Disclaimer this is an alternate version of Game of Thrones season 6, with some facts more in tune with the books. Also includes House Forrester. I do not own the characters (except any original characters) this is for entertainment purposes only.
The Ruined Lord and the Rebel
"The answer is no," stated Lord Robett Glover. They had arrived at Deepwood Motte this morning, after sailing for several days from Bear Island. Although Jon and the others had been received by lord Glover quickly, they had made very little headway with the man since revealing their intentions.
"Lord Glover, if you hear us out—" he started.
"I've heard enough," rebuffed Lord Glover. "We've only just taken back this castle from the Ironborn. The Boltons helped up do it, now you want me raise up arms against them? I could be skinned just for talking to you."
"House Bolton are traitors to the North, Roose Bolton murdered your brother the same as ours," replied Jon. From what news he had gather about the Red Wedding during his time as Lord Commander, lord Galbart Glover had been butchered alongside his men outside the Western gate of the Twins.
"Have any of the other Northern houses pledged to fight for you?" Lord Glover asked curtly. Jon was hesitant to answer, Though the support of houses Mormont and Umber meant a great deal to them, the forces they offered weren't enough to compel the others to their cause.
"Houses Mormont and Umber," he finally said.
"And where are they now?"
"House Mormont has been sent to main camp, while the Umber forces are laying siege to Karhold."
"In other words, they won't be joining your army until they take Karhold. If they can take Karhold." Jon could not argue at first glance their army appeared to be made up of promises rather than fighting men. "And what of the others?" continued Lord Glover.
"We've sent ravens to houses Manderly, Locke, Cerwyn and intend—"
"I don't care about ravens," rebuffed Lord Glover. "You are asking me and my men to join your army. Who is fighting in this army?" From his tone Lord Glover was growing tired of his evasiveness.
"The bulk of the force so far is made up of Wildlings," he said blatantly. The look on Lord Glover's face told him what he thought of that revelation.
With a chuckle Lord Glover said, "Then the rumors are true, I didn't dare belief them." When his face returned to its stern expression he flatly said, "I received you out of respect for your father, now I would like you to leave. House Glover will not abandon its ancestral home to fight alongside Wildlings!"
As he made his way back into his keep Jon called out, "Lord Glover—"
"I have nothing else to say," replied the Lord.
"Lord Glover," called Sansa, "your family has faithfully served house Stark since before Aegon the Conqueror stripped us of our crown and the North's independence." At this Lord Glover turned back and looked at Sansa. "My father and brother considered you and your household honorable men who fulfilled their oaths when called upon." Lord Glover slowly made his way back down the steps, to Jon it seemed the man was older with each step.
As he stood before her, Lord Glover said, "Yes, my family has served house Stark for centuries. We wept when we heard of your father's death. When my brother was Lord of this castle, he answered Robb's call and hailed him King in the North." By now anger was beginning to swell in his voice. He took one step closer to Sansa and looked her in the eye, "And where was King Robb; when the Ironborn attacked this castle, when they threw my wife and children in prison, brutalizing and killing our subjects?"
"Taken up with a foreign whore, getting himself and everyone that followed him killed. I served house Stark once, but my house has bled enough for a lost cause." And with that Jon and the others left Deepwood Motte, taking a forest trail through the Wolfswood to avoid Bolton scouts. None of them spoke, only the trotting of hooves on the road and Ghost's panting could be heard.
Lord Glover's refusal reminded Jon how tired the northern houses were; for three years they had fought for Robb, losing fathers, brothers, and sons in battle, while their wives and daughters were terrorized by the Ironborn invaders. Only to be betrayed and forced to submit to the barbaric rule of house Bolton. And here he was, asking them to take up arms against those who would flay their families alive before their very eyes. Is this what we can expect from the others, he thought. He had learned long ago; a soldier would fight for honor, he would fight for gold, for his family, but he wouldn't fight for a cause doomed to fail.
"We still have a chance," said Ser Davos riding beside Jon. "We have yet to receive word from, White Harbor, Oldcastle, Greywater Watch, or the Rills."
"I doubt Lord Ryswell will commit his men to our cause Ser Davos," stated Sansa. "It's true he has little love for Ramsay, it was widely whispered in the Winterfell that he murdered his half-brother Domeric, Lord Ryswell's grandson. But Lady Barbrey is his own daughter, at best we can only hope he will remain neutral." Sansa's words had truth in them. their list of allies grew thinner with each passing day.
