Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin, other than my own the original character(s) in this story. This is purely a work of my personal enjoyment so don't expect anything worthy of GRRM. I fully welcome criticism/suggestions/questions. The story will eventually be finished (I hate leaving things unfinished) but I have no real schedule. Please review as I'd love useful thoughts :) feedback goes a long way to encouraging my writing.
Chapter 11: Winterhold
"Did the Imperials take your tongue?"
– Queen Visanna Stark
How long had he spent with the cloudy glass bottle up to this candle, eyeing a golden-red liquid as if it held answers to grand questions boasting some strange beauty. He laid back in bed and drank deep of the last drops; savouring it yet dreading that he'd ran empty.
The glass bottle had been a gift from the Emperor. It hadn't lasted long.
A gash across his forehead bled lightly; but he couldn't remember where the cut came from.
Ahead laid a foul sober hell of uncertainty. He hated the unknown.
It was spicy; gods know why – though as the taste of spice and honey burnt at his throat, he found it somewhere between warm and spicy, but he'd never drank for flavour. He'd had far worse, that much was true, so there wasn't any sense in complaint excepts for a simple fact: there wasn't nearly enough left to get him drunk. Too sober. Far, far too sober for what was to come – damn the gods for it. Damn them all, old and ancient and strange all, Willam muttered a curse to the god of empty bottles above all others that looked down on him now from up high.
There was no doubt. Somewhere, the gods were laughing at him merrily.
He took the bottle with him leaving his cabin, dressed up in a black gambeson and all his princely attire; although it was less fine than what he'd worn in the empire – the Sunset Islands weren't known for their warmth. Practical was essential unless one wished to freeze.
"You're drinking?" The voice of Cai greeted him; her eyes focused on the bottle in his hands.
"I was," Willam muttered a response, waving the empty bottle slightly as if to prove the point that yes it was in fact quite empty. A sight that in his humble opinion was among the saddest of things. "Alas it appears to be empty – the thief is nearby, no doubt..."
She frowned at him and by the god of empty bottles did he know that cursed look; of worry and pity. Those were two things he hated. Still, he knew the girl meant well.
"You never drank back home," Cai managed her reply. She'd grown steadily bolder over the voyage, as soon as the girl grew her sea legs. Salt air was good for the soul, or so sailors claimed.
"Not that you knew," Willam thought smugly. Still, it was true enough in an odd manner; he'd drunk for the fun of it with Suko and the ass kissing nobles that followed him about but hadn't drank like he used to. With home on the horizon however he found old waters made him uneasy.
He'd learnt long ago that drink had a way of numbing the mutterings in his head.
"Worry not little Princess," He opted for as charming a smile as he could muster, despite himself – he was all too eager to cheer the girl up. She was a sweet thing, if not foolish for it, she didn't deserve ugly truths. "I'm a professional, this one bottle isn't so much."
He wasn't kidding, it wasn't. Damn the god of empty bottles for his constant mockery.
"It isn't healthy, father always said so; he said that-"
"By the dawn it's freezing," Prince Suko interrupted timely, complaining loudly and huddled in his fur cloak clinging to the warmth like his life depended on it. "I thought we'd turn to ice before we reached port. How did you ever live here Stark!?"
Suko was wrapped up as warmly as his little sister, to Willam's amusement.
"We're still in summer Suko," He scoffed at the southern prince, although he'd sooner hear his friends whining than Cai's worrying over his life choices. "I thought I'd melt my first day in your home, my friend – so give mine time; you'll live I'm sure."
Suko huffed in derision. "It's no wonder you ran from here, is all I'm saying Stark!"
Willam fought the urge to roll his eyes as the man rambled. He put the empty bottle aside.
"You say it was your father that pushed you away, but I say the cause was this damn cold! You fled to not freeze your damn balls off come the Winter!"
"Brother," Cai scowled. "That's not very polite, I'm sure Prince Willam's home has its charms..."
Suko smirked, nudging his little sister teasingly. "Oh, don't worry, you'll have a nice warm wolfling to keep you warm Cai – and by the dawn you'll need it least you freeze!"
The Princess huffed defiantly and pouted.
"The castle is warmer," Willam offered her some assurance.
"Is it?" She seemed to doubt that.
"What do you know of the Shipwright, little princess?"
Cai scoffed in reply, holding her cloak tightly wrapped around herself.
"The Shipwright founded Wrightport," Willam began explaining as the very city came into view on the horizon; with its white cliffs and tall walls. "And atop the cliffs he found a vast forest – later named the Wrightwood – and one area; near the cliffs edge, warm vapours rose from the earth below a grand weirwood grove. Brandon ordered the trees cuts and-"
"Aren't the weirwoods sacred to your people?"
"Aye," Willam gave a nod. "The gods speak through them; or so they say…"
Cai hummed and waited; with her eyes cast out on the horizon.
"Brandon kept the weirwood standing and built Winterhold from the trees atop the cliffside; overlooking the great cove where his fleet had anchored."
"Winterhold is made of stone though…"
"Aye it is," Willam couldn't help but laugh at that. "Hard and thick grey stone, true; but back then it was simply the first and only safe haven Brandon's people had. It was built as a roof over their heads and little more. In time, it became what you see today…"
"How is it kept warm though?"
"The vapours beneath the weirwood grove came from hot springs below," Willam explained. "It wasn't a simple thing to do, but over the years of renovations – and years past Brandon's death – his descendants took a note from Brandon the Builder to pump the water through our walls."
It was thanks in large part to this that the Stark's were oft spared the worst of Winters.
As the Wrightport came into view Cai could make out the outline of Winterhold atop those white cliffs. She could see six towers reaching up to the sky like swords atop colossal grey curtain walls; although not as tall as her home – this place seemed built for battle.
The Silver City by contrast was built for beauty, relying only on their wall.
