Asher
On the morning they reached the port city of White Harbor, Asher saw that a lot of things has changed in the place he has once called home. From the top of the ramparts and the city walls the grey direwolf of House Stark streamed atop the tall standards. The sight of the ice white banners flying proudly in place of the red and black of House Targaryen which had been there when he had left his home brought a thin smile to his lips.
"Steady lads," Bill Dustin shouted behind him. "We are approaching the port."
Asher looked at the gatehouse of the outer walls, draped with the white banners on either side. He noticed the harbor was busy acting as it was in the times of their true king. It had seemed as if it was a ruin when he had left his home years before, now people swarmed the docks and the pathways. Fishfoot square was teeming his sellers and buyers alike. The city seemed to have come to life, the people felt alive and there was hope and happiness in their faces which had not been then when he had left the north.
"What do you think, Asher?" Edgar asked. "Looks like all is fine out here."
"It must've been his work," Asher told him watching over the inner walls as they passed through it. "I told you so."
"That you did," said Bill Dustin clapping his back.
Asher looked to his left where the northern fleet had anchored in the deep waters near the inner wall. The galleys and dromonds were getting ready to set sail with men rushing over the decks with ropes and other things. Their ship docked in the inner harbor along with the other ones there.
He was happy that their ship brought them home in the morning tide. The gods had good to them, the sea calm during their journey and the winds good. Asher was glad that their sailing was peaceful all the way to home. He climbed down from the bow of the ship and took his swordbelt on the way down.
"What do we do now?" his uncle asked as he came down to the deck.
"We need to know what's happening before we can move further." Asher cinched the swordbelt around his waist. He looked up to White Harbor in the distance . "Lord Manderly might give us the answers we seek."
"Is it wise, Asher?" asked Reyna Longbraid, her throwing axe clutched in one hand. "Especially since we don't know what's been going on."
"Its perfectly fine, Asher said," as he knelt down to lace up his boots. He pointed to the direwolf banner flowing from the top of White Harbor above the Merman of House Manderly. "If Lord Manderly is hosting Targaryen swords in his hall, he wouldn't be doing it with the Stark banner raised upon his castle."
"Give me some time to round up the men," Bill Dustin said.
"No," Asher replied. "We cannot waste any time. Gather the men and bring forth to White Harbor at your pace. I'll ride to White Harbor to let Lord Manderly know that we are back."
"You cannot go out there alone," his uncle said.
"I'll come with you," Edgar said from beside him.
"Me too," Ethan Hunt voiced as well and the others let it know that they'll accompany him to White Harbor as well. Owen, Roger, Denys and Barton, the company he had had with him throughout his life, his friends.
"Very well then," Dustin said and went along to the men, shouting commands.
"Be safe, nephew," his uncle said.
Seven of them set out together on seven strong war horses. A small party travels more swiftly than a large one, and this way Asher could hear all he want from Manderly so that they could join Andrew soon enough without wasting any time.
They struck out south to White Harbor, the stronghold of House Manderly, upon crowded cobbled streets with little children and chickens running about everywhere. The news that had taken them across the Narrow Sea awaited them. Still Asher did not knew for certain what had happened in the north during his voyage. He hoped that Manderly would have some news for him that is the truth. They were lost in fog in their time at the sea, besieged by rumors, falsehoods, and traveler's tales. The tales varied from one man to another. Some said Andrew has raised an army of fallen heroes from the crypts of Winterfell to fight against King Rhaegar. Other claimed that Andrew turns himself into a giant wolf to battle and slay dragons. The fables had a sweet taste to it but not the truth and all Asher want is the truth.
Though he knew nothing for a certainity, Asher knew that something is happening. War is happening, thought Asher, and this time the Seven Kingdoms will not be spared. Doom and death are coming, there was truth in that. If the direwolf banner flows in the north it meant that the dragon in the north is dead and Rhaegar Targaryen will not let it go unanswered. And Andrew, the boy he had known in the childhood, the boy he had called a friend, he'll not stop with Winterfell when Rhaegar lives. Asher still remembered the boys they had been at Braavos. They both learned life in the hard way, Andrew more than him. At least he joined with his uncle soon enough, he had a family waiting for him back at Ironrath, while he had no one to go back to.
They crossed the harbor shortly and made for the castle nearby. It was a short ride but it felt as if it was as long as it could be. He brought the men back here with a promise and he wished he was right in time for it. He knew that Andrew would have marched his army from Winterfell by now but he couldn't have gone far. There were talks of war in the air but there was no claims of fighting. Atleast, not for now. He hoped to join the fight as soon as he can. Asher wondered what his father would think of him if he saw him now. Will he approve this part of it atleast.
