous than I already am." Turning she began the descent back to his study. Rourke supposed that was a good thing, or he might have ravished her against the walls. Rubbing a weary hand over his face the man tried not to wish that Lady Stark would simply learn what she needed and leave. No woman had ever made him question his oaths to the Alchemist's Guild so mightily. They finally arrived to his dark, cold solar. "Your acolyte is useless," She remarked in an even tone that left his cock throbbing even harder, "Can he not even set a simple fire?"
"I want to try something," The man said suddenly. Causing her to stare at him thoughtfully. "I have been perusing the archives. We Alchemists once had a great range of spells, my Lady." He pointed to a dusty scroll of parchment held open on his desk by two candlesticks. "This one is meant to produce more fire than we have ever attempted, Lady Stark. I wish for you to try it." She slipped closer to him than was appropriate. Her eyes closed for several moments as watery High Valyrian poured from her poetic voice. Behind her turnt back the fireplace suddenly roared in response. Blue-white flames billowing mightily upwards.
The Hand's eldest daughter turned to see her magic work its greatest miracle yet. "Flames in need of no timber," Rourke spoke in awed tone. "I always imagined they were deluded ramblings." He stepped closer to investigate. "You are amazing, Lady Stark." He turned only to nearly stumble back into the searingly hot fire. For standing there, basking in the glowing light, was Sansa Stark. Nude as the day she had been born. Her supple, willowy body rested against his desk. Like the marble statues wealthy Lords in the city were always showing off to other men at their luxurious manses. "Amazing," He coughed out, "Like fire…" His voice trailed as he admired her red hair. Surprisingly enough, however, she was bare of any in the nethers.
Eyes nearly crossing he stood stock still. "I do not need to just learn the arts of Pyromancy." She whispered huskily. "I have put off learning the intricacies of seducing a man long enough."
"You already seem quite adept at such matters," Rourke coughed, trying to fight his desire to take her there on the spot.
"No," Sansa Stark smiled confidently, "I have practiced with a few partners. Among them my old handmaiden. A courtesan from the pillow houses of Lys." She stood to both feet, slipping towards him across the rug. "She was a silver-haired, violet-eyed beauty. We would lay together until the long hours of the nights as she taught me how to touch men, and myself." A manipulative blush left Rourke's mouth watering ferociously. She reached up to unclasp his cloak, then the jerkin, trousers, and tunic. "Your skin is so tan," Her voice sound sensuous as she ran fingers along his muscular chest, "Yet you possess the rigidity of a Westerossi Lord. A Dornish mother perhaps?"
"Aye," He nodded in response, "My father is a second son of House Ruthermont in the Vale. My mother was the sister of the Lord of Quorgyle in Dorne." Why he was admitting any of this to her was beyond him. His entire life he had been shamed for his Dornish blood. Now one wanton Lady seemed to revel in it, and he was spilling his guts. She pushed him back into an armchair after unlacing his breeches. "I want to touch you, my Lady." He grasped so tightly at the arms of the chair that his tan hands turned white, "But I must not. If you were to grow pregnant the Prince would have my head."
"I am no fool. I would never dare risk my maidenhead before I have been wedded." Her lips tightened, "Though I no longer care for what Joffrey Baratheon would do. My intention is to leave this city within the moon."
"Why," He gasped more sorrowfully than he had intended to sound, "Would you give up the chance to be Queen?" His amendment seemed forced even to his own ears.
"My mother has been abducted by the Lannisters." She tugged at the strings of his bulging breeches. "There will be a war soon, and I intend to commandeer the forces of Harrenhal for my grandfather." Her eyes were mirthful, "I would have you return with me as a paramour. Serving under the guise of my personal Wisdom." Her lips turned sardonically, "That would be one for the history books. Sansa Stark and her half-Valeman, half-Dorishman lover." At that she revealed his cock to the world.
"What are you doing?" He gasped suddenly, still resistant to her vulgar movements.
"The only thing a maiden can," She whispered, before he saw stars. With only those sultry words and what followed, Sansa Stark won him over completely. Inflaming passions which burnt brighter than the allegiance he owed to the Guildhall.
