310 AC

Brienne of Tarth

They had just exited the Neck on the northern side. A party of Crannogmen led by Bessa Blackmyre met them at the southern entrance of the Neck and guided them through. Lord Reed, the Warden of the Neck did not meet them. Brienne was glad that none of the sycophants of King's Landing joined the King's party. Even as south as the island of Tarth, they had heard of the illusiveness of House Reed and their Crannogmen. House Blackmyre was a trusted vassal of House Reed and was entrusted with such duties to perform.

During their travel through the Neck, her sworn brother, Ser Guyard fell ill with a swamp illness. Their guides had done their best with their primal and natural salves and potions, but they needed to arrive at Moat Cailin, where a full maester's laboratory could be used. At present, Ser Guyard was unconscious on a wagon being pulled by small horses from their guides.

Fortunately however, the spires of Moat Cailin were growing closer and closer. It seemed to create a similar effect on her King. The closer to the North that their party traveled, the better the mood the King became. Every day, he became less somber, less moody, and less…well paranoid for lack of a better term, about treasonous lords.

"You'll all love it! The North is a true place, a hard place! I've always said it; if I wasn't born a Stormlander, I would have wanted to be a Northerner!" Robert roared from atop his mount.

"Why do you adore them so father? The Neck was a disgusting place. Looking around the land now, it doesn't seem to have much alure."

"Listen son, listen well." Robert took a tone of teaching. No doubt he intended this to be a journey of many lessons. "The hardship of this land is what is so important about it. No doubt Lord Stark will be able to tell you more, but this place…it has a way of narrowing men and women down to their true selves."

The King once more fell into a somber mood, staring into the horizon, doubtless, thinking of memories long ago.

Soon enough, their small party had reached Moat Cailin. The gate was already open, but due to the King's presence, a large party had already organized within the castle's main bailey.

The most notable individual that Brienne first noted, was a man; broad of shoulder, dark brown of hair. It went down to his shoulders. Dark leather and linen and fur clothed the man. A ceremonial steel gorget decorated his upper torso and neck, a running direwolf embossed on the front. A longsword strapped to the left of his him.

Brienne was not well versed with the specific Starks, but this was obviously a member no doubt. She assumed it was Edwyle Stark, the Lord of Moat Cailin.

As their small party came to a stop, Robert swung from his horse and landed on the ground with a great huff of air. At once, all in the courtyard bent, and kneeled.

It was then that Brienne noted the many children in the welcoming line as well.

Robert motioned for the castle occupants to rise.

"Moat Cailin is yours, Your Grace."

"You must be Edwyle! I remember you, gods, you look just like your father when he was younger!"

"This is my lady wife, Roslin, and my son, Ronnel."

The King kissed Lady Roslin's hand and scuffed the hair of Ronnel Stark.

"And…I do believe you know your nephew."

"Your Grace."

Brienne noted Raymont Baratheon. He was trying to older than he was. Obviously the King observed this too and laughed. "Relax lad! If I wanted more of your father, I'd've stayed in the capital!"

At that, young Prince Raymont finally smiled and gave his uncle the waiting hug. Robert laughed as he hugged his nephew back.

"There's the Baratheon storm I know!"

And so, down the line, the King was introduced to all the notable members of Lord Stark's household and wards. After such a time, she found herself beside the King in Lord Stark's solar. As Ser Guyard was now in the maester's laboratory, it fell to her to solely defend the King.

Across from the King sat the son of his best friend.

"Lord Stark…gods it sounds odd to say to any other than your father."

"Make no mistake Your Grace, I say the same as well. It is odd."

"Regardless my lord, have no worries about long held ceremonies and great feasts. I have no intention of partying until I have reached Ned!"

She saw, out of the corner of her eye, Edwyle Stark try and hide a small smirk. "Of course Your Grace. However, I insist that you take the comforts of the Moat until your other Kingsguard is better."

"Ah." Robert waved him off. "Another two guards remain here for my nephew; I'll take one of them and continue northward."

"Very well, Your Grace. my lady wife would be remiss to not entertain you at least lightly before you depart."

"Of course, of course. I'll stay for two days. I would like to inspect my nephew and his friends during their training. On the third day, I continue north."

