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 13: Westerosi
"Things escalated quickly."
– Prince Cregan Snow
The Galewind was grounded. The three-decked ship now beached upon the rocky shore, for it had been more heavily damaged that reported as Edwyn Fisher had stubbornly kept going while crudely patching up the hull. He hadn't wished to lose his ship so close to reaching the shore. Now though? All it was good for was salvage.
It wasn't like they had a dock conveniently nearby to repair the damn thing since the wargs had flown north and south along the shore to simply find more damn shore. This land was vast, and chilly; although warmer than back home it seemed plausible that they were indeed somewhere along the eastern shore of The North.
There was a small village not far inland to the north-east, however. That seemed their best bet.
"What are the numbers Grey?"
"Three ships out of the seven we set out with," Aedan stood at his Prince's side. "At my best guess, roughly, we've somewhere a little under two thousand men? We'd need to do a census to get a true measure…"
"No time for that," Willam sighed, looking over the map on his desk. "Give the order, we'll send out the boats and set up a camp on the shore to give us footing – and work from there."
"Yes, my Prince," Aedan replied and left without hesitation.
He'd been acted so damn formal since this voyage began. It was odd.
"Aedan seems on edge," Cregan added from his spot in the cabin's shadowy corners.
"So, it's not just me? You've noticed it too huh?"
"Lord Endrin had words with him before we departed."
"Did he now…"
"Mhmm," Cregan stepped out of the shadows and stood opposite of his brother's desk with his arms crossed. "One of the servants overheard a rather heated exchange. It seems your shadow got quite the talking to back home."
"Any idea about what?"
"None," Cregan shrugged. "I could guess though."
They both could. It proberly wouldn't be far off the truth either, the Lord of House Greystark wasn't hard to predict when it came to the man's habits. "Bhelen was sent because they still don't trust Aedan."
"I'd wager as much," Cregan agreed with his little brother. "Endrin was always a traditionalist."
"So, what's the prognosis Prince Snow?"
"The boy is trying too hard to fill Bhelen's absent shoes."
"He has nothing to prove," Willam scowled at the thought.
"Not to you, perhaps, but to the others?"
They didn't know Aedan Greystark as anything but The Outlander. It would take time and effort for that shadow to be lifted, to be sure; but Willam hated to see the man prove what he-
"You're thinking too much little brother."
"I am not," Willam huffed in defiance.
"Aedan will be fine," Cregan reassured with a roll of his eyes. "He's kept you alive this long, but he has a lot to prove to the crew – and even to himself perhaps? I couldn't say but leave the man to see this through."
Willam stared at his bastard brother and tilted his head slightly.
"I'd forgotten how much you enjoy telling me what to do, Snow."
"It's a full-time job; my littlest brother, at least when you haven't run away from me."
"I never run," Willam replied with a roll of his own eyes.
"What do you call all that running away then Will?"
"Tactical retreats dear brother," He smirked devilishly. "Tactical. Retreats."
"Prince Willam?" Ivar called from the doorway, standing in his grey furs and proudly resting one hand on the pommel of his greycloak steel. "Aedan sent me to inform you that the boats are ready."
"Excellent," Willam got up in a heartbeat.
"You're going ashore?"
"We're going ashore brother. We."
Cregan scowled at him.
"Come now Snow," Willam shoved his brother lightly as he passed. "When they write the stories about our adventure; this'll be the first chapter! Do you not want to be among the first to step upon the beach?"
"The stories of our adventures?"
"Okay," Willam's smirk returned briefly. "My adventures, but you'll be there too!"
Cregan Snow sighed and muttered curses to the gods for giving him such a brother.
"Ivar, you're with us my friend; I want you by my side!"
"As you say Prince Will-"
"Just called me Will damnit Ivar, my father can't hear you."
"Yes Prin-"
Willam stared at him as a wolf looks at prey.
"Will."
"Good lad," He clasped the man's shoulder.
"Let's get on with this then," Cregan spoke grimly.
Oars hit still calm waters as they began to row to the shore, crowed in little boats; though none complained – all too eager to step foot on solid ground after a month at sea.
"Enjoyed your time on The Wanderer, lady Amber?"
She stared at him from her side of the boat. Those amber eyes seemed to burn.
"People are dead, Prince Willam." Ashlyn stared right into his soul.
If she thought it would phase him then she'd find herself sourly mistaken. "And more will die before we see home again – if we do at all – what of it my lady? Your betrothed lives, so rejoice; no?"
She kept staring at him as if, if she tried hard enough, he'd burst into flames.
"He is not my betrothed."
"Is he not?" Willam was surprised. "Someone should tell him that…"
"I have," She just kept staring at him. Had she blinked at all? Even once?!
"Then why is it he seems to cling to you like a barnacle clinging to my ships damn hull?"
"I do not know," She lied with a breath.
"A lie," Willam said aloud, unafraid of her wrath.
"Are you always this intrusive, Prince Willam?"
"Perhaps," He shrugged at her. "Or perhaps not, my Lady."
Those amber orbs sparked then with a fury.
"My name is Ashlyn, do try to use it Prince Willam…"
"Oh?" He couldn't help the smirk. The fake ones came and went, they were for show; usually to achieve something – but this one was genuine. "Then my name is Willam, do try to use it Ashlyn."
He could FEEL that she reeeealy wanted to hit him then and there.
"Kindly refrain from stabbing my idiot brother Lady Ashlyn," Cregan said absently from off to the side. "It would be quite sad to tell my father that we made it to Westeros only for Willam to get himself gutted within an hour."
Ashlyn eyed Cregan Snow and seemed to scan him. Whatever she found, she'd seen enough.
"I shall restrain myself Prince Snow," She muttered with a scoff.
"House Stark thanks you for your sacrifice."
"So dramatic brother," Willam rolled his eyes.
"Your antics appear to be rubbing off on me."
"You say that like it's a bad thing!"
"It is," Cregan and Aedan replied as one.
The boats made landfall quickly enough and they made to jump out onto the sand-and-stone beach, though it was more stone than sand. Willam knelt to pick some of it up only to think that sand was sand no matter where he'd travelled. This sand was cold and wet and smelt of the sea. Plain old boring sand.
"Aedan," He called on his friend, content to give him an opportunity. "The lead is yours brother, see to the defences; spikes and barriers and tents and such – you know what you're doing Grey."
"You heard the Prince," Aedan spoke aloud as all disembarked.
He'd jumped into the role nicely. Few questioned him when they'd heard Willam give the order, not to mention calling him brother publicly was a nice touch; that would hopefully go a long way.
"Ivar," Willam turned to the man. "Assist with whatever Aedan needs."
"Yes, Prin-" He caught himself and nervously chuckled. "Will."
"We should send out parties to scout the surrounding country," Cregan suggested as they walked up the beach towards the Galewind. "That village to the north-east is our best bet for contact."
"Not to mention supplies. We can't last forever on what we have."
They'd ran out of rum days ago and it had been a tragedy.