OOOO
Robb Stark had been to the Wall before, but now things were entirely different. There were the Flints and Norrey's who had been invited back into the New Gift by Theon. Gold and silver deposits, even larger than the ones at White Harbor, had been discovered. He toured them gleefully whilst imagining what the newly wealthy clans taxes might yield the North's development. Then there was Mammoth's Den. A recently finished keep modelled highly after the Greyjoy seat of Pyke with bridges high in the air connecting all five of the tall towers. Further to the east were three small outposts for trade that flowed between Skagos, Eastwatch, and the rest of the mainland. Robb doubted that they would ever be incentivized to grow into ports anytime soon given the rising rates of pirate raids.
Then there was the matter of overpopulation in the formerly sparsely populated Gift. According to reports from the Wall there were ten-thousand Wildling soldiers and spearwives. Additionally, there were forty-five-thousand women, children, and greybeards. That was all that seemed to have survived of Mance Rayder's formerly mighty host. Nearly forty-five-thousand had perished in the stead of their leader. What remained seemed to have journeyed south to seek protection beneath House Stark's vassalship. Needless to say, the poorly settled lands were stretched much too thin. Twenty-thousand huddled around Mole's Town which was rapidly becoming a city in its own right.
With the increased manpower more tunnels had been dug out than even below Wintertown. Above surface many new huts puffed out smoke constantly, warming the many immigrants in rotations. Most of the Mammoths he had heard so much about were kept at the settlement as well. Crops fertilized with the copious quantities of rich, nutritious dung already grew for miles around Mole's Town. Robb had felt easier knowing at the very least that the former Free Folk would be able to feed themselves and then some. If such had not been the case he reckoned the already reluctant Northerners south of the Gift might have mutinied. In order to encourage much needed development he decided to install a council of Wildling leaders.
Gerrick Kingsblood, Styr, a Thenn Magnar, Grisella, a skinchanger, and a red-haired young woman named Ygritte. All were highly respected members of what had once been Mance Rayder's war panel. In an attempt to further affirm the new loyalty the Free Folk had for House Stark he pressured all four of them into kneeling during a public ceremony. None of them had much choice. Not when faced with the threat of winter and a much larger Northern army. On the way to Queenscrown Robb did little more than consider how he could go about arranging marriages for the councilors. Full integration was unlikely to be attained during his lifetime, but perhaps it was possible for his grandchildren to see a unified North. Far stronger than it had ever been in the past.
What awaited him was a mixed bag of grimness and hopefulness. With only ten-thousand at Mammoth's Den, Queenscrown was also severely overpopulated like Mole's Town with much less promise of stability. Twenty-five-thousand Free Folk of vastly different tribal affiliations all divided by a lack of leadership. In a desperate attempt to calm things he ordered the five thousand, troublesome Nightrunners be escorted to Mammoth's Den. Instantly lessening the population woes and cooling the quarrels they had engaged in with another group called the Hornfoots. Prior to leaving he ordered that the engineers of Mole's Town be loaned out to Queenscrown in exchange for one of their large herds of aurochs. Additionally, Robb decided it would be wise to initiate a breeding program of the massive herds.
Then it came time for him to move north to the Wall. His Uncle Benjen had looked weary with a new scar which crossed uglily across the right side of his face. They discussed the Watch's surplus of wealth after having traded away so much of the weirwood. There was the matter of hostages meant to keep the Wildlings in check, at least five-thousand of them. While the number of sworn brothers was smaller than ever before Robb did not share his uncle's concern. Men were unlikely to give up the ability to raise a child, or take a wife. It was likely that the vows were too restrictive, and the organization had long ago passed its peak. Besides, the Northern economy would only continue to grow with the rising population. Restrictions of celibacy only served to harm that positive change. He dreamed of a day when they would be able to raise just as many troops as the Reach.
Now here the man sat peering down the edge of a sword towards such a future. "They call you the Free Queen," He declared, staring at the beautiful Wildling woman. An old woman, named Mother Mole, clutched a babe nearby. On the other side of this 'Queen Val' sat a bizarre man called only the Master of Glaciers. Standing behind them were several more leaders. The terrifying Harma Dogshead who glared venomously at Grey Wind, and a man called Tormund Giantsbane. She had brought ten-thousand with her to the Wall, not including mammoths, aurochs, wargs, and Giants.