"Well then," Suko stood beside her, eyeing the fortress. "It looks formidable, Stark…"
Willam smiled despite himself, although he'd always ran from home – it seemed there existed a fair share of pride there. "Three outer walls before the royal walls; thick as winter is cold."
"Father told stories," Prince Suko hummed as they sailed closer. "I'd thought it exaggerated."
Winterhold was the strongest fortress on these islands. A beacon of Stark strength.
"Is that jealousy I detect, Suko?"
He scoffed, rolling his eyes.
"You wish, Stark…"
"Faring well, my Prince?"
Willam shrugged at Aedan's concerns, muttering "I'm fine" frankly too tired to muster fake smiles. Was he faring well? It had been years since he'd laid eyes on Wrightport. It looked as it always had, the docks busy and the Winter Fleet anchored safely – like a sleeping wolf in its den.
"We're expected," He said aloud, eyeing the docks as they sailed into the cove.
The Imperial Lóng dragon flew not far from the Shipwright itself – the same warship of Brandon the Shipwright himself; with two decks of oak and ironwood. Scores of scorpions bristled the deck, with spare parts kept in the holds below alongside a trained crew of carpenters who could mend any damage the ship took, whether it was caused by storm or battle.
Where the dragon flew however, a large party waited.
"Flash," Aedan smiled genuinely beside his prince, looking out to see a grey wolf sitting happily on the docks; tail wagging, his tongue out and head tilted as the ship dropped anchor.
The man at the wolfs side was less pleased looking.
"Who's that?"
Willam was the first to step off the ship, as the grey wolf darted past him to its master – bounding happily around the desk – Will stepped forward with wide open arms.
"Cregan!"
The punch landed with a crack and sent Willam stumbling.
"Idiot," Cregan snarled at his brother.
"Missed you too Snow," Willam scoffed, absently rubbing his cheek.
The laughter from Suko behind them hadn't gone unnoticed, as the southern prince stepped forward beside Willam and held out his hand. "Prince Suko Lóng. A pleasure!"
Cregan shook the man's hand with a nod, eyes darting to the little princess.
"Princess Cai Lóng," She curtsied with grace under Snow's gaze.
"His Grace welcomes you to Wrightport," Cregan stood tall and all but ignored his little brother. "There is a feast being held in the great all – if you would follow me…"
That was news, though not entirely unexpected.
"This feast," Willam asked hesitantly. "How fancy are we talking?"
Cregan stared blankly before responding with "As befits our nephew's betrothed, little brother" and turning on his heels to bark orders at the party of Greycloaks present.
Cai was blushing at the mention of her betrothal.
"Cheerful fellow your brother," Suko spoke as Cregan turned away.
"He was always the grumpy one among our pack…"
"I see," Cai muttered to herself, eyes downcast and her cheeks pink.
Cregan had grown colder, or he was just angry – and neither were surprising possibilities. "He was tasked with keeping me in sight and failed quite excellently. It-"
"Prince Snow cannot take all the blame for that," One of the Greycloaks stepped forward from the party with a hesitant smirk and a hand on the pommel of his sword.
Willam knew that voice, though it had been years…
"Ivar!" He grabbed the man on his shoulders and looked him up and down, noting his fine grey fur cloak and fancy sword with its wolf head pommel. "How are you my friend!?"
Ivar seemed to have the weight of a few worlds lifted form his shoulders.
"His Grace didn't have you executed I see?"
"No," Ivar replied to Aedan happily. "His Grace was very merciful."
Oh gods, the ass-kissing had already begun.
"Father?" Willam doubted aloud. "Mercy?"
"His Grace commended my loyalty and remembered my father," Ivar replied proudly, smiling and seemingly embarrassed in equal measure. "He made me a Greycloak…"
A great honour that, though Willam doubted his father truly remembered Ivar's father.
"Congratulations," Aedan was the first to offer that, genuinely happy for the young man. He was a guard, in truth, but the Greycloaks were a standing army in all but name.
"Lord Greystark is a brilliant man," Ivar added. "I'm proud to serve."
The brief grimace on Aedan's face spoke to his doubts there.
"I'm happy for you," Willam gave the man a smile.
In a heartbeat, Ivar had – through no fault of his own – sowed doubts in Prince Willam's mind as to his loyalties; but Will found he blamed his father for that.
"Will!" Cregan barked at him from afar, impatient and grumpier by the moment.
"We're coming Snow!" He replied with a roll of grey-steel eyes.
The streets of Wrightport were bustling and busy as always. The people went about their day to day lives, shopping in the market district, praying in the godswood, going to and from their homes, looking around at the shops. Those closest to the royal district were the wealthiest, all larger and better built. The streets were cobblestone, dotted with small trees along the sides. The houses were strongly built but sparingly decorated; housing a dozen inside each.
"Stark!" Some commoners called out as Cregan's party of Greycloaks passed them by.
"Long live the King!"
"Welcome home Prince!"
Some guardsmen in Wright and Sunstark and Seastark colours called out too, making it clear the whole damn city apparently knew of his returning. This was a damn spectacle. Walking through the cobbled streets, Willam held to a warmest smile; though in truth the attention made him uneasy. "Seems you have an admirer my prince," Aedan gestured towards a little girl that came running up with a small blue flower in her hands, holding it up for Willam.
He knelt and took the blue rose.
"Thank you, little lady."
The girl smiled at him before running back to her mother.
"How do I look?" Willam asked, having taken the flower and placed it above his ear.
"Like a Princess!" Suko called out from ahead of the party, earning a laugh from the Greycloaks that were watching them all like hawks eyeing prey that could scurry away in a heartbeat.
"The people love you," Cai noted as they kept walking.
Wrightport was loyal – and that loyalty ran deep as the ocean.
"My family has been good to them Princess," Willam replied with a shrug. "We're never short on food or good jobs, and they're kept safe. No family goes hungry. No crime goes unpunished."