"The Boltons may have the numbers at the moment," replied Davos, "but numbers aren't everything. If we're smart and choose our ground carefully the size of their force won't matter. During Robert's Rebellion, Stannis held Storm's End with five hundred men against ten thousand Tyrell soldiers."
"Stannis who lost the Battle of the Blackwater, Stannis who lost the Battle of Winterfell, Stannis who doesn't have a head," rebuffed Sansa. Though true, Jon thought it was unworthy of Sansa to say as much to Davos. The man had been Stannis' loyal hand and Admiral Captain of his fleet during the Battle of the Blackwater.
"Stannis was led astray by fanatics and his own unyielding nature. When he relied solely on his strategic mind, he fought against greater odds and carried the day." As their tones grew more agitated, Jon was about to intervene. Suddenly Ghost stopped in front of them starring further down the trail. Five mounted men, their faces covered by hoods with swords at their sides, were waiting. Jon's mind raced with possibilities; Bolton scouts, hired sellswords, or common bandits, whatever the answer they stood in their way. With their hands upon their blades, Jon and Davos took the lead with Ghost between them and Sansa staying in the rear.
"We have no quarrel with you," stated Jon in a lord's voice, "but make no mistake, if you do not let us pass there will be bloodshed." Ghost let out a low growl assuring his claim. In response to this, two of the hooded strangers dismounted and made their way towards them. They were either very brave or very foolish to approach, Jon had seen Ghost tear hardened warriors apart with his maw many times. He then noticed that one of the hooded figures had a slight limp in his right step, yet he strode with a certain discipline befitting a soldier. While the other had a stride similar to Davos, quick with purpose.
They were now only a few paces ahead of them as Davos called for them to halt. His voice was drowned out by the sudden ring of drawn steel. Jon began to draw Longclaw, when the strangers suddenly fell to their knees with the points of their swords sheathed into the earth. The one with the soldier's bearing was the first to pull back his hood. He was a young man, (perhaps seven or eight years older than him) with brown hair and a matching beard. His blue eyes had an intelligent and determined look about them as they met Jon's. But the most noticeable trait was that one side of his face was scarred.
"My Lords and Lady," the man addressed in an even voice. "My name is Rodrik Forrester of Ironrath." Ironrath, thought Jon. It was shortly after his return from Craster's that he learned about the Battle of Ironrath; how the castle had been taken by Lord Whitehill, how every man, woman and child who couldn't escape was put to the sword, and how house Forrester was destroyed. Yet, before them knelt the man claiming to be the rightful lord of the castle and it's intended lands.
"Apologies, but how can we be certain you are who you claim to be?" asked Jon his hand still gripping Longclaw. "For all we know this could be a ploy by Ramsay to allow spies and assassins into our midst."
"A fair assumption," stated the other man as he drew back his hood. This man looked to be in his late forties; his brown hair peppered with grey, his eyes expressed years of wisdom and experience. His face was covered by a thick beard, yet there was something familiar about his looks. Something that reminded him of someone much younger, then it dawned on him.
"Your Gared's uncle, Duncan Tuttle castellan of Ironrath," he said with great surprise.
"Aye, I am," he replied with a slight smile. "I vouch that the man beside me is my Lord. During the battle Lord Rodrik was injured, I harnessed him to a horse and covered his escape from the Whitehills." Duncan looked to his lord, who gave him a nod of respect and appreciation. He then turned back to Jon and said, "Perhaps you recall that we met briefly at Castle Black a few years ago, I was making a—"
"A delivery of Ironwood, yes I remember…" Suddenly Jon came to the grim realization that Duncan was unaware of his nephew's fate. But there was a time and a place for such matters. As the exchange went on both sides were more at ease, to the point where Sansa rode forward to address Lord Forrester herself. Offering her condolences for the loss of his sister Mira, whom she had met during her time in King's Landing. She told him that making the acquaintance of a fellow northerner who understood her pain, however brief, had meant a great deal to her.
After he thanked Sansa he turned to Jon and said, "Lord Commander, when I received word that you and your sister were gathering men to oppose the Boltons, I set out for Deepwood Motte hoping to cross your path. My father fought for yours against the Mad King. I fought for your brother Robb against Joffrey. And if you'll have me, I'll fight for you against the Boltons." This was as much a surprise as it was a relief to Jon and Sansa.