"Aye," The icy blonde answered, "But not by any choice of mine. I stuck with Mance long enough. His mess was my responsibility to sort." She was incredibly tall with lovely blue eyes. Not comparable at all to Shiera, but still distracting enough. Robb had arrived to the Wall expecting to allow the last, and largest, of the Giants through. Instead he found himself facing this sharp-tongued woman. Fifty new Giants in addition to the three who had already been waiting for entry. Five-thousand fighting men and spearwives. "My sister's husband swore an oath to bring these people south of the Wall. I will not have his broken words tainting my nephew's blood." She jerked her head back to nod at the babe.
"Does Mance Rayder's son have a name?" Robb asked, intrigued. Here was a son of the King-Beyond-the-Wall. The son of a man one-hundred-thousand bitterly divided Free Folk had rallied behind. The Stark heir was of a mind to one day name this child Lord Protector of the Gift. A mighty ally who could perhaps be wedded to Robb's first child with Shiera.
"No," Queen Val responded stiffly, "He has not yet survived through his first year." At the confused expressions of the men across from her she deigned to explain. "We Free Folk do not name our babes until they have survived a year."
"I am willing to allow your party entry into the North," Robb announced in response. Noting how his men whispered behind him about the 'savage woman' and her 'savage customs.' "However. You, your commanders, and your Giants must kneel and swear fealty to House Stark. Your nephew will be a Lord sworn to Winterfell in turn after he has grown old enough to take charge from you. House Rayder shall preside over the Gift, and supercede the councils installed at Mole's Town and Queenscrown in times of strife."
"My Lord," Uncle Benjen addressed him, "Where will Lady Rayder and her people reside? The other three Wildling settlements are crowded as it is."
"In addition to those terms," Robb continued while staring down his Uncle, "You will be granted the coastal lands to the west. North of the mountains. It will be no easy task to build a successful settlement on the Bay of Ice, especially with piracy. However, you will be given enough stone to construct a strong fortress." He paused to glance at her, "If you prove an effective enough administrator we might one day discuss constructing a port wherever you decide to settle. Such a development would likely give your people much greater influence in the North." Now his eyes flashed to all of the Free Folk leaders. "Accordingly, I will not encourage you in becoming a sovereign nation. All of you will be expected to encourage ties with your southerly neighbors."
"To that end, we must discuss the establishment of new laws you all shall be subject to. The stealing of women is not acceptable. Amongst yourselves it may continue if necessary, but I will not abide any Free Folk men taking girls from anywhere other than within the Gift." He tightened his lips, trying to emulate the severe look his father had always been so good at projecting. "Raids and theft will be punished to the fullest extent of King Robert's justice. Marriages will be honored, as will any betrothals."
"We have no choice but to agree to your terms." The Queen declared shortly, striking eyes flashing again.
"What of the wealth?" An eager Dustin man asked. The five-thousand men had arrived Beyond-the-Wall months earlier. Queen Val had allegedly just barely managed to lead her people into the temporary protection of the Wall before they could be set upon. That meant her incredible horde of wealth was still intact. Several hundred wagons filled with ivory, amber, luxurious pelts, gems, stone and bronze weapons, weirwood spears, armament collected from the many battlefields Beyond-the-Wall, as well as rare medicines were all under the guard of Giants. Furthermore, Queen Val had proven clever in ordering her followers to collect any nourishment they encountered in the widely abandoned lands. Grains, salted fish, and much more rested alongside the treasures.
"The Queen shall keep her wealth," Robb replied firmly. Snarls of anger echoed from the crowd of men behind him in response. "We have taken enough spoils from the Free Folk!" He called louder, "Better to let them sell those goods. So that they will have the financial resources to further develop the Gift." Still the voices did not entirely quell. Robb felt rage boiling within his belly. These greedy whoresons were making him look a foolish weakling. Already he could see the undomesticated cunning shining in Queen Val's eyes. The last thing he needed was for the goodsister of Mance Rayder to think she could prey upon divisions between the North's people. Standing to both feet he hurled his chair at a pair of men who had been bitching loudly to one another moments before.
"Gold shall not feed us in the throes of winter!" He bellowed, "Your teeth will crack, and your bellies will rumble as you bite into it." Grey Wind snarled on his haunches beside him though Robb thought little of it. "Winter is Coming! If Val Rayder can unite her people, their mammoths, their aurochs, Skin Changers, and Giants to help us utilize the fertile lands of the Gift then we shall pay that price!" Tully-blue eyes roved fearsomely about the courtyard of Castle Black. "We are all of the North, the white winds, and the freezing blizzards. Remember that always."