The Greycloaks watch were out in force as a matter of fact, patrolling the city in squads and watched from above by wargs. Each squad had two crossbowmen, a weapon beloved for how easy they were to use and maintain, not to mention how they could be loaded and carried around on patrol, ready to be fired in a moment's notice. Wrightport was safe and secure.
The warg's, as rare as the talent was, allowed the Greycloaks to see every crime in the city; be it watching from a bird's eye view or tracking with a canine's precision. Willam hadn't been born with that particular gift, Stark or not; he'd never bounded with any beast.
A crow cawed from a weirwood tree above.
"Stark!"
It had emerald eyes.
"Stark, Stark, Stark!"
Willam halted to stare up at the creature.
"Will," Aedan had nudged his Prince. "We're falling behind…"
Willam blinked, darting his eyes away from the bird to the party – and a handful of Greycloaks that lagged behind; staring at him as he stood still. How long had he stopped walking?
"Prince Willam?"
Cai Lóng looked at him with some degree of worry.
"I'm fine," He dismissed with a wave. "It nothing – I was just thinking…"
He strode ahead without another word, leaving Aedan to his frowning as they caught up with the party. Ahead, on the cliff above, Winterhold awaited the return of its youngest son – up the vast stairway carved into rock and unto the rear gateway, so thick that no less than a dozen murder holes would be passed before a man could reach the yard on the other side.
It was one of two entries to the fortress. The other was no less daunting.
The great hall of Winterhold boasted a grand twenty hearths in total, near able to entertain a small army if necessary – with a high ceiling and oaken rafters holding up a steep roof. The dais was wide and high so that a dozen could be feasted on the high table in comfort and a thousand more beneath the salt, then maybe more if one removed the proud statues that lined the walls.
The many tapestries could rot, or paintings fade; but statues would stand forever.
Ashlyn Amber was exceedingly bored, sitting at her table under the rather menacing statue of King Brandon the Crowned – named for the last Stark king before the Bloody; who broke with tradition to crown himself King of Winter where once the Starks of Winterhold had styled themselves only as Princes. That the king had seated House Amber under the shadow of his father's statue was certainly no coincidence, since Ashlyn's father and brothers had died fighting in the Frost Rebellion.
It was only at Queen Visanna's behest that Ashlyn's mother had been spared the kings wrath, by virtue of their friendship; while all other Ambers fell to the sword or axe one way or another. War wasn't fair to the losers – regardless of how just their cause may have been – the Ambers words were Sworn to Valour; and no Stark had been valorous in her lifetime.
Lady Dyanna Amber ate from her plate with all the dignity of a noble woman, only to frown at the sight of her daughter absently stabbing at her venison with a knife.
"Ashlyn," She scolded under hushed breath while all those around them ate and spoke openly. "Behave yourself young lady; you're acting appalling!"
She could see King Brandon laughing and joking with Lord Towers and Umber, but in her mind's eye she only saw the murderers of her kin. She hated that man…
"I'm not hungry, mother..."
"You needn't eat then," Dyanna's eyes darted to her daughter judgingly. "But if so, put down that knife at once and behave yourself!"
"Listen to your mother Ash," The voice of her stepfather spoke half-heartily.
He wasn't a bad man, and she didn't hate him; but the man was a Ryder – and an uncle to Lord Ragnar Ryder, one of the monsters responsible for Amber deaths in the rebellion. Ashlyn could never find it in herself to forgive that, even if her mother somehow could.
"I'd rather eat," Ashlyn replied stubbornly. She cut the red meat with ease, shoving a bite into her mouth as her bright amber eyes stared defiantly at her mother.
Men said she looked just like her mother when she was her age – with her soft flowing copper-red hair and bright amber eyes; she'd had no shortage of suitors in her time as heir.
That time had flown by quickly and she was no longer heir.
"Eat up kiddo," Ashlyn's stepfather encouraged his son. Rodrik Amber was only a small child and looked nothing like an Amber; expect for his bright eyes – he'd inherited everything else wholly Ryder from his hair to the cheekbones and Ash feared; his attitude. The brat was spoiled.
"Ash," A new voice greeted them and caused Ashlyn to look up from her plate.
He was tall and handsome in a roguish sort of way, with messy raven hair.
"Are you enjoying the feast?"
"Qrow," She replied with a hollow smile. "I was just eating."
Qrow Ryder smiled warmly at her, then darted his eyes aside. "Lady Amber, a pleasure."
"The pleasure is ours."
Ashlyn felt sick...
"Doing well are we Nephew?"
Qrow grinned at his uncle. "Always uncle, and how's my favourite cousin?"
"Good!" Rodrik Amber blurted out happily.
"Don't speak with your mouth full lad," The boy's father scolded him.
"Did you want something, Qrow?"
Ashlyn knew all too well what Qrow Ryder wanted, ever since he'd gotten drunk and kissed her all those years ago; she'd known damn well. His advances had only gotten more obvious – and desperate, in Ash's opinion. They'd been friends growing up until then.
"I thought you might like to dance, my lady?"
His eyes were wandering.
"Are you drunk?"
"Ashlyn!" Her mother scolded quickly. "You will not insult the man!"
"It's an honest question," Ashlyn scoffed, still holding her knife and cutting another bite of venison.
"I'm quite sober, Lady Ashlyn..."
A bold-faced lie. She fought the urge to scowl, least her mother notice and take offence.
"She would be honoured, now wouldn't you my dear daughter?"
She's used 'the tone' again, damn it. It wasn't a question so much as a demand.
"Of course," Ashlyn replied, putting down her knife and barely containing a sigh.
Qrow's smile grew tenfold, as if this were going well.
"Come then," She'd gotten up and moved past Ryder with minor difficulty; as her silken dress with silver lining made movement somewhat difficult. She hated dresses, in all honesty.
There were many noble men and women dancing at the centre of the hall as doubtless many were using this gathering to forge ties between houses. Ryder was one such, despite her obvious attempts to repel the man, he'd never given up using their friendship to make things awkward.
"I was sorry to hear about your brother," She said as they danced slowly to the high-harps tune.
