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 27: Winter is Coming
"You want cunning, not courage."
– Prince Willam Stark
It was too far to make out the banners clearly, but even through the drifting fog he could see that they were white, with a dark smudge in their centre that could only be the direwolf of Stark, grey upon its icy field. When they saw it, they quickened pace towards what they knew to be the seat of Moat Cailin.
Prince Willam put the spurs to his horse and trotted briskly toward the banners. Jon Snow and the others rode beside him, with Ghost and Wraith following.
They were greeted to the bowing heads of countless levies, knights of White Harbour were accompanied by their squires, alongside mounted lances, swordsmen and freeriders, and the rest were foot; armed with spears, pikes and tridents. The host was some twenty thousand men strong, flying all manner of banners.
Outriders spied them first – strong Stark men with swords in hand, hailing them warmly. They were led to a spot of high ground dry enough for a camp. The ground under their horse's hooves was soft and wet. It fell away slowly beneath them as they rode past smoky fire pits, lines of horses, and wagons heavy-laden with hard bread and salt beef. Just beyond, through the ungodly mists, Willam glimpsed the walls and towers of Moat Cailin... or what remained of them. It was in a sorry state.
Why nobody had attempted thought the years to repair such a strategic position was far beyond him. It seemed foolish to leave it in ruins. "I'd have built it up long ago," he thought to himself as he sat in his saddle. "Pity the poor bastards that tried to enter my lands then..."
"Grey," Willam paused, eyes darting to his friend.
"On it," Aedan replied in a heartbeat, leading the others away to camp with the banners.
The Gatehouse tower looked sound enough as Willam and Jon approached, it even boasted a few feet of standing wall.
They found Robb inside the Gatehouse Tower, surrounded by his father's lords, in a drafty hall with a peat fire smoking in a black heart. He was seated at a massive stone table, a pile of maps and papers in front of him, talking intently with two of his lords.
At first it seemed he did not notice their arrival. "Brother!"
"Robb," the boys brother said as Ghost and Greywind greeted each other gladly. "You've grown a beard?"
Robb rubbed his stubbed jaw, suddenly awkward. "Aye, it seems I have…"
"It suits you," Jon spoke, all smiles. "You and the Prince both."
"Mine is finer," Willam declared with a half-grin. He'd not shaved since they'd left King's Landing.
Robb Stark managed a laugh at that. It seemed in that instant like a great weighted had been lifted from the boy.
"I got the raven from Stannis," Robb said, his smile gone. "Then one from the Queen not long after – but I'd already called the banners by then."
"Well done," Willam offered a nod in approval. Speed was key here. "How many do you have?"
"A little over twenty thousand," Robb answered, his attention turning back to the map laid out on an oaken table.
"And your mother's house?" Jon asked his brother, knelt to scratch at Greywinds ears.
"Grandfather has called his banners. Tywin has done the same; so it'll be war…"
"That much was assured lad," Willam said with a sigh. "I'm sorry about your father."
"We'll get him back," Robb said sternly. "You rescued my brothers and sisters though; the North owes you a debt…"
"Blood is blood," he told the boy easily.
"Nevertheless, you have my thanks."
"The whole bloody North's thanks lad!" A great man bellowed; some seven feet tall.
"You must be an Umber?" Willam eyed the man with a huge and ugly steel sword who stood near a foot taller than him.
"Aye boy," the lord laughed. "Jon Umber, a friend of old Ned!"
"I'm sorry I couldn't get him-"
"Shut up lad," the Greatjon scoffed. "We'll get em back, can't have you taking all the fun now can we!?"
This one was larger than life it seemed.
"As you say Lord Umber," Willam said with a slight smirk.
"You're a Princeling, eh?" the Greatjon leaned on the table, eyeing him. "Looks to me like the bloody ghost of the Wild Wolf!"
"Na," a man in black-and-white furs shook his head. "The chins all wrong… and he's too tall…"
"Where is Bran?" Robb asked then, interrupting his lords idle chatter. "Arya and Sansa too?"
"White Harbor," Jon answered eagerly.
"I thought it best we not march to war with children," Willam said absently.
"No," Robb agreed with a hum of thought. "Best not, they're safer in the North…"
"Arya wasn't happy about it," Jon said with a smirk.
That got a chuckle from his brother as he muttered "sounds like her" as he smiled.
Grey Wind rubbed his head against his leg. "What happened, with my father?"
A silence washed over the room with that. All were eager to hear from the Prince.
"Ned discovered the truth about Robert Baratheon's children," Willam began, putting a hand on the pommel of Frostbite. "We'd planned to leave the capital the night before, but Robert fell afoul of boars tusks and your father refused to leave then – intent on securing the throne for Stannis Baratheon."
"I got the raven from Stannis," Robb said, seemingly conflicted. "It's true then, about the King's children?"
"Aye," Willam gave a nod. "True enough; heard from your father's own lips."
"Ned wouldn't lie about such a thing," the Greatjon added to the muttered agreement of all present.
"I convinced your father to give me charge of your siblings," Willam continued with his accounting of events, as all eyes laid on him. "That much worked out – though Lannister lackeys tried to seize my damn ship while I was with your father. The plan was to enforce Ned's position as Lord Protector…"
"Robert named him Protector?" Robb asked, apparently having not heard that part.
"Aye," Willam confirmed. "Not that it mattered. Petyr Baelish betrayed your father and turned the Goldcloaks against us."
"Baelish?" Robb frowned, thinking on how the name rang oddly familiar somehow.
"He was your mother's friend," Jon said with downcast eyes.
"Traitorous cunt," the Greatjon snarled at the news.
"We escaped the throne room, but Ned was wounded…"
"Is he okay?" Robb asked, anxiety biting at his heels.
"He was bleeding badly," Aedan added as he arrived in the room.
"We had to leave him behind when we escaped through some tunnels."
The lords bickered at that part. One of them yelled "You LEFT him!?"
"He couldn't walk," Willam stared at the lord with an icy glare. "If we took him, he'd have bled out before we reached my ship."
The lord in question grumbled but kept his peace then. It was the truth too, plain and bluntly simple.
"You rescued his kids," the Greatjon said firmly. "Ned would've wanted that…"
"Aye," Robb agreed with a stern nod to that.
Willam had dwelled enough on paths not taken to know that way laid only madness.
Knowing and doing were two entirely different things, however.
"This belongs to you," Jon Snow took Ice off from across his back then, holding out the ancient sword with both hands.
"Father's sword," Robb said aloud as he took the scabbard from his brother, wide-eyed at the sight of it.
"He'd want you to have it," Jon replied with a grim look. "Until we free him, that is…"
Those northern lords present were eyeing Jon Snow with an odd array off looks, but most saw it for what it was – a loyal brother's selfless act.