"Alright. In the meantime, I noticed the presence of your bastard? Perhaps for the time you are here, he can complement my sworn swords? There is a small band of outlaws just east of here. I had planned to send a force on the 'morrow. Perhaps he can join?"

"Aye. It'll be good for him to meet new lads. Anything else Lord Stark?"

"No, Your Grace."

"Fine. Until tonight, I shall return to my chambers. I wish to rest; we've had a long journey for many sennights."

"Your Grace, you seem to be a man who dislikes the courteous notions of the south."

Brienne stood behind the line of chairs on the dais of the great hall. In front of her and to her right sat Lord Stark, to the left sat the King.

"Aye, you have the right of it laddie!" The King laughed and threw back a goblet of ale. Brienne knew that since the end of the Lion's War, his lips never touched a chalice of wine since.

"Then I'll get down to it. While you've taken the tour of the Moat, you may've noticed that we lack any access to the sea, despite our closeness to the Fevre River and the Saltspear, it does not ride directly up to the castle. It had originally been my intent to create a canal that crossed the span of the North-"

The King choked on his ale. His eyes wide as he turned to the Lord of Moat Cailin. "Damnit man! You've got high dreams at least!"

"High dreams perhaps, but only dreams. Such an undertaking, while remarkably beneficial, is simply too large an investment, for such an extended construction time."

"Get to the point man! What do you want?"

"I wish for assistance from the Crown, to dredge the Fevre River further east of its course, so to allow ships to dock closer to Moat Cailin. I am not foolish enough to imagine it could ride up directly to the castle, but I would hope to have a dock that connects to the sea less than twenty or so leagues away."

Robert was serious for the first time since the welcoming feast started. "That's still a great undertaking Stark…"

"Aye, it is. However, if accomplished, it will allow the North port access to the western coasts of Westeros."

"Imagining you have the funds…what would your steps be?"

"I would send a raven to Casterly Rock-"

At the mention of the home of the Lannisters, Robert's eyes turned a dangerous glint.

"-they have access to the greatest miners and earth workers in all the kingdoms. Perhaps such an action, we can reopen relations with the West. After the master craftsmen have made their report on how far such a river could be dredged, I would order the beginning of construction."

"How long would you expect it to take? It's already autumn, and as your own father won't shut the fuck up about, Winter is Coming."

"True, but Northerners are hardy folk. As you've no doubt noticed here at the Moat, we have learned to work in shifts, so work is done at all hours of the day. The project will not be completed by winter of course; but, having access to the sea in the winter is always a bonus. There's a reason why the Manderlys, Mormonts, and Flints are hit much less harder than the other houses. They have access to food from the sea."

"Assuming the weather is not, an effect on the project, how many moons, years, would you estimate its completion?"

"Well, assuming the winter weather is not a factor, I'd say at least two to four years, nonetheless, I am not learned in the ways of construction as other masters are. If we estimate that winter is, let's say, six moons away? Five? It will still give time for master builders and experienced workers to survey the land, and give a detailed report on expected times, costs, and other information. In other words, even if this winter does cease construction on the project, there is still a great deal of things that may be done to assist with the project overall."

Prior to Eddard Stark resigning the Handship, the King had still been completely absent-minded with financial matters. It wasn't until the absence of Lord Stark did Brienne observe a change in the King in regards to 'counting coppers.'

"As you well know, despite your neighbor, Ser Wylis serving as my master of coin, the Small Council, and my brother in particular, will be very wary of lending such a large amount of coin, to not see any immediate return on such an investment."

"Agreed."

"How, you don't know my brother."

"Aye, but the stories of Stannis the Stern are known far and wide, even up here in the barbarous wilds of the North." Lord Stark spoke with a hint of humor. The King laughed at the moniker that the rest of Westeros knew his brother as.

Lord Stark continued. "As such, what I propose is instead of a large lump sum of coin, instead the Crown offers smaller loans to me. As such, no more coin than necessary is wasted. Further, another reason for me asking you directly, is that you are King. Not your brother. it doesn't matter what they think or oppose, if you order it so, it is."