"Thank you, my Lord," said Jon composing himself. "But I must ask, what cause do you have to join us?" The look in his eyes was mixed with grief and anger.
"The Boltons and Whitehills murdered my father and two of my brothers; they stole my family's lands, they held my beloved prisoner, they've hunted what's left of my family like animals. I want my name back; my lands restored, and my family to be safe again. If you promise me that, I will be loyal to you from this day until my last."
It seemed his family and Lord Rodrik's had much in common. Perhaps he had found a kindred spirit in the man before them. Jon felt he owed this man the whole truth; the truth of what he had done, and who else would be fighting for the Stark cause.
"When I was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, I allowed thousands of Wildlings pass through the Wall, the same Wildlings who will be fighting by our side and I have forsaken my oath to never take part in the politics of the Seven Kingdoms. You should know the man your swearing fealty to."
"Are you a good man?"
For a moment Jon recalled every decision, every action he had taken since leaving Winterfell, wondering if he could still be considered a good man. "I'm trying to be," he finally said.
"Then that's good enough for me," replied Rodrik rising to his feet. Jon and his companions had set out hoping to convince a seasoned veteran to join their ranks, although this wasn't the man they had expected, they welcomed him and his followers with open arms.
…
After weeks of traversing the vastness of the North and sailing along the Cape of Eagles, Brienne and Podrick finally beheld the ancestral seat of house Tully. Only to see hundreds of crimson tents and banners billowing in the wind. A tremendous force to be sure, thought Brienne. But from what she had heard of the castle; its moats and canals when opened made the castle a virtual island. Making siege towers useless and scaling the walls practically impossible. The only keep she had ever seen with greater defenses was Storm's End; the ancestral keep of house Baratheon, the home of good King Renly, and the sight of her first failure.
"It looks like a siege, my lady," stated Podrick. Although the lad had shown his potential as of late, there were times he still acted like the simple foolish boy she had met at the beginning of her quest to find the Stark girls.
"You have a keen military mind Pod," she replied. His statement was obvious, Ser Brynden Tully, revered as the Blackfish, was an experienced commander who had taken Riverrun from the Freys, the Lannister army was undoubtedly here to take it back. In the name of keeping the King's peace. The thundering of hooves broke her concentration, Lannister scouts were encircling them.
"My lady," inquired Podrick. She told him to remain where he was, as the standard bearer approached.
"Who goes there?" he bellowed. "State your business."
"My name is Brienne of Tarth, tell Ser Jaime that I've come to speak with him." All were surprised by her claim. "Tell him that I have his sword." With that she and Podrick were escorted to the command tent. All the while Lannister soldiers stared at her, some made snide remarks, but she had learned to ignore them long ago. When she entered the tent leaving Podrick to wait outside, Jaime Lannister was speaking with one of his lieutenants. The moment he saw her however, he dismissed the man and greeted her courteously. She then informed him of everything that had transpired after her departure (everything that had baring at least).
When she finished her tale Jaime replied, "I never thought you'd find her. I just assumed she was dead."
"Why would you assume that?" she replied.
"From my experience girls like her don't live very long." She knew Ser Jaime possessed an indifferent nature bordering on arrogance, yet on the venture to King's Landing he proved himself as an honorable man. But she could not help bristling at what he implied.
"I don't think you know many girls like her," she replied sternly. It was true, Lady Sansa had survived King's Landing; the many deaths of her kin, the betrayal of Littlefinger and the unspeakable ordeals she suffered at the hands of Ramsay. A lesser woman would have been broken beyond comprehension, yet she endured. In the short time she had come to know her, Sansa had displayed strength and courage, a woman's courage, and in that regard she reminded Brienne of her mother Lady Catelyn. It appeared Ser Jaime sensed her restraint, thus changing to a more pleasant topic.
"Well, I'm proud of you, I am. You've fulfilled your oath to Catelyn Stark against all odds," he replied making his way to the table. "Of course, my sister wants Sansa dead. The girl is still a suspect in Joffrey's murder, so there is that complication." After a moment he looked to her and asked, "What in seven hells are you doing here?"
Perhaps a more prudent person would not share their intentions with the member of a family that was a sworn enemy of the one they served. But she and Ser Jaime had fought together, they had saved each other's life, and given each other a second chance at honor. She had no intention of hiding the truth from him. "I'm here for the Blackfish."