Asher missed his family. He missed his friend. He has returned home after many years yet it was not enough to go and see his family. He wished to see them. He wished to see his father's talks, strong and unyielding. He wished to see his mother laugh. He wished to spar with Rodrik, to listen to Mira's complaining, to meet the little twins and little Ryon. But it was not the right time now. The commander of the Company of the Rose could not leave his men to fight his battles while he goes to see his family. He had chosen this path just like he had chosen years before, but unlike then, now he had an army behind him, following him. Perhaps he would see his father and Rodrik in Andrew's host. They would've marched with him by now.
"If King Stark has raised his banners wouldn't the Manderlys be gone with him?" Ethan Hunt asked.
"See, that's where you are making the mistake," Roger grimaced. "He cannot ride with the army even if he wanted to. Lord Manderly is called Lord Too-Fat-To-Sit-a-Horse for a reason."
His company laughed at that and even Asher let a chuckle out.
"Now that's a bit harsh, Roger," Denys Snow said, smiling at the jape. "Lord Wyman may be fat but his loyalty could never be questioned. Besides someone need to keep watch over the city of the north and Lord Wyman has done a pretty good job at it."
That Asher could agree. Lord Wyman has not been sitting idle certainly. The guards were poured in the walls and the harbor.
"Perhaps he will provide a feast for us too," Roger said again. "That way he could feast more on our name."
"You talk as if you handle your horse better than everyone else, Roger," Owen said.
"Oh, but I can handle everything better than you do," Roger replied.
"Race you to the gates of White Harbor then?" Owen challenged.
"Agreed," Roger said. "The victor claims all the food Manderly gives us." He wheeled his big chestnut desterier around and put his heels into him, and the race was on, through the cobbled lanes of the city through to the castle, as chickens and people alike scrambled out of their path. Asher was three horse lengths behind by the time he got his stallion up to a gallop, but had closed to one halfway up a slope. Roger and Owen were side-by-side as they thundered towards the gatehouse and Asher crossed Denys and Barton and Ethan who followed them closely behind, but five yards from the gates when Asher was about to cross both of them to win the race, Edgar Dustin came flying from the cloud of dust behind them to rush past all of them on his black palfrey.
"Damn, I'm good," Dustin said, laughing, with only the gates before him. "Looks like I just earned all your dinner."
"Piss off, Edgar," Roger announced. "You know the drill. No one's taking anyone's food."
"Like as not," Edgar said, "the look on your face when you lose is all the prize I need."
"I'm pretty much sure its not as sour as Barton's face."
His friends lapsed into silence when they were at the journey's end. White Harbor loomed up before them in the morning sun, its white washed walls shining against the deep blue of the sea around it. From the square towers at the castle's corners flew the banners of House Manderly; the white merman with dark green hair, beard and tail, carrying a black trident, over a blue-green field. The direwolf of House Stark streamed atop the great central keep, grey and white, fierce.
"Speak up," the man in the gatehouse shouted. "Who are you and what is your business here?"
Asher led his horse forward and reigned up before his friends. "Asher Forrester, son of Lord Gregor Forrester," he said. "I'm here with the Company of the Rose to meet with Lord Wyman."
"The Company of the Rose?" the guard asked, doubtful.
"We heard of Andrew Stark and have come to join our strength to his."
"You claim to know about the King?" the man asked.
"Aye, we do." Asher replied.
The man disappeared from the gatehouse for a moment. He heard the rumbling of the doors opening after a pause and the gates of White Harbor opened before them. Asher entered through the gate, his friends following him closely.
"Take the horses to bridle and water them," the man announced and half a dozen stable boys came forth to lead their horses to the stables.
The knight wore silver armor, his greaves and gauntlet inlaid with niello to suggest flowing fronds of seaweed. The helm beneath his arm was the head of the merling king, with a crown of mother-of-pearl and a jutting beard of jet and jade. His own beard was as grey as the winter sea.
"I'm Ser Marlon Manderly." He was a head taller than Asher and three stones heavier, with slate-grey eyes and a haughty way of speaking. "I have the honor to be Lord Wyman's cousin and commander of his garrison. I will take you to his lordship. Follow me."
Asher nodded at his friends and followed Ser Marlon into the castle.
"Has the fighting started already?" he asked as they climbed up the stairs to the Great Hall.
The knight chuckled. "You should count yourselves lucky for you have not missed the action," he said. "His Grace is leading the host south from Winterfell."
"Lord Wyman?"
"King Andrew has asked his lordship to take care of the fleet," Ser Marlon said. "Most of the ships are ready to set sail but some of them has some repairs to be done. Ser Wendel is leading the Manderly knights in the King's host."
Lord Manderly's household guard wore cloaks of blue-green wool and carried silver tridents in place of common spears. They stood firmly on either side of the corridor. They walked past the faded banners, broken shields, and rusted swords of a hundred ancient victories, and a score of wooden figures, cracked and worm-riddled, that could only have adorned the prows of ships.