"I-" Qrow seemed to sober up somewhat at that before a scowl ruined his otherwise handsome features. "Yes, it was a great loss. Father was furious…"
Ashlyn knew full well there was no real love between the Ryder brothers, but hoped the topic would push Qrow away or at least sober him up somewhat.
"I've missed you..."
Apparently, it wasn't working.
"Mother has kept me busy," She replied casually. "She has required help with plenty since Rodrik's birth and I've done what I can these last years..."
It wasn't entirely a lie; she had been forced to take on some of her mother's duties since the half-ryder boy came along. She was thankfully to have the heirship taken away at least.
"The years have been kind to you," Qrow smiled, his eyes lingering too long at her chest for Ashlyn's liking. "The dress suits you well Ash..."
She was used to the looks; she'd been told how beautiful she was since forever – but the more she'd heard it said the less weight the compliment held. Qrow was practically undressing her with his eyes. "It's beyond uncomfortable actually," In more ways than one. Ashlyn couldn't help but roll her eyes.
"These dresses really aren't my preference..."
"I know," Qrow smiled as if knowing was done grand victory. "I remember our time together..."
He'd been a ward of theirs as children, how could he forget. Still, he was referring to a specific memory; she didn't doubt it in the least.
"Do you remember, Ash?"
Oh, she remembered everything. Fool.
"I recall breaking your nose," She thought aloud, feigning ignorance. "That's all, Ryder."
He frowned, his hand moving down her back. "I know you remember the kiss Ash," his hand moved further down as his smirk grew wider. "I know you liked-"
Ashlyn usually prided herself on self-control, even if it was said that Amber blood ran hot, yet the second Qrow's hand found its way onto her rear; all bets were firmly off as a thunderous CRACK echoed across the great hall and seemed to bounce from pillar to pillar as Qrow Ryder was sent backwards onto the floor by Ashlyn Amber's balled fist.
The hall fell deathly silent, except for Qrow's groans of pain and muttered curses.
A raven cawed "Stark!" from the oaken rafters above as the great hall doors creaked wide open and a herald made his announcement; cutting through the awkward silence in the air like a hot knife.
"Presenting," The herald to his credit completely ignored the existence of the bleeding noble with a broken nose cursing on the floor. It wasn't his business. "Prince Willam of the royal House Stark, Lord of Frostfell and fifth son of his grace King Brandon!"
All eyes darted from Ashlyn to those doors as the apparent Prince Willam casually stepped forward into the hall with an amused looking smile on his lips.
"Well then," The Prince was closer now, walking slowly into the room. He was handsome, Ashlyn could admit; for a Stark at least. "I see nothing has changed around here…"
Ashlyn blinked. This was the lost Princeling? He was tanned and dressed rather plainly for a Prince, barging into the hall filled with over a thousand guests without a care.
"Trouble in paradise, Lady?"
This one reeked of arrogance almost as much as Qrow reeled of wine.
Ashlyn huffed at the arrogant princeling, muttering "I had it under control" beneath her breath; hoping the Stark wouldn't hear it – or that he'd simply ignore-
"I can see that." Willam's plastered smile flickered genuinely.
"Are all your feasts this exciting Stark?!" Another man in the Princes party asked. His skin was bronzed, his accent clearly foreign; and he was laughing.
"It's not a true feast until someone falls unconscious, Suko."
Qrow Ryder groaned, holding a hand to his seemingly broken nose.
"I-" Ashlyn was rarely speechless, but as she stood in the centre of Winterhold's great hall with all eyes on her – she wasn't entirely certain if this 'Prince' wasn't some fake mummer. What kind of a Prince acted like this? It had to be some kind of childish foolhardy jest…
"He isn't actually unconscious," Suko replied; laughing aloud at the man.
"Are you really the Prince?"
"Last I checked," Willam answered with a shrug.
"You don't act like it."
"Ashlyn!" Her mother had stormed over furiously, "Cease this; you're being an embarrassment!"
"I'd say the only embarrassment here is the fool bleeding on my father's floors," Willam argued with a scoff; eyeing the elderly woman. "Lady Amber, I assume?"
The eyes were the giveaway. Star-bright amber that almost held a fire behind them.
"Prince Willam," Dyanna Amber lowered her head in an instant, as did her husband. "Forgive us and my wilful daughter, this is all a dreadful misunderstanding..."
"A misunderstanding?"
Ashlyn caught a glimpse of something spark behind the odd prince's eyes.
"Is that so, Lady..."
"Ashlyn," She replied, rubbing her hand – sore as it was.
"Lady Ash," Willam's smile had vanished. "Your mother claims the fool bleeding on my father's shiny clean floors is somehow a misunderstanding? Is that so?"
"Yes," Ashlyn swallowed her pride and lowered her head, fighting back the desire to speak the truth. "I slipped while dancing My Prince; you see, I am a terrible dancer..."
"Aye," Qrow Ryder had gotten to his feet, with his nose bloody and a closed fist with white knuckles. "A mistake – that's all Prince Willam, we're sorry for the-"
Willam eyed the man with contempt. "Ryder, best go get yourself cleaned up."
Qrow bowed and took his leave, off to his father who practically dragged the man out of the hall.
"Perhaps you could teach my daughter to dance, Prince Willam?"
Ashlyn immediately scowled internally.
"I'm quite busy lady Amber," Willam dismissed, seeing the intent for what it was.
"I would be happy to teach the fair lady," Suko jumped in, all smiles and charm; winking at the bronze haired maiden. "Prince Suko Lóng at your service, My Lady!"
"Prince Sucko Who?" Ashlyn played with feigned ignorance, tilting her head.
"We're all quite busy," Willam openly sighed at his friend's antics, opting for his most formal tone. "Forgive us ladies – I've been too long from my family, if you'll excuse us?"
"Of course, My Prince," Lady Amber was quick to back away, grabbing her daughter's arm and practically dragging her back to the tables while scolding her loudly.