"You are welcome to have him," he replied in a half jesting manner.
"Lady Sansa and her brother desire to take back their family's ancestral home from the Boltons and restore her rightful position as Lady of Winterfell." She could see the look of surprise on Ser Jaime's face.
"With what army and what brother does she plan to take Winterfell with; the one who no longer has a head, or one of the two that were butchered by the Greyjoy lad?" he replied in the same manner as before.
"The Tully army and her natural born brother, Jon Snow." She was unsure which part intrigued Ser Jaime more, the purpose for her being here or the news of Sansa's brother.
"I recall meeting that boy at Winterfell, when Robert rode North to bestow yet another great honor on the already honorable Ned Stark. And if I'm not mistaken, he was taken with the idea of joining the Night's Watch, an order that swears to never take part in the politics of the Seven Kingdoms. An order that serves for life."
Brienne was unsure how to answer at first. She doubted Ser Jaime would believe her if she recounted the details of Jon Snow's apparent desertion of the Night's Watch. "He couldn't turn away his sister, one of the last living members of his family, not with the likes of Ramsay after her."
"I thought the honorable brothers of the Night's Watch renounced their old families for the good of the realm."
"We've both witnessed the crimes house Bolton allows under its watch. Their rule is far from what's good for the realm." Perhaps her response was sterner than she intended for Ser Jaime looked slightly hurt.
"House Bolton's appointment as Wardens of the North was my father's doing. He cared little for their methods so long as they were loyal to the crown. Though, it appears they are no more loyal to the crown than they were to Robb Stark. At any rate, the Blackfish's men are a bit occupied at the moment. I was sent here to retake the castle being held by the Tully rebels, so you can see the conundrum."
"The Tully's are rebels because they are defending their home."
"Riverrun was granted to the Freys," replied Ser Jaime.
"As a reward for betraying Robb Stark and slaughtering his family!" she said exasperatedly.
"Exactly!" his own temper flaring. After a moment of silence and exchanging wary looks Ser Jaime seemed to regret his tone. "We shouldn't argue about politics," he said looking more worn and frustrated than she had ever seen him.
"You're a knight, Ser Jaime. I know there's honor in you, I've seen it-"
"Don't ask me to betray my family," he stated firmly.
"I'd do no such thing. Take Riverrun without bloodshed; ride south again with your mission complete and your army intact."
"What do you propose?" asked Ser Jaime. She knew she would have to appeal to his mission's success as well as his honor.
"Allow me to enter Riverrun under a flag of truce, let me try to persuade the Blackfish to give up the castle."
"Why would he abandon his ancestral home?" His tone expressed the doubts he had with her plan.
"Because you'll allow him to lead the Tully forces safely north."
"Have you ever met the Blackfish?" he asked shaking his head. When she said she hadn't he replied, "He's even more stubborn than you are." As he began pacing, he conceded, "Alright, I'll let you try to talk some sense into the old goat. He won't listen, but his men might. Not everyone wants to die for someone else's home."
"I need your word, Ser Jaime. If I persuade him to abandon the castle, you'll allow us safe passage north." Many would call her a fool for trusting the word of a Lannister, let alone the Kingslayer. But she knew the man, she knew he wanted to be worthy of his knighthood.
"You have my word," he said firmly. "You have until nightfall." With that Brienne felt the sudden weight at her side. Oathkeeper, she thought, the sword has fulfilled its purpose. As she removed her sword belt and offered the blade to Ser Jaime, she saw a look she had only seen a few times from him. "You gave it to me for a purpose… I've achieved that purpose."
"It's yours," he said with utter sincerity. "It will always be yours." She didn't know what to say as she took the blade firmly in hand. Unaccustomed to such respect and courtesy, she began to make her way out of the tent, when a solemn thought made her stop.
"One more thing Ser Jaime," she said.
"Yes, Lady Brienne," he replied in his carefree manner once again.
"Should I fail to convince the Blackfish to surrender and if you attack the castle, honor compels me to fight for Sansa's kin."
"Of course, it does."
"To fight you…" she said regretfully. She could see the sudden look of despair and reluctance take hold of Ser Jaime's face for a moment.
