Wife of the Wolf, Husband of the Sun.
Book 2
Chapter One-Hundred and Thirty-Eight
Rickard did not think that he would be able to sweat so much with it being so cold, but he had been wrong about that.
The Lord of Moat Cailin dragged his forearm over his forehead to clear away the swear that had from formed from lifting the wooden beam into place, Moat Cailin was a ruin and he had known that before his royal father had granted it to him and that it was going to take a great deal of work in order to restore it to a fit state to live in.
He had known it would be hard, but some days it seemed impossible.
It was poorly situated for a start; not defensively as the whole point of it was to sit at the top of the Neck and ensure that no host could get past it, but to rebuild and live here. The lands surrounding the Moat were thinly peopled so there were few enough people that Rickard could call on to help rebuild the castle.
And he was a stranger to them, to the men and women of the small villages that sprouted out from the ground like mushrooms he was nothing more than some soft southern bastard who had suddenly been placed in charge of them, and what did it matter if his father was a Stark and he had decreed him legitimised? They were sworn to the Starks in Winterfell, not the Starks in King's Landing.
And he had a bastard's blood. And the blood always told.
None of them disobeyed his commands when he gave them, but he could see the mistrust in their eyes when they looked at him. He did his best not to let it bother him, but it was hard to press it down.
And it was not just the people, the land itself seemed to work against him. The ground passed the moat was hard with frost and the ground on the other side of it was wet and swampy, making it hard for crops to take root.
And yet Rickard would not give up, not when his father had trusted this to him.
That did not mean there was not some nights he would like nothing more than to bash his head in against the closest wall.
Rickard sighed and glanced up at the sky, it was dark and thick with clouds and he had come to know that meant snow. His smallfolk told him that these were only autumn snows, that when Winter was here in force he would look back on these days with fondness and pray for the snows to be as mild as they were now.
His people were probably right about that, it didn't mean that the snows as they were weren't hell to live through.
"That will be all for today," he spoke loud and clear, trying to sound like his father when he addressed his court. "Go back to your homes, and keep warm."
Most of the smallfolk grumbled, but one or two gave him thanks and that was an improvement from where he had started at least. Rickard watched until all of them had passed the walls before he made his way inside.
He had taken the Gatehouse Tower for his seat, not that he had much choice as it was the only one that was mostly intact and would give him cover from the elements, though there could still be a terrible chamber.
In his bedchamber, Sarella was waiting for him.
Her hair grown even longer now, falling down her back in a tumble of curls and the sight of her under the furs set his blood fire, though he was still glad for the fire that was burning in the hearth all the same, they needed to always keep it going to stave off the chill.
"Ah, there you are." Sarella said with a smile, she pushed back the furs so he could climb in when he wished to but did not beckon him closer. "There is a pot of stew on the fire, I've already eaten."
"Thank you love," Rickard said as he pulled over his gloves and walked over to the fire, a black iron cauldron was hanging over the flames and he could hear the sound of something bubbling. "What is it today?"
"Lizard-lion," Sarella said as he filled a bowl, Rickard had needed to learn how to swallow somethings since coming here that he never thought he would and this was not the first time he had eaten lizard-lion, he would not claim he licked it more than venison or chicken but it was fine enough. "The crannogmen were very helpful, I got it in the eye and they helped me to skin and butcher it."
Rickard nodded and once his bowl was full he sat down at the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry love, I'm still looking for hunters of our own and a cook as well but while the castle is still in such a state of disrepair..."
Sarella shook her head and leaned in, cupping his cheek with her hand. "I know as well as you did what it was going to be like, I have no regrets. Besides, it helps to make sure that I do not allow my skill with a bow to desert me, my father once told me that only a fool relies on skills that they had yesterday, you might not have them on the morrow after all."
Rickard smiled and leaned into the touch for a moment, the warmth of her hand seeming to chase away the chill before he set to finishing his stew.
Once the bowl was done he climbed into the bed next to Sarella and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to him. "Has there been any more word from King's Landing?" Sarella asked.
Rickard sighed, "not yet," when the word had come about the attack on the Iron Islands Rickard had been ready to join the battle but his royal father had made it clear that he was to remain at Moat Cailin, that the restoration of the fortification was just as important as picking up a sword and fighting.
