Chapter 9
~Lyanna Stark~
She couldn't help but grin as her brother tumbled backwards onto his ass.
"Nice to know that the vaunted Giantslayer still can't beat his sister in the yard."
"You really shouldn't say that when we are outside," Torrhen said as he pulled himself to his feet.
"It's past the hour of the bat, there's possibly five people awake in the entire castle besides us, and two of them are Krell and Oswell," Lyanna argued.
Lyanna has missed this; being active, seeing the sky, doing something just because it was fun. She was very appreciative when Torrhen had suggested they spar sometime after the sun had gone down. He was able to go out during the day so long as he properly covered his skin, but she was not so lucky. Lyanna had to hide herself behind the thick walls of stone if she didn't want to painfully burn.
I still wish I could go somewhere on horseback, even just a loop around the outside of the Dreadfort, but doing that at night is just asking for the horse to trip and break a leg.
"Regardless of how few people could overhear, you should still get in the habit of treating me like a lord that saved your life, less chance of making a mistake somewhere down the line that way."
"I suppose you could be right." Lyanna bounced in place, back and forth, on the balls of her feet. "Now come on, get that sword back in position."
Torrhen groaned but still assumed a proper fighter's stance. Lyanna had been pleased to notice when they first started that Torrhen had improved quite a bit from back when she used to watch Brandon beat him around the sparring yard. Back then, he didn't even seem to want to try and improve. Here and now, he was clearly putting in some effort even if it wasn't as much as she wished.
"You realize I'm never going to beat you in a swordfight, right?" Torrhen asked, clearly thinking about the same subject Lyanna was. "If you want to improve you should go against Oswell."
"You're more fun to be around." She punctuated the end of the sentence by stabbing forward with her sword. Even though her eyes were able to follow the weapon as it moved, even though she was the one doing the thrusting, she was still surprised at how quickly it cut through the air. Torrhen said she'd get used to her new strength and speed in time, and in some ways she had, but other times, such as this, she was still amazed by it.
Torrhen was able to get his sword up to block her strike. He was right though, being a vampire meant it would be hard for her to actually get better. Everyone else was so slow and weak in comparison, it was why even Torrhen was able to dominate the yard despite having no idea what he was doing most of the time. Oswell and Krell were the only ones able to beat her. Neither one was very talkative though, which was why she was out here with her brother.
Lyanna debated whether or not she should compliment Torrhen on his form. She knew he never cared about it and sometimes seemed actively disdainful of learning how to use a sword, always preferring to spend time alone reading a book or sewing with Mother; very improper behavior for a son of the Lord Paramount of the North according to Father, something that she knew had caused a rift between the two men and had lead to Torrhen's fostering at the Dreadfort.
As far as I know, they hadn't forgiven each other when we received word of the gray plague, Lyanna thought as she dodged Torrhen's counter attack. And after that any chance to do so was gone.
"I can see how constantly winning the fight would be more fun for you, yes," Torrhen agreed in a deadpan voice.
Lyanna laughed and swung her sword at his head. "I didn't mean it like that and you know it. You actually respond when I say something. For example, what kind of shit house words are 'Service Is Forever"?
"What's wrong with them?"
"They're just so boring. I get the meaning behind them, it's thanks to your act of service in rescuing me that a 'sellsword' became a noble and will be remembered so long as the house exists but come on! You have control over death itself, you should have picked something intimidating. 'The Dead Don't Weep' or 'Unbeaten, Undying' both get the message across."
"Actually, that's not why I chose the words though I will absolutely claim that's the reasoning behind them if asked."
She stepped backwards to avoid Torrhen's attempt at a leg sweep while trying to figure out the real justification for the house words. "Were you attempting to inspire loyalty amongst your own smallfolk? That you'd remember their service forever?" It made sense to her, Torrhen had always been far more friendly with the servants in Winterfell than anyone else in the family. Not that the Starks treated their smallfolk badly of course, but they were nobles and it was important to always keep that in mind when interacting with smallfolk.
"Close but not quite," Torrhen said. "It's actually a brag on my part. Once I raise someone in my service, like Krell and Oswell, they're stuck with me for as long as I wish and I won't die of old age. The magic sustaining those two might be self-sustaining at this point actually, I don't feel the drain on my power like I do with Soves. Something I'll have to look into more."
She brought her sword down hard on his, hoping to knock it from his hand as his arm was at an uncomfortable angle but he managed to twist his body to go with the blow, using his momentum to tuck into a roll and then spring to his feet a safe distance from where she stood.
"How in the hell did you do that?"