After a long pause he finally spoke, his voice laced with regret, "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Brienne shared one last look with her fellow knight before leaving, she gathered Podrick, who had been sparring with a man who had the look of a free rider or a mercenary. When she inquired about his familiarity with him, the young lad told her that Ser Bronn, was a friend of Lord Tyrion and had always treated him well. With that said Brienne turned her thoughts to the Blackfish and how she was going to convince him to abandon the castle. Thankfully, Lady Sansa had given her a letter to help her in that regard. Hopefully the Tully words (Family, Duty, Honor), proved to be as true as the Stark's.
…
"I've said no three times already," barked the Blackfish as he marched across the ramparts. When Brienne and Podrick first arrived at the gate, the garrison had refused to let them within the castle, believing them to be spies for the Lannisters. It was only after Brienne mentioned Sansa Stark's name that the Blackfish personally lowered the drawbridge and allowed them to enter. However, that did not mean the man believed their claims. He had received them out of curiosity and the fact that 'sieges are dull' as he put it.
"I have a signed letter from your niece, Sansa Stark," she stated following close behind him.
"I haven't seen her since she was a child; I don't know her signature, I don't know you, and I won't surrender," he rebuffed gazing out at the Lannister force. He turned to one of his men, a young soldier serving as a lieutenant. "Double the guard tonight. The Kingslayer wants to try us I can feel it." He then went into the castle and made his way through the hallway.
Undaunted in her pursuit, Brienne called out to him again. "As I have said before, my name is Brienne of—"
"Yes, Brienne of Tarth. I know your father, a good man."
As she followed him down the stairs she continued, "He always spoke very highly of you—"
"And if he were here now, I'd tell him the same thing I'm telling you. If you think I'll hand over my family's seat on the Kingslayer's honor, you're a bloody fool."
"Riverrun cannot stand against the Lannisters and the Freys."
"We can stand longer than your one-handed friend thinks we can," replied the Blackfish as they entered the courtyard.
"He's not my friend," remarked Brienne. However, she did not fully mean that, despite their opposing allegiances Ser Jaime had treated her with more respect than others.
"No? Who gave you permission to cross the siege lines and enter the castle? Who gave you that sword with a lion on the pommel?" the Blackfish asked suspiciously.
"Ser Jaime kept his word to your niece, Catelyn Stark. He sent me to find Sansa Stark, to help her as Catelyn wanted and he gave me this sword to protect her. That is what I have done and will continue to do until the day I die," Brienne stated, looking Ser Brynden in the eye as she handed him the letter. After a moment he took the letter in hand and began reading it.
"She is exactly like her mother," with a remorseful chuckle. Turning back to her he said, "I don't have enough men to help her retake Winterfell."
"You and your men wouldn't stand alone. Lady Sansa and her brother are rallying the North to fight at their side."
"Her brother," remarked Ser Brynden. "All her true-born brothers are dead, the only brother she has left is Jon Snow. Eddard Stark's base-born son and Catelyn never trusted that boy." Although Brienne did not support his suspicions, she understood why Ser Brynden was weary of bastards. The Blackfyres, a house comprised of Targaryen bastards had brought bloodshed to the Seven Kingdoms for centuries. But Jon wasn't Damon; he wasn't trying to usurp his siblings' rights he was fighting for them.
"I have only known him for a short time, but Jon Snow strikes me as an honorable man."
"A man who pledged his life and honor to serve in the Night's Watch for all the Night's to come?" returned the Blackfish.
Brienne looked firmly at the old knight:
When Lady Sansa first arrived at Castle Black; he could have turned her away, instead he decided to leave with her. When Ramsay sent word to Jon, demanding that he return her to him; he could have betrayed her to save himself. He refused branding himself an enemy to the Boltons. When Ramsay boasted of having their brother Rickon in his dungeon, he committed himself to fight for his siblings. In spite of everything they now face, Jon Snow has put his family first. A sentiment I know you share Ser Brynden.
Ser Brynden gave her a wryly look in response to this. "Family, Duty, Honor. The Tully words and pains in the Tully arse." His expression became serious once again when he asked of Rickon Stark, whom the entire realm heard had been slain by the hands of Theon Greyjoy. Another ward of Winterfell who had proven untrustworthy.
"During her time as a captive of house Bolton, Theon Greyjoy confessed to lady Sansa that he couldn't find the Stark children and murdered two farm boys in their stead. This was before he helped her escape Winterfell, and then protected her in the wilderness until I found them." For a long time, Ser Brynden remained silent contemplating all he had heard. He finally spoke.