"A moment alone with my family, if you would, my lords…"
Robb had asked them with all the bravery a boy-lord of five-and-ten could muster.
The Greatjon herded the other lords out like they were sheep, clasping Lord Karstark on the shoulder and talking to the man like old friends, leaving behind Robb along with Jon Snow, Greystark and the Prince. "The men are settled," Aedan spoke once the lords had departed. "Fisher's seeing to them now…"
Robb Stark looked to his brother, the boys lordly mask fading away as he sighed and leaned over the table.
"What are we going to do?" He asked. "I brought this whole army together, twenty thousand men, but I don't… I'm not certain…" He looked to Willam then, his eyes pleading, the proud young lord melted away in an instant, and quick as that he was a child again, a fifteen-year-old boy looking to his elders for answers.
It would not do. Not for a second…
"What are you so afraid of, Robb?"
"I…" He turned his head away. "If we march… even if we win… the Lannisters hold Father. They'll kill him, won't they?"
"They want you to think so at least," Willam supposed aloud.
"You mean they're lying?"
"I don't know, but he's their only leverage," he shrugged then, his icy features melting some as he called old memories.
"It doesn't matter," Jon Snow added with a frown.
"They have our father!" Robb scowled, surprise in his Tully blue eyes.
"I know that," Jon didn't falter as he might've years prior. "What choice do we have though?"
Willam didn't jump in, deciding to watch the two spar with their words – notably eyeing Jon Snow.
"If you go to King's Landing and swear fealty, you will never be allowed to leave," the boy told his true-born brother.
Robb Stark looked conflicted, yet he could see the wisdom in those words. Lannister's couldn't be trusted.
"Here," Willam reached into his pocket, taking out a letter sealed with the crowded stag of House Baratheon.
"Stannis?" Robb wondered aloud, breaking the letters seal with a motion of his knife; opening the message and reading it in silence – his brows furrowed the more he read. "He wants our allegiance – though this is more a demand than a want, is it not? His other raven said as much…"
"He is the rightful king," Willam mused quietly. "At least, by all your Westerosi laws. Your own father meant to support the man."
He didn't care for Stannis Baratheon, personally; though he hadn't disliked him either – as blunt or borderline rude as the man was, he was honest in his bluntness – a man for whom duty and law were as simple as breathing. He wasn't a friendly man by any stretch, but he was true, that much seemed clear enough.
"If you retreat to Winterfell, your lords will lose all respect for you." Willam added then, his voice frozen. "Forget the crown for now. Our best hope is to defeat them in the field. If we can take enough Lannister's hostage; or even Tywin himself – then we can trade them for your father. We need hostages of our own to make a trade…"
"What if we lose?" Robb asked, wary in his doubts. "What if the war goes against us?"
Willam frowned at the boy, who he'd not spent near as much time with as Jon Snow over these last two years. "Robb, this is war now. If you lose, there is no hope for your father – or for your family. From what I know of Tywin Lannister, the man is not the forgiving or merciful sort. He'll want every Stark dead…"
He saw the fear in his young eyes then, but there was a strength as well. "Then I will not lose," he vowed bravely.
"Tell me what you know of the south," Willam said. It was a test, in truth; to see how the boys mind was churning.
"Less than a fortnight past, my Uncle Edmure sent Lord Vance and Lord Piper to hold the pass below Golden Tooth," Robb answered. "The last word was that the other Riverlords were gathering at Riverrun. Kevan Lannister is gathering in the pass while Lord Tywin is said to have a second, larger host, coming from the south…"
Robb motioned his finger to the map laid out upon the table before him, point at a town of Stoney Sept.
"Word is, raiding parties have already approached on the town here… led by Lord Clegane…"
Grim and grimmer, thought Willam. "What are your plans then lad?"
Robb Stark paused in thought.
"I've talked to Lord Howland Reed, he's an old friend of fathers from Greywater Watch. If the Lannisters come up the Neck, the crannogmen will bleed them every step of the way, but Galbart Glover says Lord Tywin is too smart for that, and Roose Bolton agrees. He'll stay close to the Trident, they believe, taking the castles of the river lords one by one, until Riverrun stands alone. If that's true, then we need to march south to meet him... don't we?"
"You're the Lord of Winterfell in your father's absence lad," Willam told him plainly. "So, you tell me…"
He didn't think for long, to the boy's credit. "We need to meet them before they can subdue the Riverlords…"
"Why not stay here?" Willam tested the young lord.
"Our food and supplies are running low, and this is not land we can live off easily…"
He was hearing Ned's bannermen speaking through Robb now, Willam realized with a passing thought.
And yet there was sense in what they said. This host was not a standing army, nor an order like the Greycloaks who were accustomed to maintaining; or even a force paid in coin. Most of this host were smallfolk: crofters, fieldhands, fishermen, sheepherders, the sons of innkeeps and traders and tanners, leavened with a smattering of sellswords and freeriders hungry for plunder. When their lords called, they came… but not forever…
"Marching is wise," he agreed with the boy, "but where, and to what purpose? What do you mean to do?"
Robb hesitated. "The Greatjon thinks we should take the battle to Lord Tywin and surprise him," he said, "but the Glovers and the Karstarks feel we'd be wiser to go around his army and join up with Uncle Ser Edmure against the Kingslayer." He ran his fingers through his shaggy mane of auburn hair, looking unhappy.
His thoughts were taking him astray. Willam knew that look all too well.
"Though by the time we reach Riverrun… I'm not certain…"
"Be certain," Willam said sternly with an edge to his voice, "or go home and take up a wooden sword. You cannot afford to seem indecisive in front of your father's men. Make no mistake, lad – these are your bannermen, not your friends. You've named yourself battle commander Robb Stark. This isn't a game."
He looked at him then, startled, as if he could not credit what he was hearing. "As you say, Prince Willam..."
"I'll ask you again lad. What do you mean to do, Lord Stark?"
Robb motioned to the map; a ragged piece of old leather covered with lines of faded paint that made for a very crude view of the Riverlands. One end of the map was weighed on the edge down with a dagger. "Both plans have virtues, but… look, if we try to swing around Lord Tywin's host, we take the risk of being caught between him and his brother, and if we attack him… by all reports, he has more men than I do, and a lot more armoured horse. The Greatjon says that won't matter if we catch him with his breeches down, but it seems to me that a man who has fought as many battles as Tywin Lannister won't be so easily surprised."
"Good," Willam said, as Robb stood there, puzzling over the map. "Tell me more."
"I'd leave a small force here to hold Moat Cailin, archers mostly, and march the rest down the causeway," he said, "but once we're below the Neck, I'd split our host in two. The foot can continue down the kingsroad, while our horsemen cross the Green Fork at the Twins." He pointed. "When Lord Tywin gets word that we've come south, he'll march north past Harrenhal and across the Ruby Ford to engage our main host here, leaving our riders free to hurry down the west bank to Riverrun."