"Jaime Lannister did the same thing against me, figured I'd give it a shot."
Lyanna snorted. "Are there any of Aerys' Kingsguard you haven't fought?"
"Uh, the two that died at the Trident. Martell and hmm, I want to say Darry is the last one's name."
"What? When did you fight Barristan?"
"I sparred with him when I was in King's Landing, same as Jaime. Lost my one fight to Barristan, won about half the time with Jaime."
Lyanna debated whether she should say her next words. As a Stark she knew the importance of family and she didn't want there to be bad feelings left over. Steeling herself, she said, "If Father was alive, he'd be proud of you."
Of all the possible reactions she could have gotten, Lyanna was not expecting Torrhen to chuckle. "I fought in a war, killed several knights, rescued princesses, and established my own house. If he wasn't already dead I think the shock of me doing that would have killed him."
"I suppose that's true. . ."
Torrhen stuck the tip of his sword in the ground, leaning against it like a cane. "You don't need to tip toe around the subject Lyanna. I didn't like Father but that doesn't mean I hated him. We just never saw eye to eye on. . . well, almost anything. He had very specific ideas in mind of what a man of the North should be and I wasn't that. Shame I never told him I planned on becoming a maester, that probably would have fixed a lot of the tension between us."
"What?" But as soon as she spoke, Lyanna realized how much that would have fixed.
If he became a maester he'd be removed from the line of succession. I don't think any father raises their second son expecting the first to die but it's still a possibility they have to keep in mind, that was why he was always so hard on Torrhen. But if Ned was the spare Father wouldn't have to worry about the lords not wanting to obey a weak Warden of the North in the event that something happened to Brandon.
"Why didn't you ever tell him?"
Torrhen gave a noncommittal shrug. "I was a child, thought I had no right to make plans about my future. I assumed I would be able to tell him when I got older, just didn't account for getting sent away when I did, assumed I'd have a few more years."
"That's, wow." She let out a long breath. "How different would things have been, if you had told him that, do you think?"
"Assuming he agreed to it? I'd be in Oldtown right now, forging my chains. You'd be dead, buried in the Winterfell crypts with Ned claiming Jon as his own bastard to protect him. The Martells would be planning vengeance against the Iron Throne in retaliation for the murder of Elia and her children. Krell would still be Clegane, murdering and raping as he felt like because Tywin needs a monster to intimidate people. The Boltons would still be alive and flaying people in some of the hidden rooms."
Lyanna blinked, not having expected such a straightforward answer so quickly. He must have thought about it, to not even hesitate like that, to speak with such surety. As Lyanna let her brother's words roll around in her head, she realized he was likely right too.
"Well, I'm glad things turned out this way. The situation isn't ideal, but someday I'll get to see my son and that's enough for me," she said, adopting a fighter's stance.
Torrhen sighed and pulled his sword up. "Plus you get to kick my ass."
"That too."
Surprisingly, Torrhen went on the offensive, rapidly making a series of thrust at Lyanna. Up until now he'd stayed pretty defensive with his maneuvers. Guess he's tired of losing and is willing to try something different.
"I've been working on that message you said I should send Robert," she began. "I've barely written anything and I'm already out of ideas. What am I supposed to say to him anyways?"
"Beyond thanking him for being so understanding of your condition and his willingness to set aside your betrothal for the good of the realm? Because that was the main bit, you need to make sure to include that."
Lyanna rolled her eyes as she continued to block Torrhen's attacks. "Yes, besides that."
"Well, you should tell him that you're living in the Dreadfort. He's probably still thinking you're in Winterfell with Ned. Make up something about how you don't want to be reminded of Father and Brandon or that you didn't like being around so many people. That being said, make sure you don't imply we're sleeping together."
Lyanna was distracted by the horrifying idea of bedding her brother and wasn't able to get her sword up in time to stop his next attack as it smacked into her hip. "Ow, fuck! You timed that on purpose."
"I did not," Torrhen said with a shake of his head. "Anyway, look at it from everyone else's perspective. I, the dashing sellsword from across the sea, rescue you from captivity in Dorne and take you back to your family. Afterwards, rather than meeting your betrothed you flee home only to then move into the keep that your brother awarded to your rescuer."
"Urgh." She refused to admit that he was right, not under these circumstances, not for this subject matter.
"I know, I know. You can't answer because you're too busy thinking about my massive dick-"
"GROSS!" Lyanna tossed aside her weapon and tackled her brother, knocking him to the dirt. "NonononononoNO!"