"I'll lead the first party, but it should be small."
"Agreed," Willam eyed the surroundings to think of names for their little side-adventure. "We'll that Qrow fellow with us and I'm sure that Edwyn will jump at the opportunity. Aedan is needed here however so-"
"You will stay here," Cregan stated plainly.
"Sick of me already brother?"
"You're a Prince," He replied as if explained all it needed to explain. "You may not act like it sometimes little brother, but you're our only Prince here – so you cannot risk your life so carelessly."
"Nobody needs to know I'm a damn Prince…"
"Our men know," Cregan halted in his tracks. "They're relying on you here, Willam."
He knew his bastard of a brother was right, he just wasn't happy about it.
"I hate it when you're right Snow."
"It's a blessing and a curse, Stark."
"Two jokes in a single day?!" Willam laughed aloud. "I fear I may truly be rubbing off on you Cregan!"
Cregan Snow walked away with a scoff and a roll of his eyes – an action he feared might lead to his eyes falling out someday if the frequency of it kept up. Willam Stark was bad for his health.
The tents had gone up quickly, and men had begun to salvage parts from the beached Galewind flying the silver shark on blue of House Fisher from its highest mast. It was sad thing that she couldn't be saved. Willam strolled through the makeshift camp up the beach and watched his people at work as Aedan barked orders.
The sun was falling, and the shadows were growing longer by the hour.
"I'm telling you; I say what I saw!"
Willam eyed three crewmen preparing a large firepit.
"Ocean madness," One of the men said with a laugh.
"I'm not mad ye bastard!"
"What's the tale?" Willam spoke, asking with a kind smile.
"Prince Will!"
One of the men dropped the log he was carrying.
"We were just trading stories, Prince; is all…"
"It's just Will, please." These men were from the Sunwright by the look of their attire, with the anchor of House Wright upon their chests. "My father isn't here to scold anyone. What are your names?"
They seemed surprised, though Willam supposed that was understandable.
"Genrik, m'lord…"
"Harrold…"
"Velness," The one woman among them added hesitantly.
"Pleasure to meet you three," Willam replied; maintaining his warmest of smiles.
"We were just telling Harry here – tis what we call Harrold m'lord – that his eyes were playing tricks on him is all." The man known as Genrik explained while scratching the back of his head.
"I'm not mad damn it Gen!"
"What did you see, Harry?"
The man blinked, glancing to his friends as if to scream 'help me'
"I could tell you a few tales myself that men would call madness my friends," Willam offered them a hand resting on Frostbite's pommel casually. "So, a tale for a tale – seems a fair trade, no?
"Go ahead and tell the Prince then Harry ya mad bastard."
"I-" Harrold tried to begin.
"Stop stuttering you oaf," Velness scolded. "Isn't like the Prince is gonna bite ye!"
"I promise not to," Willam laughed.
"Well," Harrold managed a nervous chuckle. "You saw The Greysail blown away; right Prince Willam?"
That they weren't calling him Will despite his efforts was not unexpected.
"I did," He replied; calling the event. "Never seen winds that strong, it was unnatural…"
"Aye," Velness agreed with a smirk. "Unnatural, no doubt about it – but Harry here has quite the imagination."
"I saw what I saw Vel!"
"And what was that?"
"I saw-" Harrold paused. "Something hit the Greysail…"
Hit it? He'd only seen the thing shoved out of sight by a gust of-
"It had scales," Harrold continued. "And I only saw it for a second Prince Will, but I swear, I just happened to be looking over and I SAW something in the water under that ship…"
The Shipwright described his sea dragon as being 'a small island of scales and fins' that had lifted The Frostbite up out of the water and tossed it aside with no effort at all. The account had long been dismissed as nonsense.
"A shadow between the ripples of blood and saltwater," Willam muttered under his breath.
"Prince Willam?"
"Nothing," He shrugged it off. "Just a thought."
"So," Harrold dared to ask. "Do you think me crazy, my Prince?"
Willam looked at the man. He didn't seem broken enough to be that far gone.
"No," He opted to say simply. "I've seen madmen. I don't see one here Harry."
"You think there was really something there?"
"I promised a tale for a tale, did I not?"
The three nodded in reply, seemingly captivated.
"I spent two years in the Outlands," He began the tale. "You may have heard about-"
"Everyone has heard about you Prince Willam!"
"Don't interrupt the Prince you fool," Velness scolded her friend again.
"Well then," Willam laughed happily. "In the Outlands, there's things worse than men – darker and older too – and I fought my share of things most would call nothing but myths or legend."
"Is it true the Outlands are infested with lizard-men then, Prince?"
"I wouldn't say infected," He answered. "They're there though, as real as you or I, though many would despite it and call me mad no doubt; but I've fought and killed my share. And then there was Blackhand…"
"Morgan Blackhand…"
The name had been nothing but a whisper.
"Me and Aedan Greystark along with his family's men – who had sheltered me for years – hunted Blackhand for months; always stuck one step behind him. He was a twisted thing and knew the sands better than any man living, though I hesitate to have called him a man. He was more of a monster than human…"
"You killed me though, didn't you?"
"Where did you hear this exactly?" Willam was curious as Blackhand wasn't one of the more commonly known details. "It's not every day that someone knows about that man. Most focus on the lizard-men…"
"I grew up in an outskirts town," Harrold answered shyly.
"A hard place to live," Willam knew all too well. "How'd you end up serving Lord Wright?"
"Lord Hodir is a great man," It was Genrik to answer first.
"He gave Me and Genrik a job when we were nought but wee things," Velness added with clear pride in her voice. "Before that we were growing up on the streets of Wrightport. We met Harry much later."
"I met Arthur first," Harrold explained. "That is, Lord Wright's son; he was trading in a outskirts port not far from my village and I snuck abord in a barrel of fish to-"
"The idiot got caught before the ship even left dock!"
"I'm telling the damn story Vel," He scowled at his friend unhappily. "Aye though, Arthur caught me; told me to either leave or help scrubbing the decks. I had nowhere else to go so, I choose the deck."
"What about your home?"
"Raiders," Harrold answered with lowered eyes.
That was enough said. The Outlands were brutal, and raiders weren't merciful.
"I'm sorry," Willam answered.
"Don't be," Harrold shook his head. "It's in the past, and you and Lord Aedan were out there fighting against the bastards My Prince; so please, no need for apology…"
"You're a hero of Harrys," Velness informed the group with a smirk.
"As a boy," Harrold stressed that point. "Not that you're not now or anything… umm…"
Willam laughed. "I've been called many things, but never a hero; my friend – but I did slay Blackhand."
It seemed like a lifetime ago now that he'd been hunting that man across the wastes, as if it happened to someone else entirely. The boy prince in Harrold's stories was barely recognisable to Willam.
"When he died, the madman cursed me; spewed all manner of nonsense about tides of blood and how the lone wolf dies." That was an old saying indeed. The lone wolf dies, but the pact survives.
Willam hadn't been alone though. Aedan was there with him through it all.