"Enough stalling," Cregan muttered, nudging his brother forward.
"I was not stalling, dear brother-"
The second nudge was more of a shove.
"My Lords and Ladies," The King spoke from atop his high seat looking down at his guests; with his sons beside him – Willam eyed all his brothers on the dais, getting a nod from Rodrik, a warm smile from Edrik; and a simply glance from Artos. "Today is a proud day. My son has returned!"
"Hail the Prince!"
"Prince Willam!"
"Winter is Coming!"
The cheers washed over Willam's party like a tide.
"Your Grace," Willam bowed his head to the old man, but unlike Cregan or his guards; he did not kneel. Aedan too stood silent as any statue, making his loyalties clear. "I present my friend Prince Suko Lóng, forth son of his majesty Qing Lóng – and his daughter, Princess Cai Lóng…"
"Your Grace," Suko bowed flamboyantly.
"Your Grace," Cai curtsied gracefully. "Thank you for welcoming us into your home."
King Brandon betrayed nothing as he surveyed their party. "Welcome to Winterhold, Prince Suko and Princess Cai. I trust your journey was pleasant?"
"Smooth sailing Your Grace," Suko offered quickly.
"Your home is quite beautiful."
"I have seats prepared here for you all," King Brandon motioned beside him with a wave of his hand and a plastered smile. "Please, come; take a seat and enjoy yourselves."
Some servants had quickly cleaned up Ryder's blood from the smooth slate.
"More wine, m'lord?" Willam heard one of the servants ask across the hall.
"I'll not object," The lord said, holding up his cup. "A fine red, my thanks!"
"It's Imperial, you fool." Another lord to the firsts left shouted over him and gestured, as the serving man poured. Willam could only feel sorry for the servant as he looked down from the high dais at the bickering lords, a candle lit table flickering as one spat out not too subtle insults.
"Imperial is not often so rich, you should learn to appreciate it!"
"It's actually a fine mead, you simpleton!" The other lord with a snarl, taking a sip, looking like a pompous bastard in Will's silent opinion.
"I'm pleased you like it m'lord but..."
"With your tastes, Umber." The lord took another sip, favouring the taste in a somehow almost mocking manner. "I can't say I'm surprised at your inadequacy..."
Somewhere in the hall a man covered his mouth and belched. "Oh my," he said, and they both ignored the other guests like they were nothing but ghosts. "Inadequacy?! That's a mighty big word you just used, Flint. Did it strain you? Perhaps you should lay down for a moment and rest..."
Willam sighed, the bickering of these lords was the same nonsense wherever you went, no matter how far one travelled. He sat with Princess Cai to his right with a young Prince Darion to her right, while Rodrik sat to his left whispering in their father's ear about something.
"My thanks," Willam accepted a cup of wine from a serving lass who blushed redder than the wine before leaving to continue at her duties. He was enjoying the meal for the most part despite the looming threat of politics and whatever King Brandon was planning, he supposed the oxtail soup, summer greens with pecans, grapes, red funnel and crumbled cheese, hot crab pie, spiced squash, and quails drowned in butter were all ample distraction from the worries of the real world.
He took a sip of wine and noticed little Cai's cup was empty.
"More wine Princess?"
"No." She smiled sweetly, "I shouldn't."
Willam offered a smile in reply and kept his thoughts to himself before turning his attention back to the hall. All present were eating and drinking and bickering happily.
In the great hall he could see Tower and Umber seated closely, with the Flint and Fisher tables as close to them as they could muster. All were loud and boisterous, deep in cups, laughing and enjoying themselves. At the Amber table; closely tied to the Ryders, he eyed the young women with copper hair from earlier. Ashley? Asha? What was her-
"Someone catch your eye?" A voice asked from behind.
Willam went wide-eyed for a moment, but quickly regained his composure.
"Aye," He replied with confidence. "My breath was taken away by the shocking length of that serving girls skirt, dear brother – don't tell me you didn't notice?"
Edrik Stark scoffed at his little brother, but he was smiling.
"That serving girl you were staring at, would be Lady Ashlyn Amber…"
"I don't stare."
"You did."
"Did not."
Cai's giggle interrupted them.
"Enjoying yourself Princess Lóng?"
Cai offered a sweet smile. "Very much so, Prince Edrik."
Willam laid his eyes on the Amber girl as she stormed away from her table.
"Prince Willam," A newcomer snapped him to attention.
The voice belonged to one of Lord Tower's sons, he knew, but couldn't recall the name and didn't honestly care. The man was shoving a piece of roasted boar into his mouth and spat as he spoke. "Can I help you with something?" Willam offered with narrowed eyes. "A napkin, perhaps?"
The young noble was too drunk or simple to notice the insult.
"I wanted to-" He belched, using his sleeve to wipe away the juice from the boar. "I wanted to ask. The Empire, what's it like? Is it all the stories say?"
What those stories were was anyone's guess. "It's-"
"I hear the women are goddesses!" Towers son smirked an ugly smirk. "To die for! You've tried a few imperial beauties in your day no doubt eh?"
"None worth mentioning," Willam denied the claim; though flashes of Princess Nuwa danced through his head – making him feel a little sick at the memory.
"Nonsense!" The Tower's son laughed; spilling is ale in the process as he carelessly swayed his mug in the air with a wave of his hand. "I- I don't judge, just asking for a friend!" He moved to drink from his mug only to find it empty. The contents had long since fled across the table and socked his food.
"Some bastard stole my drink! By the gods, who would-"
"You have drunk it all Gavvar," Darion Stark practically growled from his seat beside Cai.
"I-" He seemed to sober up at the sound of the young Prince's voice.
"You should get some rest," The young future king's words seemed enough to get through to the young man – as he began nodding frantically and agreeing.
The young drunk Towers left the table with muttered apologies, swaying slightly as he moved to sleep it off and prepare for the morning ahead. "He'll feel that tomorrow," Suko commented aloud. "Although, it's better than had I floored the fool I suppose..."