They rolled around on the ground, her fists raining down on his face as he laughed uproariously and made an attempt to shield himself with his arms.
"I'm - sorry - Lyanna - I - swear," Torrhen gasped out, guffawing between each word.
"If that was true you wouldn't still be laughing," she growled as she continued to beat him.
His only response was to laugh harder.
Eventually, after quite a few minutes had passed and more punches were thrown, the two vampires calmed down.
"I hate you so much," Lyanna said as she stood up.
Torrhen raised himself into a sitting position and chuckled. "I love you too."
"Think I should mention to Robert that I beat you in a spar?"
He shrugged, still not standing up. "Given how many well known knights I've fought, people would probably assume I let you win. If you pick something like archery or horseback riding it'll be more believable."
"If I'm going to brag about something, I'd prefer it to be true." Lyanna sighed. "And while I'd absolutely love to beat you in a horse race, how am I supposed to do that when I can't go outside during the day?"
"What the perfect segue-"
"Perfect what?"
"It means you gave me the justification I needed to change the subject. I can understand if you don't want to learn much magic, I consider myself adequate at best so I doubt I'd be all that great of a teacher, but there is one thing you will need to learn. And that's basic reanimation, how to raise a simple skeleton for you to puppet. We can practice on rats and such, then once you get the hang of it we can kill a horse for you to raise."
She thought about Torrhen's idea. She didn't have much desire to learn magic, that was true enough, but she did miss riding. If she was directly controlling it then the normal issues with riding at night should disappear, she could see perfectly fine in the dark after all.
"Alright, let's do it. Teach me some magic."
"Excellent." Torrhen sprung to his feet with a wide grin on his face. Lyanna had mostly gotten used to his teeth but seeing such large needles in his mouth when he smiled, especially compared to her own much more subtle fangs, still caused her to double take. "Was getting tired of you beating on me."
"You agreed to the spar," she snarked.
"Well yeah, cus I knew you'd enjoy it."
She grabbed her brother in a one armed hug as they walked off to put their blunted training swords away.
~Alysanne~
Don't cry, be strong for Arya. Don't cry, be strong for Arya.
She kept repeating it to herself in her mind. Being kidnapped by wildlings was something mothers told their children when they misbehaved but that didn't make the tales untrue. Women in the North always had to be aware of the danger. She and Brandon had just assumed it would be a few more years before they needed to stress the importance of being wary to their children.
But now Brandon was dead, killed by a spear through the neck when he tried to stop the wildlings from entering their home. While Alysanne thought she had aged quite well and retained her youthful beauty, Arya was only four and ten, flowered yes but she looked younger, they hadn't thought she'd be a target.
Alysanne was just glad that Rodrick was too young to put up a fight, being only a boy of five. The wildlings had cuffed him across the head but left him alive. Hopefully, when he awoke one of the neighbors would hear his cries or he would eventually seek them out. It was a long walk across their fields but he should manage it.
It was a blessing that the wildlings had not yet violated Alysanne or her daughter, they were more intent on making it back across the Wall. Or at least farther away from the Bolton lands. Though Alysanne knew no rescue was coming, all the Boltons had died from a plague, but she wasn't going to tell the wildlings that. Better they think guards were about and they needed to make haste away, maybe they'd make a mistake as the group got near the Wall and the Night's Watch would notice them.
The chances were. . . not great, to be truthful. But Alysanne held out hope, for the sake of her daughter.
Don't cry, be strong for Arya. Don't cry, be strong for Arya.
"There's got to be another farm we can stop at. The last two were abandoned," one of her captors complained. He had a hideously large nose that seemed to take up most of the space on his face. He was also the only one of the three wildlings that did not have a woman. The tallest man with a beard that reached his belt had claimed Arya while Alysanne was being held by a man with long blond hair that she might have found comely in other circumstances.
"Quit running your mouth, you knew the risks coming south. Not my fault you couldn't find a woman," Beard argued. "If you want to keep looking go ahead but I ain't sticking around."
"Yah," Blond agreed. "Crows on da wall, kneelers all around us. Better ta go home."
"You two are just saying that cus you have women."
"Well. . . yah. Gods bless us, they fuck you."
Nose grumbled something that Alysanne couldn't make out but neither of the other two men responded. The group continued moving north. While the big man had Arya draped over his shoulder, Alysanne was walking. She could have tried to run but she wasn't going to abandon her daughter and they knew that.
Don't cry, be strong for Arya. Don't cry, be strong for Arya.
Alysanne's thoughts were interrupted by a sound. It was a sound she had heard many times before, it was so ordinary, but right now it was one of the best sounds in the world: hoofbeats.