"Blackhand was wrong," He said aloud. "The ramblings of a madman."
"He got what he deserved," Harrold replied happily.
"When he died," Willam decided to tell them. "I severed the head from his shoulders, and through some trick of the light; or perhaps the heat – I saw a black vapour seep out of the man's body…"
All three of them looked at the Prince like they were expecting him to be joking.
"So, you see," He was not laughing. "Lizard-men and black magic. Who's to say there wasn't something in the water? I'd never seen wind knock a ship away like that before; so maybe it wasn't just the wind?"
A wicked smile grew across Willam's lips as all three of them stood in silence.
"I still say it's just a case of ocean madness," Genrik remarked with a shrug.
At that, Willam laughed. "Aye, or simply ocean madness."
"Told ya," Velness playfully shoved Harrold's shoulder.
Willam wished the three of them well before walking away to check on Aedan and the others, eyeing Cregan walking off with Qrow Ryder and Edwyn behind him with some others in a small party off to explore.
"-on the west side of camp."
"Aedan, how goes things?"
"Will," Aedan looked up from his map.
"Prince Willam," Arthur Wright introduced himself gladly. "A pleasure seeing you again."
Arthur Wright had only met him once before their departure and it had been a brief yet decent enough first impression, though like all Wrights; his head was full of saltwater. Ships, Sea, Sailing and more Ships.
"Arthur," He shook the man's hand when it was offered.
"We've the basics set up, and the boats are ready to ferry men or resources to and from the ships – all in all, things are as well as they can be for the moment." Aedan seemed sure of himself as he laid out a crude map.
"And yet we cannot stay here forever," Arthur commented.
"Nor shall we," Willam agreed with the man easily enough. He tabbed his finger on the map laid out before him on the makeshift table – if you could consider some driftwood stacked up as a table. "Cregan has left with a handful of men to investigate the town we've located to over here…"
"More village than town, the wargs say It has a simple wooden keep."
"It's something, a keep means local rulers – whoever they are."
"At best guess we're on the Stoney Shore," Willam tapped on the area of the map they'd drawn down that was basically a huge coast and little else besides the keep that laid inland, with ample streams and brooks.
"House Fisher's ancient territory," Arthur noted. "And yet no sign of any port along the coast…"
From his history lessons Willam knew the ancient Fisher house ruled over the entire Stoney Shore from their port along the shorelines coast, claimed to have been among the largest towns in the north.
By now he'd have expected it to be a thriving city, but instead there was nothing.
"Inland would be the Rills, assuming this is the Stoney Shore."
"That's why Cregan took the Ryder fellow and Fisher then," Arthur assumed correctly, stroking his stubble. "Makes sense, their names may get us through the door – hopefully find their relations; although-"
"Although the familial bound may cause more trouble than anything," Willam agreed quickly with the thought before it was even finished. "My brother knows better than to be rash, he'll aim to keep a low profile."
There were always the chance random strangers showing up claiming to be kin would be seen as a mummers farse at best or an insult at worst. Aedan hummed in thought. "What if the Stark's here don't take kindly to us?"
There laid the biggest issue. How would Winterfell react to their long-lost cousins?
"We'll worry about that when we make contact," Willam answered with more confidence than he felt.
"Until then I'll have the Greycloaks set up patrols and organize a guard duty," Aedan rolled up the map and looked to his Prince to see if he had anything to add. "If that's good with you, my Prince?"
"Aye," He decided not to press the use of his damn title. "Fine job Grey."
Aedan bowed slightly and went about his business.
"Dutiful one you've got there Prince Willam," Arthur offered his thoughts.
"Aedan is loyal through and through," Willam replied with a sigh. "And please, call me Will; I despise the formalities – it's not like my father is around to scold any of us for being ourselves…"
Arthur Wright seemed to understand in a way that only a youngest son could.
"As you say Prince Will."
Willam scoffed. "Jokers, the lot of you..."
"Sailing can be a dull afraid," Arthur said with a shrug.
"Four lost ships and a beached one is dull to you, Wright?"
"Oh, gods no," Arthur waved it away absently. "Terribly un-dull if you ask me; and the ghost stories my men are telling – well, there's entertainment enough for all right there."
"The sea dragon tale?"
"So, you've heard it too!"
"I talked to some of your crew, one said he saw something smack the Greysail aside like a ragdoll being tossed around by a toddler." Willam's phrasing may have been crude, but it was accurate enough.
"I heard much the same, from several of them. Strange isn't it?"
"Perhaps," Willam admitted; though he had his doubts. "It's also a common enough story, and with chaos in the air men see what they see – though I'd not rule out the possibility. The storms weren't natural."
"No, they certainly weren't that."
Arthur frowned at the memory of it all.
"I'll be overseeing the Galewinds salvage if you have need of me, Prince."
The sun was getting lower and the shadows grew even longer.
Willam couldn't help but wonder how his brother was doing.
The town was a small modest thing, more a village than anything else; with no walls – the wooden keep and natural streams seemed to act as the villages only defences. Whoever ruled here was surely a minor noble at best. Entering hadn't proved difficult at all, as some guards focused on a trader and paid their group no mind.
The first and most daunting issue was the least expected and something they hadn't considered.
"Apples m'lord?" The shopkeeper asked. "We're closing up soon, but they're fresh!"
Cregan couldn't understand a god's damn word this man was saying.
"M'lord?"
The shopkeeper looked confused.
Cregan shook his head at the stranger and hoped that was enough.
"Half price!?"
This was a problem.
"So," Edwyn asked as they huddled at the side of damp street.
"What the fuck are they speaking?" Qrow was less tactful about it.
"I don't know the tongue," Cregan practically groaned the admission. "That doesn't necessarily mean they wouldn't know ours – this is the North after all – things couldn't have changed so much over four hundred years…"
Qrow hummed and nodded in approval before walking back to the apple salesman.
"How much?"
The shopkeeper looked at Qrow like he'd screwed the man's wife.
"Hoooow. Muuuuch. Fooooor. Thhheee. Apples?"
"I-" The shopkeeper blinked in surprise. "I don't understand you, friend…"
"Apples," Qrow pointed at the man's stock of clearly not too fresh apples.
"Apples?" The man held one up and tilted his head curiously.
"Yes," Qrow tried repeating the word as he heard it. "Apples!"
This was clearly going nowhere.
"Apples," Cregan repeated the word in the man's strange tongue, took the apple and tossed him a silver coin – that seemed to send the man wide-eyed and muttering to himself incoherently as if the silver were gold.
Back in their shadowy corner of the street, the men discussed.
"Well, that settles that," Cregan took a bite of the apple and found it tastes old. He spat it out and tossed it down to the muddy floor. "We can't understand them, and they can't understand us…"
"What does this mean," Edwyn asked with clear concerned.
"It means we're fucked!"
Cregan glared at Qrow's take on the situation.
"What?" Qrow shrugged. "Am I wrong?"
"Um," One of their group cleared their throat. "M'lords?"