"You wouldn't have," Cai dismissed the notion.
Suko drank from his cup. "You doubt me sister?"
Cai decided to simply smile innocently in reply.
"I'm sorry for him Princess," Darion offered his betrothed shyly. "Gavvar isn't usually like this, I promise you; he's blunt when he's drunk and didn't mean-"
"I- It's okay," Cai replied too quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt!"
"No, it's alright; you've nothing to-"
Well at least these two were getting along.
"Young love," Willam rolled his eyes at them.
"It's a thing of beauty," Suko added sagely.
Cai and Darion both blushed like maidens.
"Perhaps you should give her a kiss nephew; to make it up to the girl?"
"I-" Darion stuttered. "I couldn't- I-"
"Stop it Will," Edrik laughed aloud. "You're torturing the poor lad."
Cai had slapped her brothers arm swiftly, even though he'd done nothing his complaints of "what did I do?!" fell on depth ears.
She was blushing though. Willam thought that a good sign moving forward with things.
The sound of growling had grabbed Cai's attention, sending the girl wide-eyed in fear.
"The one winning is Fenrir," Darion pointed out the two young wolves that Cai had found herself staring wide-eyed in fear. "And Freki is the scarred one, but they're harmless really."
"They've grown," Willam added; eyeing the two black wolves play-fighting.
"You've been away little brother," Rodrik added from his seat.
That was one hell of an understatement and a half.
"Lead them to the kennels if they can't behave," Rodrik commanded with a roll of his eyes and a glance to his son. "Take the Princess with you too lad; show her around the grounds."
"I-" Darion visibly gulped. "If you'd like, Princess?"
"Yes," Her eyes darted to her brother for a brief moment.
Prince Suko simply gave her a shrug and a wink.
"Lead the way," Cai managed bravely. "My Prince…"
Darion had walked up to the two brawling wolves and got them sitting obediently in a heartbeat, all while hiding his blushing face. "The kennels are out by the Godswood; if you'd like-"
The pair walked out of the hall, talking; with two wolves following like shadows.
"I trust my little sister's virtue isn't in any danger?"
"None at all," Rodrik replied in half a second. "Prince Suko."
"Darion has grown into quite the little Princeling," Willam noted aloud; to the glare of his elder. "Ignore my dear friend, brother; Suko is ever the jester…"
Rodrik scoffed, and for a brief moment Willam thought he saw the shadow of a smile.
"My boys know their duty."
Was that a shot at him? Properly.
"I never doubted," Willam opted to say, taking a gulp of wine.
"It's good to have you back pup," Edrik ruffled his hair like he was a child.
The sound of his father's voice interrupted whatever thought Willam had planned in response, as all eyes fell on King Brandon standing up from his chair with wine in hand.
"My Lords and Ladies," He began his speech. "My friends, I wanted to thank you for joining us here at the reunion of my family; and the arrival of young Darion's betrothed – who ever now are walking together through the grounds. This union shall strengthen the Islands for generations to come!"
"To the King!"
"Prince Darion!"
The cheers went on and on.
"Princess Cai is not our own guest however," King Brandon looked over to Suko and raised up his glass to the man only briefly. "Prince Suko has accompanied my son here – but not only to escort his fair sister to her betrothed; oh no, there are other plans afoot my friends!"
Willam's eyes darted to Suko, raising his brow as if to ask, 'what the fuck?' of his friend.
Suko simply gave a shrug and kept drinking, apparently clueless.
"Emperor Qing and I have discussed at length on a venture," The King continued; having the complete attention of all his thousand or so guests. "A journey – nay – a quest! To sail where no man has sailed since my ancestor Brandon the Shipwright set out across the sunset!"
"What!?" Willam said aloud, rather loudly.
"My son young Willam and his friend Prince Suko will be leading an expedition!"
The son of a bitch was taking credit for this?! That he knew was no surprise at all, since the Emperor was well aware; but Brandon was acting like this was HIS bloody idea!
"They will set sell within the month!" King Brandon raised his glass up towards the hall. "An expedition to rival the Shipwright himself and reconnect us with the homeland!"
"Son of a bitch," Willam muttered aloud, grabbing a fresh pitcher of wine.
It wasn't the worst thing, as at least the old man wasn't stopping him… but still…
"I invited you all here in part to lay before you an open invitation!"
He bloody what?!
"All those willing to take up the sword and shield for my son, and for Prince Suko Lóng – the brother-in-law to your future King Darion and his fair Queen Cai; are invited to join their quest!"
"What is this, Rodrik!"
Willam had practically growled at his brother.
"Cheer up little brother," Rodrik was frowning, with disappointment clear in his eyes. "Father is giving you what you've always wanted – so don't act so childish Will."
"He's-" Willam groaned. "He's using me, again; like he's always done!"
Rodrik only sighed and shook his head in reply.
King Brandon had gone on and on rousing his guests up, speaking of the possibilities and fortune awaiting them across the Sunset Sea; showering his son in empty praise that Willam knew better than to swallow. He'd drank deep from that pitcher of wine before storming out of the hall.
"Damn him," He'd been muttering the whole walk outside.
The Godswood was a massive and private area of the inner castle, stretching twenty acres with a thick canopy and a mighty ancient weirwood at its heart. "Stark!" A raven cawed above him as he stormed through the woods muttering curses. "Stark, Stark, Stark!"
"Silence!" Willam turned to bark at the damn raven.
"You always had his temper..."
A woman stood there as Will turned; with a sadness in her eyes. She was old, with grey-silver strands in raven hair – dressed in finery with a silver yet simple circlet crown on her head.
"You ran off before we could speak…"
She hadn't been at the feast. He'd looked, but she hadn't been there.
"Well pup," She asked with a smile. "Did the Imperials take your tongue?"
"Hello mother," Willam replied quietly as wind blew through the trees around them.