A horse! There's a rider nearby!
Unfortunately, the wildlings heard it too.
"Fuck, make for the treeline," Beard ordered. "Might just be a messenger but if it's not I don't feel like fighting some armored kneeler right now."
The Gods blessed Alysanne and her daughter though, for not only did the horseman get to the group before they hid in the trees, he wasn't a messenger. Alysanne didn't recognize the heraldry on his chest, a white skull above white crossed bones, but she didn't care because the man was kitted out for battle. His sword was drawn and he was in armor, he was like a knight from the songs.
Oddly, Knight pulled his horse to a stop some distance away. Maybe he's worried it's an ambush?
"Ho there. . . free folk. You have slain a man and are kidnapping two women." The man paused, seemingly waiting for a response. This confused Alysanne as much as it did the wildlings.
"Not many kneelers call us free folk," Nose whispered.
"Not important," Beard whispered back before loudly saying, "Aye, what's it to you?"
"Lord von Carstein is newly ennobled, it would reflect badly on him if some of his smallfolk were taken so soon after he moved into the Dreadfort."
"And what's that mean for us?" Beard hollered back.
Knight didn't answer, seeming to take time choosing his words. "If you release the women to me, and whichever one of you killed the crofter surrenders himself, the other two are free to leave."
Beard, the one who had killed Brandon, laughed. "Are you craven? Why should we listen to you?"
"Because if you don't, you'll never make it to the Wall."
Beard laughed again and dropped Arya to the ground. Alysanne moved to comfort her whimpering daughter. She had landed quite hard, having not gotten her arms in place to break the fall.
"Arrogant fucker," Nose said as he pulled his sword out.
"Yah," Blond agreed, brandishing his axe.
As the trio stepped forwards, Alysanne saw something out of the corner of her vision. Turning her head, she saw a man quietly approaching the group from behind. He had the same sigil on his chest as the man on the horse and black mask covering his mouth along with an odd, wide brimmed hat atop his head.
Oh! That's why - he was stalling for time!
Mask motioned for Alysanne and Arya to get behind him as he continued moving towards the wildlings. However, either he wasn't as quiet as Alysanne thought or the horseman did something to indicate his presence because the wildlings noticed him.
"Fuck, there's a second one," Beard roared as he spun around to get his spear in position.
"For Wint- for the Dreadfort!" Knight cried as he kicked his horse into a charge.
Nose and Blond braced to fight off the horseman but Alysanne's attention was drawn to the other von Carstein man-at-arms because as he ran past her, she noticed he didn't have a weapon in his hands. She could see the sword in the scabbard on his hip, but he hadn't drawn it. Alysanne's confusion about that was ended when the man reached Beard and snapped the wildling's weapon in half with a single chop of his hand. If Beard was surprised by the maneuver he didn't show it, switching his grip on the broken spear to hold it like a club while pulling a dagger from his belt with his other hand.
There was a cry of pain as Blond fell to the ground, clutching at his neck in an attempt to stop the blood spurting from it. Alysanne had only glanced away for a brief moment at the sound but by the time she looked back Beard's weapons were on the ground and Mask had him in a headlock. Beard was clawing at Mask's arms but Alysanne could tell the wildling was losing, his thrashing had the frantic energy of someone who knew they were hopelessly outmatched and just wanted to get away. It was the same way Alysanne had acted when they had pulled her and Arya from their home.
Nose had obviously seen Blond go down but he seemed to be aware of Beard's lack of success as well because while he was blocking Knight's sword swings he called out, "If I surrender, will you let me live? I didn't grab nobody!"
Knight growled and didn't answer, but he did stop attacking. Mask was the one who responded, which Alysanne found quite odd given that Beard was still struggling in his arms and had even knocked his hat off. She would have thought engaging conversation to be distracting in a fight like that.
"Yes, while you will have to face punishment for your behavior you will not be killed," Mask said, his deep voice adding a hint of menace to the statement.
"What about torture? You gonna torture me?"
"No torture. You'll become an asset of the Dreadfort, Lady Stark and I are running low on the food and drink we like."
At this point Beard had stopped moving altogether and Mask lowered the wildling to the ground. He was still breathing though, something Nose noticed. "You really mean it? You want me to hunt for you?"
Mask shook his head. "No, not hunt, I don't trust you for that. But I have uses for you and your friend."
"Guess that's the best I can get," Nose said, lowering his sword. "Alright, I surrender."
"Excellent. Martyn, tie him up."