Silence greeted him. Some men even looked abashed. Pleased with himself Robb turned back to face the Free Folk representatives. "I must ask you for several concessions in turn," Queen Val said, "Before I swear fealty to House Stark and become a kneeler."
"Who do you think you are to ask Lord Stark for anything?" Snarled an Umber. They, alongside the Skaggossons and a noticeably small contingent of Karstarks, had been in rotation of supplementing the Wall.
Robb held up his hand authoritatively. "What do you need, Queen Val?"
"The Giants do not belong to me. You must speak with Mag the Mighty. He wants a spot in the mountains where they may be able to repopulate and build halls of stone." Robb nodded contemplatively. That seemed reasonable. More Giants could only help the North. Besides, according to information Uncle Benjen had given him the Giants were to thank for how many mammoths were still around. They revered the fertilizing animals with good reason. "You must also promise to send any more Free Folk who ask the Wall for sanctuary to my new home. Cold things. Undead things are stirring These soldiers you send Beyond-the-Wall should be burning any corpses they f-."
"Are we expected to take this ridiculous horse shit serious-." The same Umber cousin began to snort incredulously, only to be cut off in turn by the strange 'Master of Glaciers.'
He looked like winter embodied. Without any hair and deep tattoos encircling his entire body. Long finger nails tapping on the wooden table he smiled cooly at Robb. "Queen Val does not lie. There are many things we do not understand, but cannot help to believe in. The dead are rising again sure as the Beauty of the Red Comet shall spring forth from your seed when the Bleeding Star smites the sky." Robb felt himself pale at that private detail being released. He locked gazes with the Master of Glaciers' milky, all-knowing eyes. Shivering he was relieved when Benjen spoke.
"We have heard consistent reports of strange things," The Lord Commander said earnestly. "I shall send a ranging party out to investigate these strange whispers. You will be sent word when they return." Then the man addressed Queen Val, "My Lady. If your people are compliant and willing to swear themselves to Winterfell I shall be more than pleased to provide them with a safe passage." She nodded stiffly at him prior to glancing at Robb. Though they might have hated the Northmen little enough to become kneelers, it seemed the Sworn Brothers were still targets of much Wildling hatred.
"I shall visit with Mag the Mighty," Robb spoke firmly, "He will become a Lord sworn directly to Winterfell in his own right." The Giants had already done so much for the North. Stoney Horn had been completed, the keep at Sea Dragon Point was half completed, and Arya's future seat on the White Knife would be finished. He owed it to the beings to give them a home and protection as he would any human.
She stood in response. With such regality that Robb had only seen from his sisters. This Val was a woman of winter. Cold, hard, steely, yet only in character. He could surmise that her heart was just as righteous in its judgement. Already the heir to Winterfell was pleased to have such a strong woman arrive as a leader for her people. His people, now in truth. Around the table the Free Folk Queen walked until she stood before him. Without his assistance the warrior women knelt before her new liege.
"I, Robb Stark, acting Lord Paramount of the North, offer you and yours the Gift, nourishment, protection, support. All in the name of King Robert Baratheon, first of his name." He paused, a Stark had not spoken such words since the Manderlys arrived North, not including his stops at Mole's Town or Queenscrown. It would not do at all to bungle it up. "Do you swear your allegiance to the Iron Throne, Winterfell, and the North. To pay taxes and summon our calls?"
"Aye," She answered simply enough. Staring at him with those eyes which were like chips of ice.
"Will you uphold the laws of these lands, answer the call whenever peace is threatened, defend my people from harm, and forswear any previously held loyalties?"
"Aye."
"Do you accept the consequences of violating these oaths? Do you bind your offspring, your nephew, and his own offspring beneath the protection and service of House Stark for perpetuity?"
"Aye."
"Rise, my Lady. From this day forth you shall be known as Val Rayder. Your nephew shall succeed you as Lord of House Rayder upon reaching the age of majority." He smiled at how well it had gone all while recalling that he would have to do the same for Mag the Mighty. Of course, Robb now fully appreciated Sansa having forced him to learn the tongue of First Men. As though she were one of the greenseers of old. Lady Val stood back up to her impressive height. "Lead your people through to my lands." He authorized. "Settle the western coast as I have commanded. Make House Stark proud."
"Yes," She agreed with a dark sort of amusement glinting in her eyes, "Lord Stark."
OOOO