"If I surrender the castle to Jaime Lannister how would I lead my men to Winterfell?" The question caught Brienne off guard. She assumed that they would return in the same manner that they had arrived. It then dawned on her that it would be out of the question. They had arrived in one small skiff, hardly capable of transporting an army. "If we travelled by foot, we would find ourselves crossing Frey lands. Jaime Lannister may keep his word to you and allow us safe passage but Walder Frey will not. And if by some miracle we survived, we'd then have to brave the marshlands of the Neck. Not one southern army in the history of the Seven Kingdoms has safely made it through those god forsaken bogs."
"Perhaps the Crannogmen could act as our guides. House Reed are loyal bannermen to house Stark," she replied.
"Provided we can find them, it's well known that Greywater Watch moves amidst the currents of the rivers. And during our search we'd lose a third of our men to the sinkholes, poisonous serpents and every other foul creature bred within the muck."
"Your house is not the only one to rebel against the Freys, perhaps one of them could provide us with ships."
"Only house Mallister has the ships to transport all of our troops, and Seaguard is also under siege by house Frey." Brienne saw the reality of their position, they would be free to march north but didn't possess any means to do so, not with an army in toe.
Ser Brynden looked to her and said solemnly, "I would like nothing more than to help Sansa, but there is nothing I can do. She wants her home back I can understand that. But this is my home and if Jaime Lannister wants it, he can bloody well take like everyone else does." With that he returned the letter and left seeing to the defense preparations.
She could feel Podrick looking to her for guidance. Without breaking her gaze Brienne said in utter defeat, "Find the maester. We need to send a raven north to lady Sansa."
"What should I write?" he inquired, his tone sounding as beaten as she felt.
"Tell her I failed." Once again, thought Brienne.
…
The hall echoed with music and laughter, as the warmth of the fire seeped into Sansa's body. It had been so long since she had witnessed the revelry of her fellow northerners. In her youth, she had seen it as being rowdy and uncivil compared to the elegant balls she had dreamed of in the south. Now she saw it for what it truly was, celebration between earnest men without any hidden ploys or schemes. When she and the others reached the mountains and found Hugo Wull, he called for a great feast to honor the arrival of 'The Ned's' children. And many came just as they hoped; The Wulls, Liddles, First Flints, Norreys, Knots, and the Harcleys.
As she watched all the clans, she wondered at how different they were from everyone else she had met. Wilder than the rest of her countrymen, but tamer than the free folk she had encountered. At one moment, two rivals would be beating each other bloody, the next they were drinking and laughing together. And none drank more or laughed louder than their host, Lord Hugo Wull who began boasting on how he would crush the Bastard of Bolton's skull with his bare hands. A more welcome sight than any, she thought to herself. Desperately trying to forget the ordeals that had transpired in that bedroom.
As she looked to the others, she saw lord Rodrik speaking with one of the Flints and lords Norrey and Knot. Even amidst this merriment, Sansa saw that lord Rodrik remained serious, focused on their goal. His family is in as much peril as ours, she thought. He had told them that his brother and sister were hidden within the Wolfswood, while Elaena Glenmore was hiding in plain sight as a serving maid, at Torrhen's Square with their natural born son, Asher. It had been almost two years since he had seen them. If the Boltons or Whitehills discovered them they would be put to the sword, for as long as the Forrester line lived their hold over Ironrath would never be secure.
Since joining their ranks, Lord Rodrik proved himself an invaluable ally; having sent Stevin Branch and Brynden Bole, two of his companions, to muster all their warriors within the Wolfswood and march them to the main camp. He also sent Duncan Tuttle to meet with Lord Hoster Glenmore, the father of lady Elaena, in hopes of convincing him to join them. From what he had told her, the majority of lord Glenmore's forces remained whole having not been at the Red Wedding. The Glenmore's were renowned archers in the North, it was said that they learned to use a bow before they learned to take their first steps. If Duncan succeeded in his mission their support would mean a great deal.
So far, the ravens sent to Castle Cerwyn, Oldcastle, and Ramsgate returned with refusals or not at all. What discouraged her the most was that house Manderly of White Harbor, the wealthiest family in the North, not only refused their call for aid, but now was denouncing the Starks publicly. Now more than ever, they needed the clans and her uncle's men if they were to survive.