She was a Greycloak, one of the few that Cregan had taken with them; and she seemed uneasy speaking up – with her head hung and avoiding eye contact under her dark-grey hooded cloak.
"Aye?" Cregan asked of her. "Notice something?"
"Rowana, my Prince," She kept her head bowed as she introduced herself.
"Out with-it girl," Qrow barked at her impatiently.
"Yes, well-" She sighed to calm herself down. "The man there, he called you lord; I believe…"
"You understand him?"
"No," She denied with a shake of her head. "Not exactly, it's just that word – he said m'lord – it sounded similar to how the merchants say Lord back home is all and I thought perhaps-"
"What does that have to do with-"
"No," Cregan interrupted Qrow's dismissal. "She may be onto something…"
"It's not like we have any other leads," Edwyn added his opinion. "Trade Talk is a whole mess of tongues new and old; my family knows that – and now that she mentions it the word did ring familiar…"
"The pronunciation is all wrong," Rowana added. "It's close though, right Lord Fisher?"
"Ed is fine lass," He smiled in reply. "But aye, girl isn't wrong Cregan – now that she mentions it."
"My parents were merchants," Rowana explained as she felt she was supposed to do so. "When they learnt I could warg they were thrilled and sent me right to Winterhold they did! I was so honoured to-"
"Yes yes," Qrow waved her away. "What does this mean though?"
"It means," Cregan glared at the man. "That we may yet learn something useful."
Cregan glanced to the young woman with long raven locks and dark eyes.
"Rowana, was it?" He asked her as a thought passed his mind. "If you're able, try to strike up a talk with our 'Apple' friend over there; would you? He may be more inclined to speak with you."
"As you say Prince Cregan," She obeyed happily, giving a nod before she moved away.
"You're sending her because she's a woman…"
"In part," Cregan admitted with an uncaring shrug. "She's also picked up on the words usage before even you Fisher; and had the courage to speak up. I asked her because she's a woman and she's smart."
"Dangerous combination that," Qrow grumbled largely to himself.
"Fair enough," Edwyn admitted as he watched her walk over to the 'Apple' man.
Rowana of Wrightport made her way across the muddy street to greet the 'Apple' merchant with her kindest smile and a wave, lowering her hood to reveal her flowing hair. The man stopped drooling over his new silver time in time to notice what his eyes clearly registered was a "pretty lady" approaching his stall.
"Hello," She said in trade tongue; hoping it would translate.
"Ello?" The man replied, his words only mildly broken.
"Understand?"
The man was hesitant to nod.
"Help?" She held out the golden wolf coin Prince Cregan had handed her before she'd came over.
The apple seller's eyes went about as wide as eyes could go, and Rowana couldn't help but find her smile becoming anything but faked. "Help," She repeated. "What is here called?"
"Gods," He was still staring at the gold coin. "Aye, I'll help! What ya need lass!?"
"Name," She asked, only grasping bits and pieces of his sentence.
"My name?"
The man blushed crimson.
"Well, I-"
"Home," Rowana tried, motioning with her hands to the whole village.
"Oh…" She could SEE the wheels turning in the merchant's brain. "OH! The town's name?"
She kept hold of her smile and nodded.
"Rillwater Crossing tis this, lass – is that all yee wanted?"
"Rillwater Crossing," She muttered in reply.
"Say," The apple seller pocketed his silver and leaned forward on his stall. "You're clearly not from around her huh miss? You got family? Where did you come from?"
"Far," She replied simply.
"Far," The man blinked. "Well, that narrows it down…"
"M'lords," She pointed up to the wooden keep that overlooked the village.
"Who are the lords?" He assumed correctly. "Well, that'll be his lordship Markas Glenmore – swell family too, real friendly like; a good man as far as the noble types go. No man here would tell ya different neither!"
"Glenmore?" She tested the name on her tongue.
"Aye," The apple seller nodded. "House Glenmore has ruled these parts for – well, forever I think?"
"Thank," Rowana tried to thank the man and hoped it worked.
She handed him the golden coin and turned to leave without another word.
"Miss!" The man called out. "Are you sure I cannot- annnnd she's gone…"
In the shadowy side of the street Rowana returned with what information she had gathered from the apple seller. "House Glenmore, and this is Rillwater Crossing; or so I believe…"
"Never heard of them," Edwyn muttered.
"I have," Qrow butted in. "Glenmore was a banner of my family way back in the old days; though they weren't landed back then – my father forced us all to learn our histories as children…"
"I'm surprised you listened to any of it," Edwyn smirked mockingly.
"He wouldn't let us spar until our teacher historian was satisfied."
"Well then," Cregan paused for a moment as a local walked past and eyed them curiously. "We've confirmed for certain that we're in the North and in the Rills – so Ryder's distant cousins should be to the…"
"What?" Qrow raised a brow. "Why are you looking at me?"
"You said you knew the family," Cregan explained as if talking to a small child.
"Aye, the name; but they weren't landed. I've no damn clue where exactly we are…"
"Talon could scout for us," Rowana offered shyly.
"What the hell is a Talon?"
"My eagle," She explained rather proudly.
"See to it then," Cregan decided. "We'll not need them circling above this place any longer – have the bird follow the northern road, see what he can find. How far can you reach out?"
The average warg could only form a controlled connection over a day or twos distance at most with training, and the Sunset Islanders never wasted a wargs talents – no matter their birth, they were considered blessed by the gods to accomplish great things. The strength of a warg varied greatly but could be strengthened by blood.
It was for that reason that when the ancient Kings in the North defeated the old Warg King, they took the man's daughters to be Stark brides. There was ancient warg blood in the line of House Stark.
Although, blood or not, only one in a thousand was ever born a skinchanger.
"Three days," Rowana answered proudly.
"Impressive," Cregan admitted. "See to it then, Rowana."
"At once Prince Cregan."
"You two," He called on the other two Greycloaks in their party. "Stand guard of the lady while we look around town – there may yet be more to see, and we'll set out come sunrise."
"Once the girl comes back around, have her find us an Inn."
Rowana had sat on the floor without a care, her eyes white; rolled back into her head.
"Fisher, Ryder, you're with me – don't cause any trouble."
"And what's your plan?" Edwyn asked, curious.
Cregan looked over at the keep curiously.
"We'll sniff around the keep for a time."
The keep, such as it was, wasn't in the least bit impressive. Winterhold had walls taller than the roof of this small wooden keep that boated only a small moat with an old creaky bridge.
The guards wore leather over chainmail with an array of browns and blacks.
"You fucking southern dogs!"
The cry came from the back of a cart, bound and chained; a man in furs with a nasty scar was wheeled over the creaky bridge and yelled curses. Now, this wouldn't normally be of importance, and yet…
"That bastard speaks own tongue!"
"Quiet! Cregan hissed at the Ryder fool.
"FIGHT ME LIKE MEN YOU-"
"Shut up wildling scum," One of the escorting guards smacked the man with his spear.
Wildling? That wasn't good.