Robb looked up from the map, not quite daring to smile, but pleased with himself and hungry for praise.
Willam looked down at the map. "You'd put a river between the two parts of your army?"
"And between Kevan and Lord Tywin," he said eagerly. The smile came at last. "There's no crossing on the Green Fork above the ruby ford, where Robert won his crown. Not until the Twins, all the way up here, and Lord Frey controls that bridge. He's my grandfather's bannerman."
"He is," Willam admitted, "but your father trusted the wrong people, so best not make the same mistake lad."
"I won't," Robb promised. "Now, what do you think?"
Willam was actually rather impressed, for a boy of five-and-ten young Robb seemed to have a decent head for warfare. He looked like a Tully and not a Stark, he thought briefly, yet he was still a son of Winter through and through. "Which force would you command in this little scheme of yours Lord Stark?"
"The horse," he answered at once. The more dangerous of the two tasks.
"And the other host?"
"The Greatjon is always saying that we should smash Lord Tywin. I thought I'd give him the honor."
"A fearless man," Willam mused in thought. "Snow, you've been quiet – your thoughts?"
Jon Snow's eyes snapped to attention, having kept his peace in quiet alongside Aedan until now.
"Lord Umber is-" the boy tried to find the words. "Fearless, and eager; true – but father once called the man rash too…"
Robb grinned at a memory then. "Grey Wind ate two of his fingers, and he laughed about it. So you agree then, Jon?"
"No," Jon Snow shook his head. "He is brave, but if it's to be a diversion; will a fearless man know when to quit the field?"
"Fear is natural," Willam added with a hum, absently stroking Wraith's fur. "It'll keep you aware of danger, keep you sharp, keep you alive…"
Robb considered that for a moment. "The eastern host will be all that stands between Lord Tywin and Winterfell," he said thoughtfully, looking between his brother and the Prince. "Well, them and whatever few bowmen I leave here at the Moat. So, I don't want someone fearless, do I?"
"No." Willam agreed, and even managed a smile. "You want cunning, not courage."
"Roose Bolton," Jon said at once. He remembered the Leech Lord.
"That man scares me," Robb added with a visible shiver.
The flayed man was meant to strike terror into the hearts of its enemies, one supposed. Willam had seen worse things than dead men.
"Then," he opted to agree though. "Let us pray he will scare Tywin Lannister as well, yes?"
Robb nodded and rolled up the map. "I'll give the commands."
"Why not you, Will?" Jon asked then before Robb could make to leave.
"These lords do not know me," Willam dismissed the idea. "Not yet anyway…"
"We ride with your brother," Aedan told him then, breaking his quiet vigil over the room.
"Gladly," Robb Stark was all smiles at that idea as Willam left the room with much on his mind.
There was much to do and too many things that could go wrong, but such was life.
Jon Snow made his separate way from there, bidding his brother a farewell – citing some business that left Rodd curious – he wandered into the courtyard of Moat Cailin and looked to the The Children's Tower; that was a tall and slender thing, green with moss. It had only half of the crenelations of its crown, looking as if some great beast has taken a bite out of the crenellations along the tower top, and spit the rubble across the bog. Its shattered top was open to the wind and the rain.
Notably, aside from the Umber banners that now called it home, the black lizard-lion on grey-green of House Reed fluttered gracefully in the breeze.
He made for the tower, his heart pounding as he walked, while men parted with mutters of "Lord Snow" as he passed – with Ghost at his heels.
Robb had taken the Gatehouse Tower for himself while the Karstarks flew their banner above the Drunkard's Tower, a slanted thing that looked rather unsteady.
To assault any of the three towers, an attacker would have to expose his back to arrows from the other two, whilst climbing damp stone walls festooned with streamers of slimy white ghostskin. The swampy ground beyond the causeway was impassable, an endless morass of sinkholes, quicksands, and glistening green swards that looked solid to the unwary eye but turned to water the instant you trod upon them, the whole of it infested with venomous serpents and poisonous flowers and monstrous lizard lions with teeth like daggers. Just as dangerous were its people, seldom seen but always lurking, the swamp-dwellers, the frog-eaters, the mud-men. Fenn and Reed, Peat and Boggs, Cray and Quagg, Greengood and Blackmyre, those were the sorts of names they gave themselves. The ironborn called them all bog devils…
He could see Lord Blackmyre, coating his dark valyrian steel shortsword in a green-brown paste; some concoction of crannogmen design.
The short lordling gave him a nod as he passed, smiling, as if he'd expected him to pass this way…
Jon found the Lord of Greywater Watch within the tower as he was directed by the man's guards to a modest chamber within the towers first floor. Howland Reed was a small man dressed in a shirt of bronze scales with a three-pronged spear resting up against the far wall of his cold damp chambers.
"Jon Snow," he knew him immediately at first sight. How exactly, Jon couldn't say…
"Lord Reed…"
"You're late," Howland was all smiles.
"I-" Jon stumbled over the words. "I am?"
"Mhmm," the crannogmen hummed a reply. "Though, the gods aren't very timely these days – so much is uncertain…"
This was getting stranger by the moment…
"I came to-" Jon wasn't sure where to begin exactly.
"Speak of your mother," Howland knew, still smiling. "I've waited for this day my boy, for a very long time indeed."
"You know my mother?" Jon Snow's eyes lit up with a hope he'd never dared to feel.
"I knew her," Howland's glee faded some. "She was a great friend of mine…"
He knew her. She was a great friend. The past tense wasn't lost on him.
"She-" Jon frowned deeply. "She's dead, isn't she?"
Howland Reed had never quite looked so defeated as he did in that moment.
"Sit my boy," he pushed out a stool for the young man to sit on. "I'll tell you a story, then answer all your questions…"
And so, Jon Snow sat and listened to a tale that seemed straight out of one of Sansa's songs. It was a story of Princes and Princesses, heroes and villains, love and loss – all this Howland shared; as if it happened only yesterday. Jon Snow's heart slowed to near a halt as the story ended. He wished then that he'd never asked.
The host trooped down the causeway through the black bogs of the Neck and spilled out into the riverlands beyond. The days had been anxious ones, the nights restless, and every raven that flew overhead threatened to reveal some great blunder or disaster on the horizon; though none did in truth, the fear persisted.
Robb Stark rode at the front of the column, beneath the flapping white banner of Winterfell. Each day he would ask one of his lords to join him, so they might confer as they marched; he honoured every man in turn, showing no favourites, listening, weighing the words of one against the other.
He has learned much as Willam watched him; it was apparent the boy was quickly winning over his father's lords one by one.