"Yes, my lord."
Alysanne blinked in surprise. While she had been confused why Kni- Martyn had deferred to Mask, she hadn't expected it to be because he was a lord. She tried to remember the house name that Martyn had mentioned but in the excitement of the battle she had forgotten it.
"Are you two okay?" the lord asked.
"We are fine, my lord," Alysanne said, dipping into a bow, which her daughter dutifully copied. "They wanted to get past the Wall before raping us."
"You are lucky in that regard then. I am just sad that my tour of my holdings was too late to stop them from grabbing you in the first place."
"You saved us, my lord. That is more than enough."
Alysanne got the impression that the lord was frowning at her but she couldn't be sure given his mask. "That may be, but the problem is your husband is dead and your home is at the farthest edges of my land. If something like this happens again, I doubt I'll be able to respond quickly enough, assuming I find out at all."
Not knowing what to say, Alysanne kept quiet.
"Hmm, maybe if I put a zombie in each home?" The lord said, seemingly more to himself than to Alysanne. She'd never even heard the word zombie before. "I could sustain it but there's no way people would agree to it."
'Um, my lord?" Arya spoke and Alysanne was forced to lament how poor a job she and Brandon had done raising their daughter. They hadn't pressed the danger of wildlings, hadn't taught her how to behave around the nobility. Was there anything else we forgot? Did I forget to explain what her moon's blood meant or that she needed to wipe after she shit?
"Oh, right! Sorry, got lost in my own thoughts. Back to you two, well three since your son is part of the equation."
'Equation'? This lord sure seems fond of using words I don't know.
"How about we head back to your home, gather up your things, and then you three can be put to work at the Dreadfort?"
Working in a lord's keep? It could be a blessing or, just as likely, a curse but either way it was sure to be stressful. Things could change so quickly depending on the whim of the lord and how they felt about you. Alysanne and Brandon had thankfully never attracted the attention of the Boltons but she didn't know how to feel about this lord. While he had saved her and Arya he seemed far too forgiving of the wildlings. Doesn't really matter what my thoughts are though, it's not as though we can refuse.
"We would be honored and grateful to come live at the Dreadfort, my lord."
The lord reached down and grabbed Beard, throwing him over his shoulder in much the same manner that Beard had carried Arya. "Excellent, let's get you back to your son."
~Garth Flowers~
What sort of frozen hellscape sees snow in the spring?
While it was only a light dust that was falling and the ground was too warm for the snow to accumulate even if it had been coming down in a greater quantity that didn't change the fact that Garth was looking at fucking snow in springtime.
Did I anger the Gods? I haven't lived a perfect life but I've always thought of myself as a good man. Would the Seven really allow a good, faithful man to get sent to live with a bunch of heretics?
But even as he had the thought, Garth knew it wasn't the Gods that were responsible for his situation. It was that whoreson Uther, I don't know how but it had to be him.
If there was one possible upside of getting sent across the entire Seven Kingdoms it was that at least he wouldn't have to deal with Uther anymore. Even if it was a long journey, it wasn't a bad one, I suppose. I got to see a lot of the coast while aboard the Majestic Midnight, Seagard was nice and The Twins was. . . a learning experience. That said, fuck the North.
The Neck was smelly, wet, chilly, and full of bugs. The barrowlands were so windy there had been times Garth felt he was about to be blown off his horse. Winterfell had been gloomy enough that he had been glad to only spend a single night there. From there, the weather only got colder as they continued going north. And now Garth was looking upon the keep that would be his home as snowflakes fluttered through the air.
And I thought spending time in Winterfell was depressing, if I don't kill myself in a year I'll be surprised.
As oppressive as the architecture of Winterfell has been, at least the smallfolk there had been normal. As Garth rode through the town surrounding the keep, all the people he saw seemed either old or sickly.
Maybe these were the people unable to flee the gray plague? Everyone strong enough to leave already did so and we're left to rebuild with the dregs.
Garth didn't think Lord Stark would allow his newest vassal to starve just because there weren't enough smallfolk to properly farm, not if the stories of how Torrhen von Carstein was awarded lordship were true, but it was still something to be concerned about.
Just because he's good with a sword and saved a girl's life doesn't mean he knows how to rule. He's a sellsword, I'll be impressed if he knows his letters and can count past ten without taking his boots off. Here's hoping I get along with the steward, I'm assuming the two of us will be mostly running things.
Once he passed through the gate of the keep, Garth noticed the people moving about here were in better condition than those outside. There had been a migration of smallfolk from Winterfell by order of Lord Stark so that was the likely explanation for the difference.