No lord south of the Neck would've ever openly admitted their reasoning for asking the king of something. Brienne already noted the differences in the North, however. Here was a lord, who just openly admitted to having lobbied the King, simply because they knew his authority. Already, Brienne's eyes were slowly opening on the differences between the Andals and the First Men.

"Ha! Gods, you give service to the Stark name lad!" The King patted…more like struck, the Lord Stark on the back friendly.

"Very well. On the 'morrow, give me copies of any reports you've drawn up. I will review them on my journey to Winterfell and confer with your liege lord."

Both gentlemen smirked at that. Lord Stark's liege lord was his father…the Lord Stark.

"Once there, I'll make my decision. Regardless of it, I will send a raven here to the Moat to inform you of it."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Both men turned and once more focused on their meals. Lady Roslin leaned forward to speak with the King. Brienne could tell that behind her strong veneer, she was a tad shook at speaking to the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms directly.

"You'll have to forgive my husband, Your Grace." The woman said in good humor. "He's all his father this one."

"Ha! Moreso than you even think my lady! Eddard Stark…fuck, even in our childhood, he would call me lord and what not. Even after a night on the taverns!"

The night continued on in mild cheer. The children were mainly focused on their own. Brienne could tell a camaraderie had formed between them.

On the second day at Moat Cailin. She had watched as Edric Storm rode away from the castle along with a complement of about two dozen or so soldiers. Among them Wil Harclay, one of the joint Captains of the Guard at the Moat. A duty he shared with another Northerner, Willard Mandel. The warrior from the Manderly cadet branch remained in the castle. With the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms itself residing in the castle, it would have been unseemly to have such an important warrior not be present.

A usual Kingsguard shift was about six to ten hours a day, six days a sennight. However, due to Ser Guyard's illness, Brienne had technically been on duty for close to five days straight. However, on the second day, her sworn brother, Ser Ellery Vance took her duty. He had been sent to the Moat to guard Prince Raymont. It allowed her a day of rest. Despite it so, she decided to observe the sparring lessons of the little lordlings in the morning. She even joined in Ser Arys and Ser Perwyn in sparring lessons.

One or two of the little squirts gave her odd looks, one of them even told her directly that women shouldn't play with swords.

A number of other boys refuted him before she even could. Regardless, it had been a relaxing day, mentally if not physically. But that was yesterday. Today was a new day. She felt an odd longing at the Moat. She had enjoyed teaching the young boys how to spar. She had told the King such. He reported that once his nephew returns to the Red Keep, she would have the opportunity to train him further.

Ser Guyard Morrigen remained at the Moat. He had recovered and had awakened on the second day. However, his body was still greatly weakened from the illness he had been fighting in the Neck. As such, he would join the King and Brienne in Winterfell once he recovered. In the meantime, Ser Ellery had taken the Stormlands knight's spot. Thereby leaving Ser Guyard and Ser Arys at the Moat.

The party of four; the King, Edric Storm, Brienne, and Ser Ellery, were once more on the Kingsroad north.

Riding his mount, the King outstretched his arms, as if to hug the world. "Now this is country! Come I'll race all of you! There, to that hill!"

And so, all four mounts galloped.

Not a care in the world. In the icy North…laughter and joy was hard to come by…far better to take it when one could get it.

Eddard Stark

"Ravens, Ned?"

Eddard looked up. Before the doorway of his solar, stood his beautiful wife. The years have been kind to her. She, like him, was in her fourth decade, soon to her fifth. And yet, where he had a number of greying hairs, lined skin, taunt and dry skin, she still held her beauty.

Where he was dulling, she was brilliant. Where she was graceful, he was awkward. Truly a gem of the world. Now, it was just the two of them in the solar, no one else.

He grabbed her and pulled her down onto his lap. She let out a yelp, before playfully slapping his chest.

"You did that years ago, and we'd have another child on our hands." She japed.

Eddard was glad that she had loosened up from her southern upbringing.

"News?"

"Aye. A number of ravens from houses reporting new child births."

"Oh! How wonderful!" Catelyn had always loved children, even those that weren't hers.

"Aye, however, these are all those children named after me or Robb or Edwyle."