Qrow Ryder had taken a hundred picked men and a hundred swift horses, racing ahead to screen their movements and scout the way. The reports his riders brought back gave more question than answers. Lord Tywin's host was still many days to the south, the wargs had told Qrow that much, but even without them they'd seen how Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing, had assembled a force of near four thousand men at his castles on the Green Fork. And there they remained… ignoring Riverrun's call…
"Late again," one of the older dusty looking lords had murmured when Robb shared the reports. "It's the Trident all over again," they cursed at the time. Edmure Tully had called the banners; by rights, Lord Frey should have gone to join the Tully host at Riverrun, yet here he sat, on his bridge refusing to budge an inch.
"Four thousand men," Robb repeated, more perplexed than angry. "Lord Frey cannot hope to fight the Lannisters by himself. Surely he means to join his power to ours."
"Does he?" Willam wondered aloud. He had ridden forward to join Robb and Robett Glover, his companion of the day. The vanguard spread out behind them, a slow-moving forest of lances and banners and spears. "I wonder. Always expect the worst of people Robb, and you will never be surprised..."
"He's my grandfather's bannerman…"
"Some men take their oaths more seriously than others," Willam counted from atop his black charger.
"One of his sons is wed to Tywin Lannister's sister," Robett Glover added his voice.
"Do you think he means to betray us to the Lannisters?" Robb asked gravely.
Glover sighed. "If truth be told, he has an old man's caution and a young man's ambition. Who's to say?"
"We must have the Twins," Robb said heatedly. "There is no other way across the river."
"Yes," Willam nodded, princely silver circlet atop his raven locks. "Lord Frey knows that very well, I'd wager."
That night they made camp on the southern edge of the bogs, halfway between the kingsroad and the river. It was there Theon Greyjoy brought them further word Ryder's scouts. "They've crossed swords with the Lannisters. There are a dozen scouts who won't be reporting back to Tywin anytime soon. Or ever. Addam Marbrand commands their outriders, and he's pulling back south, burning as he goes. He knows where we are, more or less, but Ryder vows he'll not know when we split."
"Unless Lord Frey tells him," Willam said sharply. "Your best bowmen opt to be around the Twins, day and night, with orders to bring down any raven they see leaving the battlements. We can't let any birds bring word of our movements to Lord Tywin…"
"We've seen to it already," Theon Greyjoy replied with a cocky smile. "A few more blackbirds, and we should have enough to bake a pie."
Willam eyed the ironborn then, that cocky smirk reminding him too much of Suko for his tastes.
Robb and Theon were as close as brothers. "What have the Freys been doing while the Lannisters burn their fields and plunder their holdfasts?"
"There's been some fighting between Ser Addam's men and Lord Walder's," Robb answered him, frowning in his thought. "Not a day's ride from here, we found two Lannister scouts hung up on a tree. Most of Lord Walder's strength remains massed at the Twins, though…"
That was the measure of this lord then; to hold back, wait, watch, taking no risk unless forced to it. A man who wouldn't commit on faith alone.
"If he's been fighting the Lannisters, perhaps he does mean to hold to his vows," Robb hoped aloud, with all the foolishness of youth.
Willam was less encouraged. "Defending his own lands is one thing, open battle is quite another."
Robb turned back to Theon Greyjoy. "Have the outriders found any other way across the Green Fork?"
Theon shook his head. "The river's running high and fast. Ryder says it can't be forded, not this far north – it's too deep and fast for that."
In all honestly, Willam hadn't liked the Greyjoy boy at a glance; mostly for his arrogance – but a taste of true battle might shake that off him somewhat given time. Still, Robb trusted the kraken like a brother and kept him near as close as he did Jon Snow; even as oddly distant as the boy was acting since they'd left Moat Cailin.
"I must have that crossing!" Robb declared, fuming. "Oh, our horses might be able to swim the river, I suppose, but not with armoured men on their backs. We'd need to build rafts to pole our steel across, helms and mail and lances, and we don't have the trees for that. Or the time. Lord Tywin is marching north…"
Robb's hands were balled into a fist as he scowled at the whole damn situation.
"Lord Frey would be a fool to try and bar our way," Theon Greyjoy said with his customary easy confidence. "You can take the Twins if you need to, Robb."
"Not easily," Jon Snow argued then, "and not in time. While we're mounting a siege Tywin Lannister would bring up his host and assault us from the rear."
Robb glanced from Jon to Greyjoy then to Willam too, searching for an answer and finding none. For a moment he looked even younger than his fifteen years, despite his mail and sword and the stubble on his cheeks. "What would my lord father do?" he wondered aloud.
Willam thought to say "something stupid" for a moment but shrugged away the notion. It would've earned him no friends here.
"Find a way across," he said instead. "Whatever it takes, if this plan of yours is to work; we need that damn bridge."
The next morning Qrow Ryder himself rode back to them dressed in the leather-and-mail of an outrider, but for a reared horse pin still fastened to his cloak; he rode with Rowana at his flank and two Greycloaks who looked stone faced and grim. Talon circled overhead, Willam noted; the bird was taking in new sights.
Qrow's face was grave as he swung down off his horse. "There has been a battle in the hills outside Golden Tooth," he said, his face grim and cold. "We had it from a Lannister outrider we took captive. Kevan Lannister has destroyed the host there and sent them reeling in flight."
A cold hand clutched the air at that news. "You're sure of this Ryder?"
"Aye," Qrow nodded stiffly. "The scout sang like a bird and Rowana… overheard enough…"
It wouldn't do to speak of wargs so far south, at least openly. "And what of the others? How is Riverrun?"
"Lord Edmure is said to be with Blackwood and his other lords at Riverrun, no doubt soon to face Kevan's host..."
Robb looked fretful. "We must get across this accursed river if we're to have any hope of joining them in time."
"That will not be easily done," Rowana added, shyly as eyes fell on her. "Lord Frey has pulled inside his castles, and his gates are closed and barred..."
"Damn the man," Robb swore, a storm brewing behind his Tully blue eyes. "If the old fool does not relent and let me cross, he'll leave me no choice but to storm his walls. I'll pull the Twins down around his ears if I have to, we'll see how well he likes that!"
"While I admire the enthusiasm," Willam said with a sigh. "If we mean to see Riverrun before a siege begins – or before the damn place falls – then words may accomplish what swords cannot. As much as I believe Lord Frey deserves to be hung from his own damn bridge… that's a luxury we don't have at the moment lad…"
Robb's face scrunched at the rebuke. "Tell me what you mean, Will," he said meekly.
"The Freys are wealthy for their bridge and its tolls, are they not? That is what the others say..."
"What toll?" Robb was frowning at the notion. "What does he want?"
Greedy men were easily predicted if you knew the type well enough; they were all hungry men.