There seemed to be only one man waiting to receive him, he was certainly older judging from the grey Garth could see in the man's hair but beyond that it was hard to say. The thick beard he was growing was a rich brown in color and it went high up his cheeks, hiding a lot of the man's face.
"Hello Maester. I am Martyn Cassel, castellon and master-at-arms of the Dreadfort."
"Greetings, my name is Garth." Damnation, maester robes were not designed with getting on and off a horse in mind. It was the same thought he'd had every morning and every evening since he'd left Seaguard. Despite all the practice in the activity the trip had forced on him it was still a challenge, but he managed it without falling over.
Maybe the assumption was that maesters would always be riding on carts?
Garth would have been more than happy to ride in the cart but it was packed full of cages upon cages of ravens, in addition to his few personal effects. All of the Dreadfort's previous ravens were long since dead.
"Let's see about getting the ravens you brought to the rookery. After that, I'll take you to Lord von Carstein's solar."
"I'm not meeting him first?"
Martyn gave a deep sigh. "He has a soft spot for many animals, wants you to make sure the ravens are 'settled in' right away."
This is not a great introduction to my new lord but I suppose it's not a terrible one either. Valuing the comfort of the ravens is hardly a bad quality in a ruler, mayhaps that will extend to valuing the comfort of his servants and maester.
So with Martyn guiding them, Garth and some of his escorts carried the raven cages up to the rookery. Once the last bird had been transferred, calmed, and fed, Martyn turned to the Hightower men-at-arms.
"When I was informed that the sentries had spotted you, I instructed the kitchens to prepare some warm meals for you all. The food should be near finished by now, you can wait in the main hall for it. Unless one of you needs to accompany Maester Garth and myself to meet Lord von Carstein?"
The men all shook their heads. Garth had gotten to know them over the long journey; they were guards and household knights well used to escorting maesters on behalf of the Citadel. While it was certainly expected that they should present themselves to a lord upon entering his keep, by this point they had met so many the prospect of a full stomach was clearly more important to them.
"In that case, I'm sure my lord will want to meet you in the morning after he breaks his fast. The main hall is on the way to his solar, so please follow me."
Servants were putting bowls of thick, hot soup on a few of the tables by the time the group made it to the main hall. Martyn didn't even say anything, merely gestured with his arm, and the men took their seats with gusto, happy to eat the food that Garth had to admit smelled quite good.
I wonder if I can get them to prepare some dishes from the Reach, though I'll likely have to teach them how to cook them first.
Garth was led through a series of corridors until they were at a door that was being guarded by an absolutely massive man who was completely covered in thick, plate armor. Oddly, he didn't have a sword at his hip. Even more oddly, there was a hole in the chest piece.
Gods be good, he's almost as big as the Mountain That Rides was. I guess Lord von Carstein doesn't have the money to repair a breastplate of that size. Wonder how it got damaged like that. . . wonder how he survived a blow that damaged it like that, now that I think about it.
The big guard knocked on the door at their approach. "Martyn and the new maester here to see you, sir."
Ser? Why call him that instead of lord?
But rather than chastise the man, Lord von Carstein simply said, "Excellent, send them in."
As Garth entered the solar behind Martyn, he got his first look at his new lord. Torrhen was standing behind his desk, scattered upon which were several open books. That's a good sign, means he can read. The man himself was mildly unusual looking in that he was exceptionally pale, even compared to the Northerners' light skin. Which is odd, considering he was a sellsword. He should be tanned from marching around in Essos. He also had a blue cloth with white stars on it wrapped around the lower half of his face. Bit strange looking but it is chilly in here, it must serve the same purpose as a beard in this climate.
"Hello there! Nice to meet you," Garth's new lord said happily. "You'll find I'm generally not one to stand on formality so you can call me Torrhen."
Martyn loudly cleared his throat. "Though he and you should keep your position as Lord of the Dreadfort in mind during certain occasions, such as when you are meeting new retainers for the first time."
Garth watched in surprise as Lord von Carstein stood there and accepted the beratement from his castellon. Are they close? Would I get in trouble for speaking to my lord that way? Or is it because he knows he's a new lord and is willing to accept corrections?
"Right, Martyn is correct. I don't mind dropping titles most of the time but when performing official duties we should keep up appearances and such. So you're to be the new maester of the Dreadfort. Are there any specific oaths you need to say to me as the lord or anything?" He snapped his fingers. "Also, what's your name?"