"Wildlings," Edwyn muttered as the trio kept their distance.
"This far into the North?" That was surprising, all they knew of the wildlings were old stories – and all had them as bands of savages far beyond the Wall. The Night's Watch were supposed to deal with the pests.
"Maybe the Watch has fallen by now?"
"To savages in furs with rusted iron?" Qrow doubted aloud.
The possibility couldn't be ignored. It would explain why a wildling was in the damn Rills of all places; either the Watch was long gone, or it was wholly incompetent – and even then, what were the Starks doing about it?
"Fisher," Cregan beckoned the man closer. "Think you can distract the guardsmen?"
Edwyn Fisher's smirk grew tenfold for the chance to cause mischief.
The cart had left the keep and began strolling back down into the town, leading the wildling gods know where – towards what must've passed for the market. They hurled the man out from the cart and into the mud.
"Up you get scum," One of the guardsmen picked the wildling up.
"I'll gut you, kneeler!"
"What ya think he's saying?"
"I don't know," The other guard replied to his friend. "I don't speak wildling!"
"It's nothing pretty," Edwyn spoke from behind the two guardsmen to grab their attention.
They turned in an instant and fumbled to their swords.
"Don't turn around."
*CLANG*
They collapsed with a thud.
"Too easy," Qrow smirked, having stuck the two men over their cheap iron helmets with a shovel he'd found just laying on the ground.
"Now. What's the plan exactly Prince Snow?"
"We talk to our new friend here."
"Who in the gods name are you bastards!?"
"Your salvation," Cregan said with no attempt to hide his disgust.
"You speak the Old Tongue," The wildling eyed them curiously. "And yet you aren't no Free Folk…"
"Qrow," Cregan didn't take his eyes off the wildling. "Hit him."
"What?" The wildling said wide-eyed. "Wait, don't-"
*THUD*
He collapsed.
"I'm beginning to like this shovel…"
Edwyn lifted the wildlings limp body and shoved it towards Ryder.
"Catch," He smirked wide. "You get to carry the-"
"Well, I'll be damned," An unfamiliar voice speaking in the strange tongue interrupted them to the sound of bowstrings tightening. "It seems you were right Forrester – we've got uninvited guests!"
All around them, the brown-blackened leather clad guardsmen held bows drawn.
"Well," Edwyn said aloud.
"Shit," Cregan finished.
Qrow Ryder dropped the wildling.
An eagle soared above their heads.
The tension in the air could've been cut with a damn knife.
"Fisher," Cregan's hand slowly rose up to signal they weren't hostile. "Talk to them…"
Edwyn took a step forward, earning the aim of every archer.
"Friend," He said with a nervous smile.
The knocked-out guardsmen groaned in pain from the mud.
"I don't think this'll work Snow," Edwyn growled uneasily.
In-between two beats of a heart, the eagle above them cawed; and then there were blades to the throats of those leading the guards. Two greycloaks, and one warg with long raven hair.
"Peace," Rowana spoke in her hostage's ear. "Please."
Every guard turned, swapping between targets; barking curses.
"STOP!" Rowana's hostage shouted, and a trickle of blood ran down his neck.
"Peace," Rowana repeated, hoping he'd understand.
"Do you know who I am!?" Her hostage snarled at her but held still as water. "I am Arthur Glenmore, my father is lord here; and he will kill you all for this wildlings!"
"Easy there Arthur," One of the other hostages chuckled nervously.
"They won't dare harm us Rodrik!"
"Not friend," Edwyn said; then realized he'd fucked up.
"Foe," Rowana corrected with a gulp. "Not foe!"
"Sure as hell seems like you're a foe girly," The one named Rodrik muttered his disbelief.
Cregan slowly drew his steel and stepped forward, only to put his sword on the floor and say "Not foe"
"What are you doing Snow," Qrow growled, his blade out of its scabbard.
"Not getting us fucking killed, Ryder!"
"Ryder?" The mouthy hostage said that below his breath, his eyes narrowed.
"Put down your steel," Cregan ordered.
Edwyn threw his sword down at his feet with little hesitating.
"Do it, Ryder; now!"
"FUCK!" Qrow thrown down his blade and spat at the archers.
The archers seemed more confused than anything.
"Rowana, explain; make them understand!"
"Friend," She spoke pleadingly. "Friend!"
"Release me and your death will be swift!"
"He doesn't mean that!" The one called Rodrik laughed nervously as steel pressed to his neck.
Edwyn muttered something about this 'being all Wills fault' as he stepped forward with a heavy sigh and his hands held up. "Stark," he declared loudly. "Stark," then "Friend."
"Kneel and call me Stark," Cregan said in a sudden realisation.
Wildling did NOT kneel. He knew that much from his history lessons.
"Kneel," He repeated the order and hoped to the gods that this worked.
"Stark," Edwyn repeated and knelt.
"Fucking Stark," Qrow knelt and hung his head.
"Stark," Rowana said and removed her blade; taking steps back.
The hostages found themselves free but confused beyond measure.
"Stark Friend," once more Rowana offered, this time with an extremely nervous smile.
Glenmore stared blankly at them all for but a moment before shaking his head and yelling "seize them all!" and staring at the woman that had held a knife to his throat moments ago. Talon the eagle cawed in the night air above them all, ever watchful.
It had been days and they'd heard nothing from Cregan or his party. Night came and went, but his brother hadn't returned; though their wargs eagle had – and that was enough to make it clear something bad had happened. At that warning alone Willam quickly ordered their defences and patrols doubled.
The boats were ready to evacuate if necessary. Though, all hoped it wouldn't be.
A day turned into two, then three; until only after capturing several strangers spying on them did whoever their foe was decided to show themselves. They rode towards them on horseback numbering in the hundreds.
Less than their numbers, but not every sailor of theirs was a real soldier.
"They're approaching from inland," Willam tapped at the spot on his map where their eyes-in-the-sky had reported movement. "All mounted riders from our wargs report. How are the defences?"
"We've arranged spikes around the perimeter and barriers for our archers."
"If they charge us," Arthur Wright added. "They'll regret it."
Among the near two thousand crew only slightly above five hundred were true soldiers, and they lacked any horses – though the defensive position gave an edge; and retreat to the ships was an option.
"Fly the Stark banner on the Galewinds mast," Willam decided. "Let them know who they're facing."
These were doubtless those responsible for Cregan's disappearance and he doubted Snow's party was dead either, their wargs eagle still circled and it still clung to its ties – that was a good sign. If they were dead then the bird would've known it.
Cregan lived. Willam was certain of it, there could be no doubt in that.
"They'll arrive within the hour," He declared for the noble's present. "You all know your positions. Aedan, the Greycloaks are yours to lead; so, do so to your discretion – but we do not move to do anything but defend ourselves, understood? We're not here to start a damn war with our own people…"
"We understand Prince Willam."