The only question was, exactly what was Walder Frey hungry for?
Willam shrugged. "That is what we must discover."
"And what if I do not choose to pay this toll?"
"Then we had best retreat back to Moat Cailin, deploy to meet Lord Tywin in battle, somehow sneak in or grow wings to fly across. I see no other choices."
There was equal value in wisdom as there was in valour. A lesson taught by too few men. Willam's own father would've perhaps done as Robb threatened, ripping down the damn bridge to cross on the rubble; but that would leave Riverrun under siege and risk Tywin flanking them in the rear… though none would forget the deed…
It was near midday when their vanguard came in sight of the Twins, where the Lords of the Crossing had their seat.
The Green Fork ran swift and deep here, but the Freys had spanned it many centuries past and grown rich off the coin men paid them to cross. Their bridge was a massive arch of smooth grey rock, wide enough for two wagons to pass abreast; the Water Tower rose from the centre of the span, commanding both road and river with its arrow slits, murder holes, and portcullises. It had taken the Freys three generations to complete their bridge; with keeps on either bank, so no one might cross without leave.
The timber keeps on either side had long since given way to stone. The Twins – two squat, ugly, formidable castles, identical in every respect, with the bridge arching between – had guarded the crossing for centuries. High curtain walls, deep moats, and heavy oak-and-iron gates protected the approaches, the bridge footings rose from within stout inner keeps, there was a barbican and portcullis on either bank, while the Water Tower defended the span itself.
One glance was sufficient to tell any cautious or wise man that the castle would not be taken by storm. The battlements bristled with spears and swords and scorpions, there was an archer at every crenel and arrow slit, the drawbridge was up, the portcullis down, the gates closed and barred.
The Greatjon began to curse and swear as soon as he saw what awaited them.
Lord Rickard Karstark glowered in silence, speaking nothing as the Greatjon wailed his curses.
"That cannot be assaulted, my lords," Roose Bolton announced simply.
"Nor can we take it by siege, without an army on the far bank to invest the other castle," Helman Tallhart said gloomily. Across the deep-running green waters, the western twin stood like a reflection of its eastern brother. "Even if we had the time. Which, to be sure, we do not have…"
As the northern lords studied the castle, a sally port opened, a plank bridge slid across the moat, and a dozen knights rode forth to confront them, led by four of Lord Walder's many sons. Their banner bore twin towers, dark blue on a field of pale silver-grey. Ser Stevron Frey, Lord Walder's heir, spoke for them. The Freys all looked like weasels; Ser Stevron, past sixty with grandchildren of his own, looked like an especially old and tired weasel, yet he was polite enough.
"My lord father has sent me to greet you and inquire as to who leads this mighty host."
"I do." Robb spurred his horse forward. He was in his armour, with the direwolf shield of Winterfell strapped to his saddle and Grey Wind padding by his side.
The old knight looked at Robb Stark with a faint flicker of amusement in his watery grey eyes, though his gelding whickered uneasily and sidled away from the direwolf. "My lord father would be most honoured if you would share meat and mead with him in the castle and explain your purpose here."
His words crashed among the lords bannermen like a great stone from a catapult. Not one of them approved. They cursed, argued, shouted down each other.
"You must not do this, my lord," Galbart Glover pleaded with Robb. "Lord Walder is not to be trusted."
Roose Bolton nodded. "Go in there alone and you're his. He can sell you to the Lannisters, throw you in a dungeon, or slit your throat, as he likes."
"If he wants to talk to us, let him open his gates, and we will all share his meat and mead," declared Ser Wendel Manderly.
"Or let him come out and treat with Robb here, in plain sight of his men and ours," suggested his brother, Ser Wylis.
"It's not safe," Jon Snow agreed with the others from atop his white stallion. "Lord Stark walked into an ambush too Robb…"
Willam shared all their doubts, his mind flashing back to the throne room of the Red Keep, but one had only to glance at Ser Stevron to see that he was not pleased by what he was hearing. A few more words and the chance for talk would be lost forever. They had to act, and quickly. If nobody else would then… "I shall-"
"I shall go!" Prince Suko practically shouted his declaration, quickly before Willam could say the same.
He and Willam shared a brief staring match, as the latter silently screamed at his friend – while Suko merely smiled.
"You?" The Greatjon furrowed his brow, staring at the man as if he'd grown another head.
"Are you certain?" Clearly, young Robb was not certain at all.
"I am indeed," Suko lied glibly. "I'm a Prince of the Dawn, son of the Emperor Qing Lóng; among other titles I'll not bore you with…"
The man was speaking rather loudly, as if to entice the Freys present with his blustering and lofty claims.
"All the more reason they could take you hostage, Prince Suko…"
Robb wasn't wrong, but he'd offered more to stop Willam from doing so than it being a good idea…
"I'm certain our friends of Frey wouldn't do any harm to a guest in their home," Suko eyed Ser Stevron with a wide and sickeningly sweet smile.
"On our honor," Stevron had puffed up his chest, the old man wanting to appear stronger than he was in his age.
There were numerous grumblings at that, but the northmen kept their quiet for once as to not further insult the Freys.
"Ser Stevron Frey," Willam called on the man by name. "My friend, Prince Suko will accompany you; as our envoy – if that's acceptable?"
"As you say, he is quite welcome to-"
"And if you harm a hair on his head,"
"I assure you that we would not-"
Wraith had prowled up beside his master's horse, staring intently at the weasel-looking man.
"If you do," Willam insisted, ice in his eyes. "Know that I am not a man you know well; or at all – but hear me when I say that I am not as honourable as you may believe of a Stark – nor as forgiving. My father once butchered a whole noble family down to the servants under them, all for a perceived insult."
"He drowned Lord Frost in a barrel of his own household's blood," Aedan added coldly from atop his saddle.
"Is this a threat!?" Ser Stevron glared; his politeness faded upon hearing the tale.
"A history lesson Ser," Willam replied, unblinking. "I suggest you remember it well."
Robb was staring at the man like he'd grown horns, atop his horse unsure of what to say or do. Roose Bolton's pale eyes peered at the prince too.
"My friend is ever so over-protective," Suko declared, laughing away the tension. "You must understand, trust once broken is near impossible to mend…"
"I am certain my lord father would be pleased to speak to you Prince Suko," Ser Stevron said with a hum and a glance, shaking away the cold in his old bones. "To vouchsafe for our good intentions, my brother Ser Perwyn will remain here until she is safely returned to you. Will that suffice, my lords?"
"He shall be our honoured guest," said Robb. Ser Perwyn, the youngest of the four Freys in the party, dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a brother. "I require our envoy's return by nightfall, Ser Stevron," Robb went on. "It is not my intent to linger here long."
Ser Stevron Frey gave a polite nod. "As you say, my lord."