He did not want to think that he knew better than his lord father, and he did not want to disobey him either as a son or a subject but Torrhen and Mors were his brothers and they were going off to war and he wanted to fight alongside them, to keep them safe as best as he could.
Sarella sighed and turned around in his arms and looked into his eyes. "And Winterfell, has there been any word from them if they will join in the war as well?"
"No, no word from them either." Rickard answered with a frown as he thought on that, he did not know if his father would want Winterfell to involve themselves, perhaps he thought that he would be able to handle it with the forces he had available to himself.
That was certainly possible, but if his father had sent word to Winterfell or not Jon would have written to him to let him know, they had both come to the North together after all and even though a few dozen leagues separated them they still kept up a regular correspondence since they had both taken their new seats.
It occurred to Rickard then that it was his turn to write a response to Jon's last letter and that he had been putting it off for a while, there had been so much to do. He hoped his cousin would not think him rude.
Sarella seemed lost in thought for a moment before she let out a sigh. "I think it's time we discuss your marriage, the fact that you should have had one by now in truth."
Rickard sighed and shut his eyes, tilting his head back. Sarella was right of course, she tended to be. They had both known of course, that terrible night in the brothel that seemed so long ago now he had tried to convince her to not following him by pointing out that he would need to wed a northern girl from a powerful house, to have a trueborn heir.
It had not dissuaded her.
They had been putting it off, ever since they had arrived. There had been so much work to do, it was easy to find something that needed more thought that a match for him.
But now it was clear that he could not restore Moat Cailin any further without the coin and supplies that another noble house could bring in, any that was the duty that he had been entrusted with. And he would not fail in it.
"Do you have any ideas?" He asked, and perhaps it was cruel of him to do that considering that it was Sarella who would have to live with his wife, that she would be the one who had to see him with another woman, to call that woman his wife and to give her his children.
"I do," Sarella said before she kissed him. "Mira Forrester, House Forrester is a small house to be sure, but they are well respected and the Forrester's have access to large quantities of ironwood, and none can make better use of it than them. She would make a good wife, and her younger sister is betrothed to Trystane, it would make the alliance between Stark and Martell all the stronger."
It certainly sounded like a good match, and if Sarella was behind it then perhaps it was for the best. "Very well," Rickard nodded and pressed a kiss to Sarella's forehead. "I will write to Ironrath on the morrow and see if Lord Forrester would be open to such a match."
Sarella nodded and said nothing else, burying her face into his chest and Rickard held her close and a pressed a kiss to the top of her head, trying to sleep despite all of his disquiet.
The morning came too quickly.
He was awake before Sarella, he slipped out of the bed and made his way down to the small room that he had taken for his solar. It was crumbling and there was a draft, but it wasn't falling down and there was already a large desk within the chamber that was in a good state and so he would make do with it.
Rickard had never claimed to be good at sweet talking others, but he needed to try and so he set quill to page and wrote down what he thought Lord Forrester would want to hear.
He had finished the letter and decided he would show it to Sarella to see what she would think, when he heard the sound of a horse galloping outside, Rickard frowned and rose from behind his desk and made his way down the tour and out into the yard.
The horse was lathering at the mouth, it had clearly been ridden hard and long and the cloaked rider did not look like they were in much better state. They leapt from the back of the horse and stumbled, they would have fallen face first into the muddy ground if Rickard had not hurried forward and caught them, they were shaking in his arms.
Before Rickard could ask who they were or if they were alright, they pushed down their hood to reveal a face that Rickard had last seen at Winterfell, she had been there at the wedding and made her intention known to stay to keep Minisa company while she settled into marriage.
"Lady Dacey?" Rickard asked. "What are you doing here, has something happened at Winterfell?"
"Much and more, I dared not go anywhere else. I hoped they thought I would make for Bear Island or Castle Cerwyn or even White Harbor, not here." Dacey was still shaking, it could not have just been cold.
"Hoped who would think that, my lady?"
"The Bastard's boys."
End of Chapter One-Hundred and Thirty-Eight.