"My name is Garth, my lord. And no, there's no specific oaths I'm required to swear to assume my station because I already did so when I became a maester. . . unless you have some that you'd like me to swear?"
Lord von Carstein shook his head and took a seat, gesturing at the two empty chairs across the desk. Garth took the hint and sat down but Martyn made a show of sighing loudly and rolling his eyes before doing so.
"Garth, tell me about yourself. Given the name, I assume you're from the Reach."
"Uh, yes. But that's - we're supposed to leave our family and history behind, my lord. To better serve you."
"I can understand the reasoning behind it but much like your vow of celibacy, I suspect that implementation of the rules doesn't always work out so well. So, I repeat myself: tell me about you, Garth."
Is he saying he doesn't care if I lay with a woman? He was a sellsword so I guess I shouldn't have expected him to care about vows and honor. "Well, I'm a bastard from the Arbor. I don't know who my father is but Lord Redwyne always treated me well. Whether that means anything-" Garth shrugged "-or if he was just merely making sure I was being raised properly, I do not know. He was the one to say, on my ten and fourth nameday no less, that I should consider joining the Citadel and receive maester training."
"Was that what you wanted?"
Garth frowned at the question. "My wants didn't really matter. If I had refused to go, what would I have then done if Lord Redwyne cast me out of his home? I was just happy that he gave me the warning first."
The Lord of the Dreadfort drummed his fingers on his desk as he regarded Garth. "Hmmm."
"I found myself enjoying my time at the Citadel, so I'm glad Lord Redwyne made that suggestion instead of saying I should squire to a hedge knight or become a sailor or something else."
"What made you decide to leave and come here?"
Garth choked back his first response before it could leave his lips, it wouldn't be good to insult his new lord or his holding. "I wanted to see more of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Bullshit," was the immediate response.
"Wh-what do you mean, my lord?"
"I could see your expression when I asked you the question. You didn't want to leave." He paused. "Or you didn't want to come here. One of the two."
He's not wrong but I need to be careful here. One wrong word and this meeting could end very badly. "You are correct, I didn't wish to leave. I only took my maester oaths not even a full year ago, there was a lot I still wished to do."
"So how'd you end up here?"
"I was informed that I had been assigned to the Dreadfort, despite having never requested a posting at a lord's keep. I suspect Uther, a fellow maester who's hated me for years, arranged this."
"What makes you say that?"
"Uther considered himself an expert on wine and would frequently spout opinions on vintages and how they were made. Considering I grew up on The Arbor, I often possessed the knowledge to prove him wrong and would do so, loudly. He did not like that."
"Ahhhh, politics. Nice to know no matter where you go, you can never truly be rid of it." The sarcasm was heavy in his lord's voice so Garth didn't say anything, nor had Lord von Carstein seemingly expected a response because he continued, "Is it possible for me to refuse your service? Claim I found you unfit and send you back to the Citadel? Would that help you?"
Garth was struck speechless by the offer. Partially because of how ruined his prospects would be if he was sent back to the Citadel in shame but also because here was a sellsword offering to help a bastard for no benefit to himself.
"I - I'm flattered, my lord, truly." Garth said once he had found his voice. "But that would not do. Getting assigned to a noble's keep, even a House as fresh as yours, is a prestigious job for a maester. If you were to send me back. . ."
"Ah, I see. So you're stuck here. That's a shame, I'd prefer my people be here because they want to be, not because they have no other options. We'll just have to make the most of a bad situation, see if we can get your name on some important books and documents."
Garth furrowed his brow in confusion. "My lord?"
"Farming needs an update. Can't have fields lying fallow, not in the North when food is so precious during winter."
"But my lord, if you continually farm a field you will eventually kill it," Garth said in alarm. "It needs to be allowed to rest, otherwise you'll do more damage in the long term."
"Not if you rotate the crops properly."
Garth stuttered in silence, trying to form words to explain how bad an idea what his lord was proposing would be, how it would result in starvation across the holding, without insulting the man for proposing it. Rotating crops, why would he think that even matters?
"Oh, don't look so horrified, both of you."
What? Garth glanced to his side, where the castellon was seated. Martyn was staring at their lord with wide eyes.
"It's not as though I'm going to order all the farmers to start doing this," Lord von Carstein continued. "I'm aware I have to convince you of the sustainability of this first. We're going to start small, just two fields that are not near one another and if they fail won't impact food production, to see if this works. I only half remember how this was done in the past so I'm sure there will be some problems we will have to work out."
At least he's being cautious about this. Although. . . "What do you mean, this was done in the past?"
"I read about it in a couple books ages ago, don't remember their names though, sorry."