Prince Suko spurred his horse forward and did not look back. Lord Walder's sons and envoys fell in around him.
Willam watched one of his few true friends ride away from the Freys, into the sally port; and out of view – all with a storm behind his Stark grey eyes and a glare on his face. He'd kill them all, the voice in his head vowed in a low growl, if they took another friend from him… he would hang every last one of them from their own bridge…
When the Lord of the Crossing welcomed him in the great hall of the east castle he was, surrounded by twenty living sons – minus Ser Perwyn, who would have made twenty-one – thirty-six grandsons, nineteen great-grandsons, and numerous daughters, granddaughters, bastards, and grandbastards
Suko had fled across the damn sunset itself only to find himself right back where he started, surrounded by politics and sycophants. Some things never changed.
Lord Walder looked past ninety, a wizened pink weasel with a bald spotted head, too gouty to stand unassisted. His newest wife, a pale frail girl of sixteen years, walked beside his litter when they carried him in. She was the eighth Lady Frey. Prince Suko knew none of this, in hindsight; though neither had Willam either.
"It is a great pleasure to visit your hall, my lord," Suko said, bowing rather theatrically.
The old man squinted at him suspiciously. "Is it? I doubt that. Spare me your sweet words, stranger, I am too old. Who are you?"
"Father," Ser Stevron said reproachfully, "you forget yourself. Prince Suko is here at your invitation…"
"Did I ask you? You are not Lord Frey yet, not until I die. Do I look dead? I'll hear no instructions from you."
"This is no way to speak in front of our guest, Father," one of his younger sons said.
"Now my bastards presume to teach me courtesy," Lord Walder complained. "I'll speak any way I like, damn you. I've had three kings to guest in my life, and queens as well, do you think I require lessons from the likes of you, Ryger? Your mother was milking goats the first time I gave her my seed." He dismissed the red-faced youth with a flick of his fingers and gestured to two of his other sons. "Danwell, Whalen, help me to my chair."
They shifted Lord Walder from his litter and carried him to the high seat of the Freys, a tall chair of black oak whose back was carved in the shape of two towers linked by a bridge. His young wife crept up timidly and covered his legs with a blanket. When he was settled, the old man spoke "Welcome to my Hall and Hearth," half-heartily.
Suko wasn't too sure if that was a common greeting for guests here or if the old man had spewed random gibberish… but it was clear the old Frey had no courtesy…
"There," he announced. "Now that I have observed the courtesies, perhaps my sons will do me the honor of shutting their mouths. Now, what's your name?"
"Suko Lóng," he was wearing his best courtly smile, a well-practiced thing from home.
"Never heard of you," Lord Frey scoffed at his guest, eyeing his light leathers and strange sword.
"Prince of the Dawn, and-"
"Ha," Frey huffed with amusement. "Prince, is it? I heard the mummers Prince was calling himself a Stark, not a Pong; or was it Dong?"
"Lóng," Suko corrected, his plastered smile not even briefly faltering. If the old lord thought him so easily shaken, he was sorely mistaken.
"I believe I met the Prince Stark outside the gates, father," Ser Stevron said.
"Oh?" Lord Frey hummed. "What did the mummer have to say?"
"He-" Stevron began to speak with a frown.
"Asked after my health," Suko interrupted, all smiles and sweetness. "Isn't that right Ser Frey?"
Ser Stevron looked ready to deny it, though in so many words he supposed it wasn't a lie. The heir grew the ghost of a smile.
"Near enough," he decided politely. "Prince Lóng…"
"Is that so," Lord Walder scoffed in disbelief. "And why have you come, Prince Lóng?"
"To ask you to open your gates, my lord," he replied politely. "Lord Robb and his bannermen are most anxious to cross your bridge."
"To Riverrun?" He sniggered. "Oh, no need to tell me, no need. I'm not blind yet. The old man can still read a map."
"To Riverrun," Suko confirmed. No reason to deny an obvious truth. "Where some might have expected to find you, my lord."
"Heh," said Lord Walder, a noise halfway between a laugh and a grunt. "I called my swords, yes I did, here they are, you saw them on the walls. It was my intent to march as soon as all my strength was assembled. Well, to send my sons. I am well past marching myself."
He looked around for likely confirmation and pointed to a tall, stooped man of fifty years.
"Tell him, Jared. Tell our guest that was my intent."
"It was," said Ser Jared Frey, one of his sons by his second wife. "On my honor..."
"Is it my fault that fool Tully lost a battle before we could march?" He leaned back against his cushions and scowled, as if challenging anyone to dispute his version of events. "I am told Ser Kevan went through little Lord Piper like an axe through ripe cheese. Why should my boys hurry south to die?"
Suko had spent all his life at court in the empire, so men like this weren't wholly new to him; but never were they so easy to read. He reeked of greed.
"All the more reason that we must reach Riverrun, and soon. Could we perchance talk in private, my lord?"
"We're talking now though," Lord Frey complained. The spotted pink head snapped around. "What are you all looking at?" he shouted at his kin. "Get out of here. A Prince wants to speak to me in private, heh. Go, all of you, find something useful to do. Yes, you too, woman. Out, out, out!" As his sons and grandsons and daughters and bastards and nieces and nephews streamed from the hall, he leaned closer to Prince Suko and confessed in a whisper, "They're all waiting for me to die. Stevron's been waiting for forty years, but I keep disappointing him. Heh. Why should I die just so he can be a lord? I ask you. I won't do it."
"Why indeed," Suko's smiled hadn't faded. "Death sounds dull, so why not live forever?"
"That would boil them, to be sure. Oh, to be sure. Now, what do you want to say?"
"We want to cross your bridge," Suko said simply, ceasing all honied words.
"Oh, do you? That's blunt. Why should I let you?"
A lesser man, unskilled in the art of bullshittery, might've punched the old fool. "Why, my lord, I recall passing several thousand swords outside your walls…"
"They'll be several thousand fresh corpses when Lord Tywin gets here," the old man shot back. "Don't you try and frighten me, boy. Lord Eddard is in some traitor's cell under the Red Keep, you're some dornish mummer that fancies himself a Prince; without a friend in the world, all while Kevan Lannister's got Riverrun in his sights. What do you have that I should fear? That host of yours, dornishman? I can hold these walls and wait for Tywin Lannister to paint them with your blood…"
"It would be a lovely shade of red, I'm sure," Suko hummed in mild amusement. "Your liege would have something to say about that though, no doubt?"
He bobbed his head side to side, smiling. "Oh, yes, I said some words to em, but I swore oaths to the crown too, it seems to me. Joffrey's the king now, and that makes you and your mummers host out there no better than rebels. If I had the sense the gods gave a fish, I'd help the Lannisters boil you all."