They'd arrived as expected, atop their horses; dressed in browns and reds and dark blues. He couldn't see any Ryder or Fisher banners among the host except for a horse's head with eyes and mane red on bronze within a black field - eerily similar to Ryder colours, though Ryder's had a whole horse, not just the head.
Willam had hoisted their own banners the moment they'd sighted the approaching host.
"It appears they want to talk," Aedan pointed out as men approached under a white flag.
"Then let's talk," Willam decided; no taking his eyes off the new guests.
He walked out with Aedan and Arthur to match the three men counted among the strangers and Willam wore a silver circlet in his hair that was 'Princely' though usually he never wore the thing. It was uncomfortable.
"This is Waka," One of the strangers could be heard grumbling as they came closer.
From what strangers they'd already caught spying on their camp, they'd determined their tongue was some queer mix of broken trade-talk; though not entirely – as every other four words were unrecognisable.
"Waka?" Willam muttered the word in question, unsure of its meaning.
"Stupid," Arthur informed him. "I think it means Stupid in their tongue."
"Keep your guard up then lads, that ugly looking one seems Waka."
Arthur Wright couldn't contain his smirk at that.
"Greetings," Willam said aloud as they approached. "I don't suppose any of you-"
"I speak your tongue stranger," The tallest of them replied with a glare.
"And who might you be?"
"I am Rodrik Ryswell, Lord of the Rills."
It seemed that Rodrik's grew on trees.
"Well met," Willam replied with a very brief bow. "I believe you have something that belongs to-"
"This beach," The Lord huffed." Belongs to Me; pretender…"
"Pretender is it?"
"You call yourselves Starks," Ryswell glared at them. "And one calls himself a Ryder, but I know you for what you are – pirates; with delusions of grandeur, nothing more – and ill-educated ones at that. House Ryder is dead."
Dead? Now that was interesting and disturbing in equal measure.
"Not dead," Willam replied with a blank look. "Simply, elsewhere…"
"House Ryder rebelled against the Starks of Winterfell hundreds of year ago, you fool – you should have done your research before taking names that don't belong to you – if you can even read!"
"I can read well enough Lord Ryswell," Willam remarked, a little tired of the man.
"Then read my lips boy," He scowled. "Leave this place or be driven out!"
Now that wasn't very friendly at all, was it?
"Do you speak for Winterfell?"
"You dare-"
"Answer me, Ryswell."
Lord Ryswell stared at him for a minute, expecting him to cover no doubt.
Willam wasn't one for cowering under the gaze of an old man who fancied himself more important than he truly was – based on his numbers, he either didn't have enough banners to call on short notice or expected Will to run.
He wasn't running. Not from this.
"I ask again, My Lord, do you speak for Winterfell?"
Ryswell's glare grew tenfold.
"I cannot," He spoke as if the words hurt him.
"And yet you hold my brother captive, and those who accompanied him."
"Your brother and his 'friends' assaulted Glenmore and a Forrester boy, but I don't expect pirates to-"
"Forrester of Ironrath, Gelnmore of Rillwater; I know the names Lord Ryswell – do not think me some simpleton." Willam was growing increasing impatient. "I am Willam Stark, Prince of the Sunset; Lord of Frosthold, and you hold my brother hostage for reason beyond my grasp. You shall return him, or Winter will come for you…"
"You do not make demands of me boy!"
"I am a Stark!" Willam snapped, his hand gasping Frostbites hilt.
"Liar," The Waka beside Ryswell spat crudely at the ground but failed; as the spit dribbled on his chin.
It was odd of Ryswell to bring the Waka simpleton. A son of Ryswell's perhaps? Willam ignored the fool.
"Call on your betters at Winterfell, my Lord." Willam's hand rested on Frostbite as his blood began to boil. "Call on your liege but know this – that kin or no I shall not rest until my brother is returned to me; safe and whole!"
Archers stood at the rear, spikes laid; to prevent a charge of riders – while ships the make and scale of which Ryswell had never seen laid anchored menacing off the coast. If he fought here, it would be costly at best.
"Make your decision, my Lord of Ryswell!"
This boy was acting as if he were a damn king.
"You have until sunset to answer," Willam turned without a word and muttered curses under his breath as they walked away from Lord Ryswell and his forces. He hoped his actions were the correct ones.
And yet he feared the consequences if they weren't.
Come the sunset, he had his answer, in form of two returning Greycloaks; and a single warg. The eagle was the first to notice their return even as they were escorted across the beach at sword-point; cawing and flapping its wings happily, landing on its partners shoulder as soon as she was free of the blades.
"Kitten," Willam approached Rowana with a smile. "What in the name of the gods happened!?"
"I-" Rowana blushed. "It's a long story…"
She told them everything, of how they ventured into the town of Rillwater Crossing; discovered the difference in language and ultimately how Cregan and his party were set upon by the guardsmen.
"You held a knife to the fool?"
"We'll need a new nickname for this one," Aedan added with a smirk of his own.
"Kitten has claws," Willam laughed at his own jest.
Rowana was The Wanderers warg, since every ship worth mentioning boasted a warg of its own; they were vital to navigation and scouting – Rowana was the Wanderers; and she was a timid one – thus "Kitten" was born.
"We'll leave that to the crew," Willam smirked at her. "Tell us, what's that Ryswell fucker up to?"
"Were they treaing you well?" Aedan added.
Rowana seemed overwhelmed. "T- They were fine, though conflicted; other than me, Lord Fisher was only able to barely understand their tongue – since it's a queer mix of-"
"I've already been schooled by Wright on the subject," Willam smirked. "What is Ryswell planning?"
"He released us in good faith," Rowana answered., scratching her eagle's feathers; that the creature seemed to enjoy. It had missed her, clearly. "He had a message for you, Prince WIllam."
"Tell it," He requested simply.
"He has sent word to Winterfell," Rowana explained. "And he states that you will – and forgive me for his words Prince – but that you'll 'face judgment' of a true Stark; and he'll see through your ruse…"
Arthur Wright scoffed at that nonsense.
"Well," Willam hummed in thought. "It's better than an outright assault…"
"Lord Ryswell informed me it would take at least a few days for their Stark's arrival."
That was 'acceptable' as far as understanding went, the distance and travel time wasn't out of the realms of possibility from what was known of the north; if their Stark rode hard and fast with a small party…
"So be it," Willam accepted. "Aedan, stand guarded, be prepared for anything. I don't trust this Ryswell."
"As you say my Prince."
"Arthur," He eyed Wright quickly. "Return to the Sunwright and have the scorpions ready to fire at the beach, if those bustards charge – I want them to pay in blood for their boldness. Understood?"
"Consider it done Will," Arthur gave a stern nod in reply as he left to fulfil his orders.
Arthur was coming around to using his name at least. That was progress.
"You all know your duties," Willam declared to those gathered around the area. "I trust in you all, and together we'll show those fuckers the price of their hubris should they choose to overstep!"
The men within hearing chanted "Stark, Stark, Stark!"
Willam had never before felt the desire for a hearttree and a prayer more than he did now. He didn't show it, for he was an expect as wearing masks by this stage, but inside he was beyond terrified.