Queen Visanna's smile shone then, as brightly as any star.
It was between a heartbeat that the Queen practically flung herself at him, embracing her lost son as if he'd vanish at any moment and was half the age he was. "My boy," Visanna spoke as she clung to her son tightly. "How you've grown – let me look at you!"
She held Willam and scanned him up and down.
"My boy has returned a man," She muttered sadly.
Years had a funny way of doing that.
"You look sad," Visanna frowned. "You really must smile more…"
"I smile plenty mother," Willam rolled his eyes.
The blank stare and huff of disbelief said all it needed to.
"There's no fooling me dear," She scolded half-heartedly, staring at him with her Fisher eyes. "I'm your mother pup; it's my job to know when you're lying."
Visanna hummed.
"You get your stubbornness from him too."
Willam turned away from her, staring up at the raven up on its branch – glaring down at them – though this one looked like your average bird. No emerald eyes. "I'm nothing like him, mother…"
The Queen laughed; a sound as sweet as honey.
"I'm not," Willam argued. "He's selfish and brutish and-"
"He's still your father."
Hardly. Aedan's father had been more kin to him than Brandon Stark ever had.
"Is this all you wanted to speak on?" Willam scowled, though his heart wasn't in it. "After all this time, you've come to defend his actions. Is that it, Your Grace?"
"No," Visanna frowned. "I came to see my cub."
"The cub you knew died in that damn courtyard mother," Willam snapped at her then, turning back to the raven above them. "He died, a bloody long time ago; with Elssa!"
A silence washed over them, except for the wind in the trees.
"What happened back then was-"
"It was what!?"
She stared at her son.
"Your father planned for you and her to wed," Visanna began with a sigh. "You know that – it took little convincing from me to sway your father there; but-"
"He ordered her dead; and worse!"
"No," She denied. "I tried telling you once, but you ran before-"
"I don't want to hear it," Willam waved her away. "Leave it alone, mother; please…"
Why did people insist on bringing up the past? Weren't there enough ghosts in this place?
"I'll take it from here my love," A new voice joined them in the godwood, all gruff and worn; he walked to the queen's side and kissed her on the cheek. "It's time."
Willam stared at his father with contempt. What was he doing here?
"Don't fight," Visanna pleaded. "Both of you…"
"I'll do what I must," King Brandon replied absently. "Darion and the dragon girl are by the heart; if you'd like to meet her – she's a sweet enough thing. Make her feel welcome."
Visanna hummed, smiling over to her son before strolling away.
He didn't know quite how long the pair of them stood there in the clearing, among the trees; with that damn raven watching – but it felt like an eternity until one of them spoke.
"She thought you dead after Frostfell." It was Brandon to break the silence that hung over them. "When we brought you home; your mother refused to leave your bedside for even a moment, and I had to bring her food and practically beg her to eat – but she stayed until you woke."
"Is there a point to this story, Your Grace?"
"Shut up and listen boy," He snapped, but his expression was stone. "You ran. You left that damn note and the look in her eyes – how the light faded. It was like she'd given up on life."
The King had sighed, looking at his son; studying him closely.
"That's the true reason I dragged you out of those blasted outland wastes, all those years ago. It wasn't for you, or your brothers; or me – but for your mother. When she saw you again, she burst back into the woman I'd grown to love, and I was overjoyed for it. And then, what did you do?"
"I wouldn't be caged by you," Willam argued; stepping forward. "I am not your puppet-"
"You fucking left her, AGAIN!"
The thunder in King Brandon's voice strangled all reply; except for one.
"You ordered her killed – and worse!"
Brandon had the audacity to scoff. "Still hung up on that girl, boy?"
"I loved her!"
Again, the old king scoffed; with a roll of his eyes.
"You don't know what love is, Willam."
"You-" Willam burnt with a fury. "You had your men fucking rape her, bastard!"
"The girl was never raped," The King said as if it was the simplest thing. "You, foolish boy, in your anger and arrogance; assumed the fucking worst! You believed every damn whisper!"
"Lies," Willam growled. "The guards gloated; and you did fucking nothing!"
"The guards entered her room that day, aye," He admitted, with a shrug. "To drag the traitor's daughter naked before me in an attempt to save their own skins.
"I don't trust you, old man!"
"The girl fought them and flung herself through the damn window. You just assumed the worst of me. Butcher, Tyrant, Monster! You foolish gullible blind little wolf cub!"
Willam didn't know when Frostbite had been pulled from its sheath.
The King, to his credit, didn't even flinch. "You ran, a heartbroken scared foolish child, so I tasked Cregan and your uncle to keep you safe; for your mother's sake."
"I am no one's damn puppet," Willam snarled, as his grip tightened around Frostbite's handle and the chill began to ache. "Not yours, not my brothers; nor uncles!"
"Oh, what freedom you enjoy boy," King Brandon huffed, stepping closer without a care.
"You've driven me away my whole damn LIFE! You think I wanted this?! ANY OF IT?!"
That halted him, and for a moment the king frowned.
He was silent for a time, eyeing the icy blade as if remembering something he'd forgotten – or perhaps recalling who owned the blade once upon a time. Frostbite thirsted for his blood; practically screaming at its wielder to cut the man down. It was a strange thing for a blade to crave anything at all, but then it was a strange blade.
Willam could never explain it, but he disliked using House Frost's sword. It felt wrong.
"You will be silent and listen," Brandon said finally.
It was a question and a demand in equal measure.
Willam said nothing, and his father took that as agreement.
"My father, your grandfather, left me with the burden of a new crown and a rule littered with men disgruntled." King Brandon the Bloody began his story. "Men fear change, the norm is safer you see, familiar; where change is strange and foreign. Frost was one such man, a traditionalist believing we should follow the Shipwright's vow to the letter despite the man never expecting us to go so long without a way home. Your grandfather looked to the future and declared our independence to secure our hold over grasping fools. He flushed out the traitors and I finished his work!"