"Why don't you?" Suko asked, still smiling down at the old man in his chair; knowing the cheap quality of his heart well enough at a glance.
Lord Walder snorted with disdain. "Lord Tywin the proud and splendid, Warden of the West, Hand of the King, oh, what a great man that one is, him and his gold this and gold that and lions here and lions there. I'll wager you; he eats too many beans, he breaks wind just like me, but you'll never hear him admit it, oh, no. What's he got to be so puffed up about anyway? Only two sons, and one of them is a twisted little monster. I'll match him son for son, and I'll still have nineteen and a half left when all of his are dead and gone!" He cackled, terribly amused by his own genius. "If the great and mighty Lord Tywin Lannister wants my help, he can bloody well ask for it!"
As if they'd let a single raven come or go from this castle. Wargs weren't simply great scouts, but a few hawks could easily silence a castles rookery.
It was all Suko needed to confirm his measure of Lord Frey, even if he hadn't heard enough from other men; meeting the man had done wonders to confirm those words. "We are asking for your help, my lord," he said humbly, for this one was as greedy as he was proud – and bitter over the truth behind that pride.
Court life had taught Suko that all men – and women – had a price. Some were easier to pay than others, but a gluttonous man was always hungry.
"I shall not insult you by wasting your time my lord," Suko said then, his smile twisting into something less… playful…
Lord Walder pointed a bony finger at his face. "I've never been one for sweet words. Sweet words I get from my wife. Did you see her? Sixteen she is, a little flower, and her honey's only for me. I wager she gives me a son by this time next year. Perhaps I'll make him heir, wouldn't that boil the rest of them!?"
"I can already hear the whining," Suko replied, summoning a chuckle for effect – faked but well-practiced. It wasn't a lie either; he could hear whining.
Walder's head bobbed up and down. "Lord Tully didn't come to the wedding, you know? An insult, as I see it. Even if he is dying. He never came to my last wedding either. He calls me the Late Lord Frey, heh. Does he think I'm dead? I'm not dead, and I promise you, I'll outlive him as I outlived his father. That man has always pissed on me, it's true. Years ago, I went to Riverrun and suggested a match between his son and my daughter. Why not? I had a daughter in mind, sweet girl, only a few years older than Edmure, but if the boy didn't warm to her, I had others he might have had, young ones, old ones, virgins, widows, whatever he wanted."
The rant about his grievances, while exceptionally boring, was a good sign – believe it or not – it was clear he'd already decided.
"No, Lord Hoster would not hear of it! Sweet words he gave me, excuses, but what I wanted was to get rid of a daughter…"
It was increasingly obvious that Lord Walder Frey had always intended to open his gates, or so Suko thought as he let the man rant. He'd just wanted a damn bribe.
"And his daughter, that one, she's full as bad. It was, oh, a year ago, no more, Jon Arryn was still the King's Hand, and I went to the city to see my sons ride in the tourney. Stevron and Jared are too old for the lists now, but Danwell and Hosteen rode, Perwyn as well, and a couple of my bastards tried the melee. If I'd known how they'd shame me, I would never have troubled myself to make the journey. Why did I need to ride all that way to see Hosteen knocked off his horse by that Tyrell whelp? I ask you. The boy's half his age, Ser Daisy they call him, something like that. And Danwell was unhorsed by a hedge knight! Some days I wonder if those two are truly mine. My third wife was a Crakehall, all of the Crakehall women are sluts. Well, never mind about that, she died before you were born, I'd wager, what do you care?"
He didn't, at all – but a single gold for every long-winded boring whining rant he'd heard in court would've given enough coin to build a castle.
"I was speaking of that bitch Lysa! I proposed that Lord and Lady Arryn foster two of my grandsons at court and offered to take their own son to ward here at the Twins. Are my grandsons unworthy to be seen at the king's court? They are sweet boys, quiet and mannerly. Walder is Merrett's son, named after me, and the other one… heh, I don't recall… he might have been another Walder, they're always naming them Walder so I'll favour them, but his father… which one was his father now?" His face wrinkled up. "Well, whoever he was, Lord Arryn wouldn't have him, or the other one, and I blame Tully's bitch for that. She frosted up as if I'd suggested selling her boy to a mummer's show or making a eunuch out of him, and when Lord Arryn said the child was going to Dragonstone to foster with Stannis Baratheon instead, she stormed off without a word of regrets and all the Hand could give me was apologies. What good are apologies? I ask you."
"Best to never need for apologies in the first place, I say, Lord Frey…"
"Yes, yes, yes," the old man agreed with a nod of his bald head. "What were we talking about again? You want to cross the river?"
"We do," Suko answered simply – short and to the point. The question was a lure of sorts, he knew…
"Well, you can't!" Lord Walder announced crisply, frowning when the notion failed to get any visible reaction from his guest. "Not unless I allow it, and why should I? The Tullys and the Starks have never been friends of mine." He pushed himself back in his chair and crossed his arms, smirking, waiting for an answer.
The rest was only haggling, as it had always been from the very start. Stark or Lannister had never mattered; only who paid up first. This had been too easy.
A swollen red sun hung low against the western hills when the gates of the castle opened. The drawbridge creaked down, the portcullis winched up, and Prince Suko Lóng rode forth to re-join Robb Stark and his bannermen. Behind him came Ser Jared Frey, Ser Hosteen Frey, Ser Danwell Frey, and Lord Walder's bastard son Ronel Rivers, leading a long column of pikemen, rank on rank of shuffling men in blue steel ringmail and silvery grey cloaks.
Robb Stark galloped out to meet them, with Grey Wind racing beside his stallion. "It's done," Suko told him. "Lord Walder will grant your crossing. His swords are yours as well, short four hundred he means to keep here; though if I were you Stark then I'd leave some of your own behind to augment the man's garrison…"
"It went that well then?" Willam had ridden up beside Robb, with Aedan and numerous Greycloaks at his back.
"Oh, it went splendid," Suko said with a glare. "Talked my ear off, the old man did; it was all I could do to escape from his ramblings!"
"Is he trustworthy?" Willam asked, being fairly certain of the answer.
"About as much as my sister ever was," came the answer with a roll of his onyx eyes.
"Not at all then," Willam sighed at that. "Robb, you ought to give command here to someone you trust…"
"As you say," Robb answered, gazing at the ranks of pikemen. "Perhaps… Ser Helman Tallhart, do you think?"
It was a fine enough choice, though Willam didn't know the man personally – the Tallharts were all by accounts loyal men.
"What-" Robb looked to Suko then. "What did he want of us?"
"He aims to rid two of his grandsons to ward," he told him. "They're young boys, aged eight years and seven; if I heard the old fool right. It would seem they are both named Walder, oddly enough, by the bloody dawn I swear half his kin are Walders – though none so talkative as the old man!"