He muttered low curse and hoped that he was making the right choices.
It took near a week and the returning of their captured spies before the wargs reported a new arrival from the north-east, flying the direwolf of House Stark; so, one assumed it was The North's king or a Prince. They weren't the only new arrival, however.
Among the direwolf flew a black lizard-lion on a grey-green field.
Attitudes changed upon their second meeting, the arrival of their Stark seemed to calm them greatly; or at least, all their own responsibilities for the situation had been lifted. "Presenting," The strangers heralded said began his announcement.
"Lord Eddard of the House Stark, Warden of the North and-"
"He isn't the king," Arthur muttered low as titles were thrown about.
"A prince then?"
The man spoke, cold and uncertain.
"I am Lord Stark," He said plainly. "Lord Ryswell claims you called on me?"
He was speaking their strange trade-talk nonsense.
"A Prince of Winter doesn't speak our damn tongue?!" The thought assaulted Willam and made him frown, though only for a moment before he brought back his warm friendly mask of smiles. "Lord Stark," He bowed slightly to the man. "An honour."
The man had a long face and long brown hair with a closely trimmed beard that threatened to become grey with more time. "Lord Howland will translate for me, as I do not speak the Old Tongue. I trust this will not be issue."
The 'Lord Howland' fellow was shorter than any man he'd seen. He wore a shirt of bronze scales and a heavy cloak of green leathers that almost seemed to be made of leaves. "Prince Willam," He smiled at them all as if they were old friends.
"Lord Howland," He eyed the small man warily. "You speak our tongue very well…"
His smile seemed strangely familiar, as if they were almost family and he'd missed them dreadfully; even though they'd only just met. It was tad unnerving honestly. "My family still cling to the old ways, more so than most; as you've no doubt found Willam Stark."
"You believe us?" Willam had expected more fight. "Just like that?"
This short man was a fool to trust so-
"You may think me foolish," Howland seemed to read him. "Yet I have my reasons Prince."
"And what reasons are those, Lord Reed?" Willam eyed the man and found his green-emerald eyes comfortably familiar. They reminded him of the damn raven back home, actually. "Why is it that You speak our tongue, but a Stark of Winterfell doesn't?"
"Lord Stark is a great man and my good friend," Reed answered him with a hunt of embarrassment for his good Stark friend. "He was raised in the Vale of Arryn however, and as with much of the North; a great deal has been lost to the passage of time…"
"Perhaps we could speak inside?" Lord Eddard suggested.
Howland nodded. "A fine idea, if you'd lead the way Prince?"
This was… going far easier than he'd feared…
"I-" Willam hesitated. "Yes, if you'd follow me…"
"Gladly," Howland still held to his smile; that seemed genuinely happy.
This had gone better than expected. Entering their camp, the Greycloaks locked their shields and stood tall as the Stark of Winterfell walked by them; and the gesture seemed to surprise the unknown Stark. That was strange in of itself, as even Willam was used to fanfare in his life.
Entering the largest of their makeshift tents, Willam introduced his men one by one. "Lord Greystark," He motioned to Aedan with a nod. "Captain of my Greycloaks." The promotion hadn't been official, but now seemed as good a time as anyway to declare it. "Lord Wright and Prince Suko Lóng of the Dawn…"
He called out those few others of note that stood silently in this tent, waiting eagerly.
Aedan bowed far lower to the man than Suko did then and there.
"My Lords," Eddard Stark gave a nod once Howland Reed translated.
"Take a seat," Willam spoke; and once more Howland repeated his words.
They sat, as Willam took off his silver circlet and placed it down on the table they'd dragged off The Wanderer on short notice for this meeting. Lord Eddard seemed to gaze at the princely crown, no doubt noting the engraved wolves. "Every son of the king wears one," Willam explained. "Though, it was never my style…"
"You say King," Eddard Stark replied as Howland translated. "Who is this King of yours?"
At least this man was willing to listen. That was an exceptionally good thing.
"King Brandon VII Stark," Willam began his fathers storied titles and tired not to look bored of them. "King of Winter and the Sunset, Lord of Winterhold, The Butcher of Frost and The Bloody Wolf."
Eddard Stark seemed to frown as Howland retreated those latter titles.
"I am Willam Stark, Prince of the Sunset and Lord of Frosthold."
He studied Lord Eddard's facial expressions with some curiosity.
"But please; call me Willam – or Will if you could."
"Willam," Eddard decided upon, seeming more at ease without the use of titles.
"I have been expecting you, Prince Willam."
It was Howland to speak, smiling; looking more like a child than a man from Willam's view – at six and four foot of height; he towered over the Reed lord and this Eddard Stark. All the Starks that Willam knew had long ago inherited such height from their Umber grandmother.
"Have you, my lord?" He doubted that very much.
"I have a story for you, if you would humour me?"
An odd request, but one that this Lord Eddard seemed unconcerned by.
"As you wish," Willam sighed and leaned back in his chair. "All good adventures being with a story…"
Howland's smile grew wider but never seemed to drift from being genuine. "As a much younger man I travelled into the deep south to a place known as the Gods Eye, where the Green Men stand ever watchful; and ever dutifully carrying out their charge – where I remained all Winter, learning and seeking."
He seemed to pause as if expected questions, but Willam had none for him.
"In that sacred place I learnt a great deal, but nothing was so prominent in my dreams as when I was visited by a woman – in a coat of sown with green leaves and white bark with midnight raven locks; looking kin to the Green Mem, and yet when I asked after her, they knew nothing at all of her existence. "
That description sounded eerily familiar. It left a foul taste.
"Keep going," Willam scowled in thought, searching distant memories.
"She told me that the winter winds were stirring," Howland frowned deeply and paused in a degree of thought. "telling me that the song of Ice and Fire would soon begin to play its sad tune; and that the past and future would be changed forever because of its melody."
Howland had a bad dream. And yet, hadn't Willam had his share of those too?
"She told me that the Gods willed it, and that I could do nothing to change things."
"What was her name?" Willam asked through a frowned.
"She called herself Lyarra Stark."
He closed his eyes at mention of the name and heard her taunting words ring out as clear as day. "Who are you to deny the will of gods, Willam Stark?" When he opened his grey Stark eyes, Reed looked at him with a glint of pity; as if he understood how the man felt.
Gods, he needed a damn drink. It had been too long spent sober…
"She told me to you'd want this," Lord Reed placed a skin of wine on the table.
The words "Who are you to deny the will of Gods?" rang against Willam's skull.
At that, the air itself seemed to grow heavy, as if it aimed the choke him; and his heart skipped a beat.
He shook his head violently to stave off what he felt threated to break through, summoning anger to crush the emotions that assaulted him; as he pushed the skin of wine back across the table and frowned. He suddenly didn't want a drink anymore.
"Get out," Willam ordered quietly of his people. "All of you, leave us…"
"Are you certain Will?"