"Oh shove off you. It's a great honor. You should be happy that your bannermen think so highly."

"Ulf Burley explains his firstborn son's name is Eddard. Artos Condon, Lord Alwyn's brother's firstborn son is Robb Condon. Jace Flint's twin daughters are named Eddara and Edwyla…by the gods Cat, how do they think so highly of me and ours?"

She used her hand to turn his face towards hers. "It's because they love you Ned. You're a good lord, and a good man." Cat was well aware of his feelings towards lordship. He never felt as if he was enough. It should've gone to Brandon. But here she was, picking him up when he needed it.

"How is Jory's wife?"

In the years since the Lion's War, Ser Rodrik forced his nephew to settle and finally marry. Though there were the Cassels of Westwalls, and they were good and true Northmen, he and Jory were the last of the Cassels of Winterfell. As such, Jory had recently courted and married Kyra Flint. Kyra was the sister of Jace Flint, both of whom were the distant cousins of Lady Lyessa Flint and her son and heir, Robin Flint. These were the Flints of Widow's Watch.

"She is well last I heard. Luwin says that she is a number of moons along. Most likely the birth will be about two moons away."

"Have they settled on names?"

"Jocelyn if they have a girl, Carwood if a boy."

"Carwood…Carwood…Carwood." Eddard sounded it out. "Not a tradition Northern name, but a strong one. And fitting I think."

"Any other letters?"

"Aye, two from Last Hearth and one from Moat Cailin. And one last one from Riverrun."

"Riverrun? No doubt my uncle complains of by brother?"

"N, actually. Quite the opposite. The raven is from your uncle the Blackfish. However, he wrote this as the Castellan of Riverrun. It seems that your brother's wedding has come to fruition."

Only a year ago, Edmure Tully engaged in a progress of the Riverlands. His reputation was greatly saved through the efforts of Eddard and his sons, but he still needed to court the more resistant lords. During this time, he met and became enamored with a lady from House Roote, Bethany. They married shortly after. Following Edmure's excitable nature, he made sure to wed so quickly so as not to give time for guests to arrive.

"Aye, he reports that the Lady Bethany gave birth to a healthy baby boy, and your brother decided to travel to Lord Harroway's Town to allow his wife to relax with family."

"Oh! It's been so long since I've been able to coddle some nieces and nephews! What did they name him?"

"Ser Brynden writes that they named him Ambrose, after your and Edmure's grandfather." He reached over for another letter. "And these are from Last Hearth."

Cat perked up at that, maneuvering her body in a way so she was facing him completely.

"Word from the boys?"

"Aye. Bran's raven reports that he is remaining at Last Hearth at the kindness of Lord Umber. His raven is short and direct."

"Hmm. Unlike him."

"Robb reports that…oh."

"Oh what? Has harm befallen him!?" Cat looked close to panic.

"No. Have no worry. Only, he reports that he will leave Last Hearth with a party from Karhold to enter Bolton territory and hunt down this investigation wherever it may lead." He let out a chuckle as he read the last letter silently.

"What now?" Cat almost whined.

"Robb expands on what Bran didn't. According to Robb, Bran has caught the eye of one Larra Umber, the eldest daughter of the Greatjon."

"Oh gods, it's happening!" Both stood up and embraced. They have both waited so long for Brandon to find a woman to find interest in, or to be returned.

They settled down and Eddard opened the last scroll. "Edwyle reports that the King has left Moat Cailin. He estimates that the King will arrive in about a fortnight or less. He writes that there is no need to prepare a large feast. He says that this visit is far different from the first one many years ago. Only four riders in total. He reports that the King didn't touch a drop of wine at all during the feast."

"Edwyle knows nothing about hosting a King then!" Cat stated proudly. She turned to leave, no doubt to go to Steward Poole to begin preparations, when, he lashed out and grabbed her wrist.

"Ouch! What in the hells are-"

She was cut off when he leaned her in for a kiss. They eventually pulled away and Cat let out a long sigh.

He looked her in the eyes. "Have you moon tea?"

"Wait here, I'll have Luwin prepare some."

She left, and he began to make room on his desk, clearing parchments and what not…no need to dirty them too.