"Is that all? Two fosterlings? That's a small enough price to-"
"A Frey whelp will be coming with us too," Suko went on. "Isn't that grand? Not a Walder either, I made sure of it much! You can thank me later…"
"A squire?" Robb shrugged at that. "Fine, that's fine, if he's-"
"Also, your sister Sansa will marry a Frey; though who exactly is your decision – the old fucker doesn't care for specifics."
Robb looked nonplussed by that much. "Mother won't like this one bit…"
"Sansa's still shook by her betrothal to that bastard Joffrey," Jon added from his own saddle, frowning for his sister's sake.
"And you are to wed one of the old bastard's daughters, once we've finished with the Lannisters," he finished with a smirk. "He has a number of daughters and granddaughters he thinks might be suitable, but I managed to convince him to let you have the pick of his litter – that's outrageously large, might I add!"
To his credit, Robb did not flinch. "I see…"
"I think it went well," Suko was smiling at the boys look of growing terror.
"Can I refuse?"
"Not if you wish to cross Stark, no, you cannot."
"I consent then," Robb said solemnly.
"A small price to pay for winning this war," Willam added with a sigh.
"He's a sworn bannerman," Aedan offered his opinion with a scowl. "If this were the Islands then he'd-"
"-lose his head aye, but these lords aren't our own to punish Grey." Willam scowled at that sad truth.
Suko shrugged at that. "If it's any consolation my friends, one or two of his ilk weren't too Frey looking…"
"How come he didn't force a bribe on you, eh, my friend?"
Willam stared at him for a moment before Suko decided to answer, his smirk wider.
"Oh," his smile was innocent. "I'm already married, dear Stark; didn't you know? If the Lord Frey asks, I've a wife and kids back home…"
"You lied to him!?" Robb eyed the man with clear shock on his face.
"Lie? Me!?" Suko feigned hurt at the accusation. "Oh, you're married too Will; thought you ought to know…"
Willam sighed and muttered "for fucks sake" as Prince Suko moved his horse into a trot, laughing as he moved away from the Starks.
They crossed at evenfall as a horned moon floated upon the river. The double column wound its way through the gate of the eastern twin like a great steel snake, slithering across the courtyard, into the keep and over the bridge, to issue forth once more from the second castle on the west bank.
Prince Willam rode at the head of the serpent, with Robb and Ser Stevron Frey. Behind followed nine tenths of their horse; knights, lancers, freeriders, and mounted bowmen. It took hours for them all to cross. The clatter of countless hooves battered the drawbridge as Lord Walder Frey sat in his litter watching them pass, the glitter of eyes peered down through the slats of murder holes in the ceiling as they rode through the Water Tower.
The larger part of the northern host, pikes and archers and great masses of men-at-arms on foot, remained upon the east bank under the command of Roose Bolton. Robb Stark had commanded him to continue the march south, to confront the huge Lannister army coming north under Lord Tywin.
For good or ill, the dice had been thrown and the war had begun in earnest. Winter was coming for House Lannister.
My Note(s): The forces holding the pass at Golden Tooth have been defeated by Kevan's host (as they were in canon by Jaime) but they've yet to reach Riverrun as far as the Starks are aware, so Robb executes the same plan as in canon; splitting his horse from his foot to lure Tywin north while Robb leads the cavalry to relieve Riverrun and join his strength to the Riverlords. It remains the best plan, strategically speaking; when it comes to warfare Robb Stark has a decent head on his shoulders.
In typical Me fashion, I've teased with Jon's origin story reveal but not gone into depth yet – because it feels more mysterious this way – plus I enjoy screwing with my readers and drinking their tears ;) but we'll hear more from Jon in regard to what he's learned later on. Right now, the boy just had his world turned upside down.
Suko got to play at diplomat here too, that probably went better than if Willam had gone about it. He's not a great people person at the best of times.
Miguelgiulianoco: The vast majority of people don't review simply because they don't – point and case, myself – I've enjoyed many fics but have rarely ever left a review simply because I haven't felt the need to do so and/or that others would in my place. This is why I encourage people to comment who might not otherwise; simply because it's nice and encouraging to see comments :) or criticism (invalid or valid) or otherwise. Reviews very much encourage me to keep writing chapters.
I'm not sure what you meant by Los Rios though? Willam doesn't really have what I'd call a 'Political' mind so much as he's rather paranoid and distrusting from his own experiences with people – he's paranoid bordering on the unhealthy – but it has served him fairly well this far. I wouldn't call him 'politically' minded.
Tertius711: The Riverlands are somewhat bloodied now, though still in better shape than the books; the defeat at the Golden Tooth in similar fashion to canon wasn't something that could seemingly be avoided. Edmure Tully is no commander. Kevan Lannister has made easy work of the Riverlanders posted there.
Force Smuggler: Commenting here cos I keep forgetting to post on Ao3 eh Force? Unless there's 2 of you :P I'll update on Ao3 too eventually ha.
Dave: As always, happy to hear you're enjoying it :) I've been getting busier lately but hopefully I can keep up the weekly updates!
Betmen123: You'll be glad to hear that I greatly enjoy writing battles and I've planned like 5 sieges and 4 big battles? 2 naval battles too :)
Gangui: Unfortunately, there's no real way for Willam's family to receive news of the war – though they'll come into play later on.
Mister LaGuardia: The Vale should be interesting, but spoilers, won't go too much into how that'll play out exactly.
Pop: Happy to hear you're enjoying the story! Thanks for taking the time to comment :)
Tellemicus Sundance: We had similar ideas huh? The 'Sunset' or 'Shipwright' concept is a rather unexplored one (it's why I used it) though when I started it back in 2015 my own idea was less developed than current my rewrite, that I'm far happier with overall. Technically though, I've done both of those things since Brandon the Shipwright went TO the West originally and then Willam Stark sailed back FROM the west – since the Sunset Sea is to the West of Westeros. Still, hope you enjoy the read :)
Red Death: Abused Protagonist Seeks To Please Their Abuser? An interesting take on their relationship, such as it is, I assume you mean Will's father? I've left it rather open to the readers interpretation as to how truthful his words in Chapter 11 actually are (as 12 shows, Will doesn't exactly trust the man) but ultimately no – this isn't a story about Willam's relationship with his poor excuse of a father. Though even that is subjective, as the man never 'physically' abused him. It could be far worse…
I've known far worse fathers in my own life than King Brandon was to his children. Perhaps this is why I struggle to call him an 'abuser' personally.
GoldenDragon300: I won't spoil much but it is extremely unlikely that Rodrik Stark would ever kneel, to anyone; yet alone Robb Stark – who is by all accounts younger than Rodrik's own sons and far less experienced. There's also no guarantees here that Robb will becoming King in the North in the first place :P