Martyn was now giving their lord a queer look, as if he didn't believe what was being said, but wasn't speaking up. I'm glad to see he doesn't believe this nonsense. 'Read it in a couple of books' is such an obvious lie. I haven't heard of any past civilizations doing this and if it was worth doing, if it worked, someone would have already discovered this by now.
Lord von Carstein seemed to be intentionally ignoring both his servants because he continued talking, "I also want to work on making moonshine, that'll be a nice source of income once we get it going."
Garth was so off balance in this conversation he couldn't stop himself from asking, "What's moonshine?"
"Alcohol that will knock even the strongest man on his ass, assuming it's made correctly. Problem is, much like crop rotation, I only remember bits and pieces of the creation process so we'll have to experiment around to figure things out."
Tinkering around with ideas to help his smallfolk or make him money are not inherently bad, I suppose there are worse behaviors for a lord to engage in. That he doesn't want to charge ahead, assuming himself to be correct is good. Mayhaps I'll be able to steer him away from wasting too much coin on these things. This is just stuff I'll have to deal with, having a jumped up sellsword for a lord.
"So, unless you have any questions or comments for me, I'll let you go since I'm sure you've got plenty to do. Walk the castle to memorize the floorplan, finish unpacking, or whatever. Actually, introduce yourself to Lyanna, that would be a good thing to get out of the way."
Despite the wording, Garth recognized the dismissal for what it was and stood up. "Yes, my lord."
"And now that our first official meeting is over, you can stop being so formal with me," Lord von Carstein said as Garth was walking towards the door with Martyn. "Call me Torrhen."
"Yes, my- Torrhen. Yes, Torrhen."
"Good. I'll be here the rest of the day if you need me for something, got lots of reading to catch up on."
Garth nodded and left the solar, Martyn closing the door behind the pair.
"So that's our lord," Martyn said. "While he's a strange one, he's not wrong, you should meet Lyanna."
"Is she the lady of the castle?"
Martyn puckered his lips in thought for a moment before answering. "I suppose she could be considered that. But she is not the wife or mistress of Lord von Carstein and I would refrain from ever saying such is the case in front of them."
"Oh, um. May I ask why?"
Martyn jerked his head to the side and they started walking down the hallway. "How much do you know of how Torrhen was ennobled?"
"Heard stories and songs, many more so once we made it into the North, but as for how truthful those are. . ."
"Torrhen rescued Lyanna Stark, sister of Lord Eddard Stark, from the Kingsguard holding her hostage in a remote tower in Dorne. He saved her life. However, given everything that had happened her betrothal to His Grace, Robert Baratheon, was ended and she returned to the North. She is currently living here until such a time that she returns to Winterfell."
"So the tales were correct. I had assumed it was a different Lyanna, it is a rather common Northern name."
"Aye, it is quite popular. But despite all he did for her, I can assure you that the pair are not laying together because. . . of reasons I shan't go into, you will have to take my word for it. But, despite what I just said Lady Lyanna is held in very high esteem by Lord von Carstein so you had best get along with her because if she does not like you, you are unlikely to enjoy your time here. . . for however long it may be."
Martyn was not doing a good job convincing Garth that Lyanna and Torrhen were not fucking, but given how much emphais was being put into the warning Garth wasn't about to ever bring the subject matter up in spoken conversation to anyone. He's making it sound like I'll be locked up in the dungeons if I anger her. The Lord of the Dreadfort may want to portray himself as the good and just ruler while leaving the more unsavory aspects of ruling, doling out punishments, to her. But that doesn't make sense, what kind of sellsword shies away from a bit of blood?
"I shall make sure I'm on my best behavior in front of Lady Stark."
"Good." Martyn was silent as they moved through the Dreadfort but soon spoke again. "What did you think of Lord von Carstein's plans?"
Garth made sure to choose his words carefully. "I don't think they will work, but when a lord commands it is a maester's duty to obey. It is good that our lord knows to start small so as not to bankrupt our treasury though, have to take what victories we can get."
"Not much danger of that, the Boltons had quite a lot of coin in their vaults."
"Oh, is that why Lord von Carstein wants to try these, because he has money to waste?"
Martyn shook his head. "No, he was looking into farming on the trip up from King's Landing, stopping to investigate damn near every field we came across. And I know he talked with Lord Manderly about opening up a trade deal in a year or two during the same trip."
"Hmmm, well - I. . . guess it's good that he's capable of long term planning?"
Martyn gave a heavy sigh. "Let's go see Lyanna."