The King halted but a moment, as if testing; leaving an opening for his son to fall into.
"Do you think I enjoyed it?" He asked, eyes turning serious and gazing past every wall Willam held inside him. "Do not believe a tale simply because it's the one told, Willam. Use your ears. Your eyes. Pause and honestly think – to push aside your damn feelings; as they'll only serve to lead you astray."
He paused again, testing; waiting.
"I did what I had to do then and now, regardless of the cost to my own soul, all to ensure the future of my family and my kingdom. Our family. Our kingdom. Our people. What I have seen and done to secure our families position defies belief, and it weighs forever on my heart, but what I am capable of and will be party to in order to protect us all; would chill your soul, boy."
"Touching story father," Willam replied, with Frostbite's blade lowered slightly.
"Such damn arrogance," The King sighed with disappointment. "Has your time running not taught you anything? Have these trials across the years not tempered you? I do not see the same glint in your eyes as I did when you were a cub. I see a damn wolf; eating its own tail!"
"What's the point of this, father?" Willam was still glaring at the old wolf with malice. "Do you think a tall tale will change things? Because you're wrong, it changes nothing!"
"I don't expect you to love me, too much has happened to fix with a few simple words."
"What does love have to do with any of this, old man?"
The King looked beyond tired. "I am proud of you Willam."
"What?" The voice in his head asked, tilting its head in bewildered disbelief.
"What?" Willam voiced the thought aloud, as Frostbite raised back up.
"You have defied all expectations," The King had actually begun to smile at his son's reaction. "Even scarred as you are; try to hide it all you like – I know a haunted man when I see one. You've not let it beat you; and you've never truly needed me, I fear…"
"You've gone senile," Willam replied blankly.
His hand was shaking and heavy as his chest tightened.
"Rodrik always idolised me, anyone would tell you; he can see no fault with his kingly father – but perhaps he should?" King Brandon had begun to ramble as if shifting an ancient weight from his shoulders. "He sees only the battles and glory and the great spectacle of it all without seeing the damn price paid in blood and tears. He's a warrior king in the making and by the gods I pity the fool that'll challenge him, so long as Edrik remains at his side to temper the boys boiling blood."
"Rodrik is a bore," Willam commented. "He'll be a better king than you are though."
Brandon only laughed at that, muttering agreements.
"I thank the gods for blessing me and your mother with twins that day, lad, truly; if they hadn't then no man beast nor god could hold back Rodrik's wrath. Edrik is everything his twin isn't and in turn Rodrik is what Edrik lacks. The two are one soul, two halves fitting to make a whole."
"The old man has finally lost it," The voice in Will's head shared.
Willam was entirely lost at this stage. This rambling King was not acting as the father he remembered. "Madness must run in your blood," The voice guessed sagely.
"They love you," The Rambling King kept speaking his madness.
"Ha," Willam scoffed aloud.
"Scoff all you like but it's the truth."
Was it? He'd seen how the Lóng's acted and thought them so much worse than his brothers; so perhaps there was some truth to that, somewhere? He honestly didn't know.
"Edrik adored you since the moment you came out of your mother, ever since he accepted despite his best efforts that Artos would never be the little brother he craved."
Edrik had always looked out for him as a boy, even before Frostfell…
"Rodrik feels the same, even if he doesn't show it; there's nothing either of them wouldn't do for family. I'd never seen Rodrik cry until he thought you dead at Frostfell. It was like seeing a rock bleed. I've never seen it again since, so it seems rocks only bleed the once…"
Willam had seen it twice. Once, when Loki died – for Rodrik had loved his wolf like family – then again at Frostfell, though his tears were dried by the time they'd found him in that cell. He'd still seem them on his cheeks, try as he may to hide it.
"Artos is a lot like you, I think that's why the pair of you butt heads so easily – stubborn as bulls and eager to escape from the family shadow; to carve out your own kingdoms through actions and merit. You get that stubborn nature from me boy. I fear one day it'll be the death of us all."
Artos was – what was the word? – difficult? Aye, difficult; but blood was blood…
"The kindness," Brandon spoke of that virtue as if it were something icky. "That comes from your mother's side, try as you and Artos may to deny it exists. She's too good for the likes of me." On that little note at least Willam and his father could wholly agree.
"You've failed her," The King said blunt as you please. "I'll not coat it in honey, you know the truth – that woman loves you with every ounce of her damn heart. You'd have seen it before now, were you not so damn selfish! So damn stubborn! So alike your old man!"
"We're not alike," Willam managed to say; as his mind raced and thoughts rang against his skull like tower bells – ringing to announce some siege on his consciousness.
His father simply scoffed and muttered "stubborn" before he continued.
"She'll scold me for scolding you, doubtless; and maybe I deserve it – but once more you're leaving us. I fear for good this time, so I've said my peace to you here. I should've said it all long ago. In that I too failed, as a man and as a father; I should've never avoided speaking to you as a man."
Frostbite had fallen to his side and Willam stood in silence with too many thoughts.
"I'll not stop you leaving," The King had ceased his rambling and returned to his cold dutiful tone. "I will only have you do one duty; not for me, but for your mother."
The words barely reached Willam.
"What would you have of me, Your Grace?"
"Come back to us," King Brandon asked simply. "Do that Willam Stark, it's all I ask of you – as a final request from your king. Swear it. Here and now, under the eyes of the gods, swear it."
"For the love I know you bare your mother, you shall swear!"
Willam hadn't taken his eyes off the man in front of him.
The thoughts still assaulted him.
"We swear," The voice swore.
"I swear," Willam promised his king.
My Note(s): Well this was a fairly long chapter (9.5k words, biggest chapter so far) exploring more more the frankly awkward/extremely complicated relationship between Willam and his father; while slowly flushing out everyone else too. It's sailing off to Westeros next so it'll be awhile before we hear from Winterhold again.
As always, consider reviewing n leaving comments; it'll genuinely encourage me to write faster :)