Two marble mermen flanked his lordship's court, Fishfoot's smaller cousins. As the guards threw open the doors, a herald slammed the butt of his staff against an old plank floor. "My lord, visitors," he called in a ringing voice.
As many times as he had visited White Harbor, Asher had never set foot inside the New Castle, much less the Merman's Court. Its walls and floor and ceiling were made of wooden planks notched cunningly together and decorated with all the creatures of the sea. As they approached the dais, Asher trod on painted crabs and clams and starfish, half-hidden amongst twisting black fronds of seaweed and the bones of drowned sailors. On the walls to either side, pale sharks prowled painted blue-green depths, whilst eels and octopods slithered amongst rocks and sunken ships. Shoals of herring and great codfish swam between the tall arched windows. Higher up, near where the old fishing nets drooped down from the rafters, the surface of the sea had been depicted. To his right a war galley stroked serene against the rising sun; to his left, a battered old cog raced before a storm, her sails in rags. Behind the dais a kraken and grey leviathan were locked in battle beneath the painted waves.
They found Wyman Manderly holding court with his builders and shipwrights. All of them either had long grey beards or looked too young to shave. There were septons as well, and holy sisters in white robes and grey.
He could find the welcome in the pale blue eyes of Wyman Manderly. His lordship's cushioned throne was wide enough to accommodate three men of common girth, yet Manderly threatened to overflow it. His lordship sagged into his seat, his shoulders slumped, his legs splayed, his hands resting on the arms of his throne as if the weight of them were too much to bear.
Left of the high seat stood a maester nigh as fat as the lord he served, a rosy-cheeked man with thick lips and a head of golden curls. Ser Marlon claimed the place of honor at Lord Wyman's right hand. On a cushioned stool at his feet perched a large man who looked to be Lord Wyman's son. Beside him stood a plump, handsome woman in a pink dress. Behind Lord Wyman stood two younger women, sisters by the look of them. The elder wore her brown hair bound in a long braid. The younger, no more than fifteen, had an even longer braid, dyed a garish green.
"Lord Asher," The maester was the first to speak. "You stand before Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor and Warden of the White Knife, Shield of the Faith, Defender of the Dispossessed, Lord Marshal of the Mander, a Knight of the Order of the Green Hand," he said.
"Asher Forrester," Wyman Manderly aknowledged. "You're Gregor's son, aren't you?"
"I am, my lord," Asher replied. "Now I have come to as the Lord Commander of the Company of the Rose."
"I saw your father at Winterfell," Lord Wyman said. "He is marching with his grace. He is a good friend of mine."
"He spoke of you as well, my lord."
"Why have you come to my castle?" Lord Wyman asked.
"We have come to fight for the Starks once again."
"Then you ought to be going south," Wylis Manderly said. "His grace is going for Moat Cailin."
The Moat. That is good news. If they made enough pace in their journey they would make it to the Moat before Andrew's bigger host arrives.
"Thank you, my lord," Asher said. "If that's where the king is, we'll be leaving..."
"Nonsense," The Lord of White Harbor pushed himself to his feet. The effort brought a red flush to his neck. "I'm not sending any man to fight for His Grace without proper food. You and your friends can join us in my table."
By midday, when the others made it to the castle, Lord Manderly hosted him and the high officers of his company in his own table. He was happy to see old Bill Dustin and shared goblets of wine with him. Manderly provided them lamprey pies, crab cakes and varieties of other sea foods.
Halfway into the meal, Ethan Hunt moved closer to his ear. "Why do they have septons and a sept here?" he asked. "I never knew anyone from the north followed the Seven."
"That's because we're from the south," piped a girl's voice, thin and high before Asher could answer him.
It belonged to the half-grown child with the blond eyebrows and the long green braid who had stood behind Lord Wyman at the court.
She continued. "A thousand years before the Conquest, a promise was made, and oaths were sworn in the Wolf's Den before the old gods and the new. When we were sore beset and friendless, hounded from our homes and in peril of our lives, the wolves took us in and nourished us and protected us against our enemies. The city is built upon the land they gave us. In return we swore that we should always be their men. Stark men!
"That's my youngest granddaughter Wylla," Lord Wyman announced with a smile.
"The girl has a sharp ear," laughed Bill Dustin.
"And a sharp mouth as well," her grandfather added.
By the time the plesantries and the time to rest were done the sun was almost down. They set forth from White Harbor at dusk with Lord Manderly wishing them luck and his granddaughter Wylla wishing them future victories. Asher looked down upon his men riding in long columns of four from a high mound. He could not wait to fight as he had promised to them, moreover, he could not wait to see his friend again.