"I am Aedan," He smiled an empty smile at his friend. "I will be fine, I swear."
They all left with some hesitation until nought but Lord Stark and his small swampland friend remained seated.
Flash had remained sitting at his side, ignoring his orders; though Willam silently thanked the wolf for it.
"Speak," He ordered this man who called himself Reed, eyeing him judgingly and absently stroking Flash's fur to calm his stirring blood. He felt pushed once again, and Willam Stark didn't like being pushed. "Tell me everything, Lord Reed. You will leave nothing out."
"Your sister told me a great deal," Howland Reed claimed.
"My sister died," Willam challenged the small lord. "A long time ago, when I nothing but a boy."
That wasn't exactly true. She had vanished, and nobody ever found her; until Willam had those damn-
"Have you never dreamed of her?"
Willam's eyed darted to the emerald orbs of Reed.
"You have," Howland hummed. "I suspected so, but had my doubts; you see…"
"And what about you, Eddard Stark?" Willam eyed his distant kin curiously. "You believe the word of this man? You trust him, in that I am who I am? Simply on his word of dreams; and my own word?"
Howland translated the question, and Eddard didn't seem to hesitate.
"I trust Lord Howland with my life," He said simply; as if trust was the easiest of things.
Howland was either a genuinely great and loyal man or this Lord Stark was too quick to trust – or it was a case of both – but in either case, Willam scanned them both curiously.
"Any other man would scold me for doubting you," Willam supposed aloud with a frown. A voice in his warmed him that he'd get wrinkles if he kept up this frowning. "I had to ask though, even if it's against my interests – that you would believe me on the word of his man alone…"
"You are an honest man," Eddard replied after a moment and Willam found he could read him like a damn book. A stark contract to Lord Reed, who he couldn't seem read at all. "I trust Howland in this, and time will tell your character; Prince Willam."
Time would tell. Willam found he had no reply for that, as he agreed with it entirely.
"What of my brother? Is he safe?"
"Your brother is unharmed," Eddard explained. "As are his friends – we do not harm guests in the North."
He'd never been a man to trust easily, or at all – but there was simplicity to this Eddard that almost bordered on naivety. And then there was Howland Reed, a man who acted as if they knew each other; and had involved his sisters name by some gods forsaken magic. There was something beyond them all at work here.
"What now?" Willam found himself asking, leaning forward onto the table.
Eddard looked and Howland and the two shared a gesture.
"I invite you and yours to visit Winterfell," Eddard Stark offered, not unkindly. "Howland intends to join us and there we can learn more of your story, Prince Willam – if this sound reasonable to you."
"There will be guest rights," Howland added. "Naturally, to alleviate any concerns you may hold."
Willam usually had a good read on people's motive, even if it oft bordered on paranoia; and these too were – strangely – seemingly devoid of malice. Too many unknowns… and yet. He spared a glance down to Flash and found the wolf calm, steady, and wholly unafraid of the strangers.
A wolf could sense danage better than any man could ever hope to, but Flash was calm as a still lake.
"Release my brother," Willam stated firmly. "And then I will travel with you."
"Welcome to the North," Lord Eddard said kindly, offering Willam his hand without hesitating.
It was a gesture Willam accepted, but for a brief moment's hesitation, he took the man's hand and once again found that he could see no ill-intent behind Eddard's cold grey stark-like eyes. "Who is your King?" The question was the last thing he hadn't asked of them.
Eddard and Howland shared a glance only briefly.
"There hasn't been a King in the North in nearly three hundred years," Howland Reed explained rather sadly. "Not since the last king Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen and his dragons. The North has been sworn to the Iron Throne ever since."
"I-" Willam muttered his reply. "That is…"
That was impossible. Madness. It was lies, surely…
If true, this meant that Lord Frost had rebelled for nothing at all.
"I am sorry," Howland said quietly, not looking away.
He looked into Reed's emerald eyes and saw no falsehood.
"Tell me more on our ride," Willam growled out the words.
"It would be my pleasure Prince Willam," Lord Reed agreed heartily.
He was given a midnight black stallion to ride and allowed to bring some twenty of his best Greycloaks as security – including Rowana, as a talented warg was worth a hundred men – alongside Aedan and Prince Suko who refused to be left behind on the ships.
"You weren't supposed to cause a mess you know Snow," Willam muttered to his brother once they got atop their horses. "I told them all you'd keep a low-profile ya know brother of mine – made a liar out of me you did. I feel hurt..."
"Things escalated quickly," Cregan huffed grumpily.
"Well then," Willam allowed a genuine smile. "I'm glad you're not dead, brother."
"As am I brother." He sighed heavily. "As am I."
They began to ride north-east to Winterfell.
Note(s): Okay so the whole language barrier thing won't persist much past this chapter, it was an interesting niche from a writing PoV as I wondered how best to tackle it; but ultimately decided to be a little comical and kept it so You as the reader could still understand everyone. Moving forward there will likely be a time jump or two; though nothing too jarring – as I'm not going the whole story having Will need a damn translator haha.
'Trade-Talk' similarities to 'Common/Andal' are (as we'll explore in the next chapter) born of merchants and smallfolk having picked up bits and pieces of the southerners language from the Shipwright's time; and certain words stuck n mangled among the lingo used by many merchants in the Sunset Islands today. It's effectively an abomination of Old/Andal/Imperial. A "canon" equivalent exists in the books; that's also called "Trade Talk" that has developed using words from a dozen languages (many of them insults) and hand gestures. So the Sunset Islands have a similar Trade Talk that has vague remnants of Common.
Try not to think about it too hard, after this chapter/the next, it's nothing but a footnote moving forward.
Next up is Winterfell. The date atm, as you'll learn, is about 1/2yrs before the books.
Review(s): As always, my heartfelt thanks for the support 3 goes a long way to encourage me writing :) even when it's negative/insulting; most of those are extremely amusing to me – and inspired me this week to officially declare that the word "Waka" means "Stupid" in Andal/Common! Truly a glorious day for us all :D
That said I do welcome constructive feedback; it just isn't productive to be an asshole. I'd say we're all adults here, but I know that isn't true, so I don't expect the world of criticism – but do greatly appreciate the time anyone takes to type out a well thought out legitimate or intelligent comment, especially if English isn't your first language, never feel like you cannot leave a review. I happily read them all regardless. You know who you are :)
N7: In regards to the last chapters format/length, I agree entirely that it wasn't as in depth as other chapters (I struggled with how best to tackle a month long voyage without it being a repeat of the Shipwright chapter, or just boring) and that won't be a theme going forward at all :) just seemed the easiest method to keep the story moving – while we WILL explore the fates of those 'missing' ships in greater detail in other chapters; that may shine some light on other perspectives from the whole voyage. The Greysail & Seawolf have their own separate/connecting stories to tell.
I trust future chapters will prove less underwhelming ;) I have plans and hope the 11k chapter here makes up for the last chapter being short haha.
That's all for now though ladies n gents, until next time!
Don't be Waka out there :D
Regards
- Soul