Sansa then saw her brother making his way to lord Wull, before a young woman intercepted him, presumably to ask him for a dance. She was fairly pretty, but it appeared Jon was attempting to politely decline; however, the girl was undaunted by his reluctance. After several moments of persisting, Jon finally consented to a dance, but the look on his face said all. He learned to dance with a sword not with a lady, she thought. A thought then occurred to her, her brother was now free of his oaths to the Night's Watch. If he chose to do so, he could take a wife and father children.
Although she hoped with all her heart that they could save their little brother, a faint voice in her mind whispered, A true-born son will always be a greater threat than a bastard and a daughter. She hated how much the voice sounded like Littlefinger, she hated the wisdom in them even more. Even in chains Rickon was a greater threat to Ramsay's authority over the North than the army they were amassing. As Eddard Stark's last known true-born son, his claim to Winterfell was greater than hers and far greater than Jon's in the eyes of the northern families. The only reason he was still alive is because Ramsey saw him as a means to play one of his little games with them. The moment he no longer seemed amusing or useful to Ramsey, he would die in a manner she could not bring herself to imagine.
If Ramsay killed Rickon he would kill the future of house Stark as well. After what she had endured in his bedroom, any thoughts of marriage or children of her own, however sweet, were marred with feelings of pain and humiliation. If our house is to survive then it will need more than swords and allies, it will need someone to carry and pass on the Stark name. Perhaps—
A great silence then broke throughout the hall, as a new arrival made his way to the high table. He was a thin man with an even thinner mustache, he had the look of arrogance about him, and made no attempt to hide the disdain he had for the less regal clansmen. But the most striking thing about him was his cloak, a white wedge on an indigo field, with several stars' overhead. The sigil of house Whitehill.
Many clansmen muttered insults as he approached the great table, some even spat at his feet. Though irked the man did not slow his pace until he stood before the assembly. By now Jon, Ser Davos, and Hugo Wull had returned to her side, while lord Rodrik stood close by firmly gripping the hilt of his blade with a fire searing in his eye.
In a pious tone, he spoke. "I came as a messenger on behalf of Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell, and the rightful Warden of the North."
"And who are you?" growled Hugo Wull.
"Ser Martyn Warrick, a proud servant of lords Bolton and Whitehill, hand chosen to deliver his lordship's words and this… token." The man pulled aside his cloak, revealing a large grey box which he placed on the table before lifting its lid. The contents revealed brought about a chorus of curses; for it was filled to the brim with fingers, patches of skin and other human parts. As Sansa coldly starred at the man, a slight smirk spread across his face. The messenger listened to the following curses and murmurs, the look on his face told her that he believed victory was already within his grasp and it was a formality to deliver Ramsay's message.
"His lordship decrees that should any of the dogs dwelling within these mountains provide aid in any form to the bastard pretender Jon Snow, that they shall be branded traitors to the North and shall meet the same fate as the ones he found on his lands. But should they come before him with the traitorous bastard and his lawful wife in hand by the next moon. He shall show mercy and allow you all to govern yourselves within your hovels."
His eyes then turned to Rodrik, his sneer growing. "And know that my Lord Whitehill would pay a hearty price in silver for the head of the outlaw Rodrik Forrester." Before any could respond, Hugo Wull walked over and without a single word slammed his fist into the messenger's face, sending him to the floor with blood pouring from his nose.
"B-B-Bastard," cried Ser Martin, "You and the rest of your rabble will pay for this with your lives! Is that what you want, to die screaming?!"
"Ser Bootlick," replied Hugo Wull, "If you were a man, I would kill you for that, but my blade is made of too fine a steel to stain it with craven's blood. Aye, men will die, but this is war. Men die in war, as it should be. I would sooner have my men die fighting for Ned's boy and little girl, then to die as simpering old men with tears frozen to their faces. No one sings songs of men who die like that." A great cry echoed throughout the hall, the once confident look on Ser Martyn's face was replaced by fear.
"Tell the bastard of Bolton, that I am old, and this will be my last winter. Tell him, I wish to bath in Bolton blood; I want to feel it spatter across my face as my axe bites down on a Bolton skull, I want to lick it off my lips, and die with the taste of it on my tongue." With that the Bolton messenger scampered out of the hall and rode off with jeers following close behind. Sansa merely smiled as she looked to her brother and fellow northmen, the North remembers, she thought, and the blood they are owed will run beneath their soles.
…
The hour was twilight, the moon and stars were dark. The only lights to be seen were the torches along the battlements of Riverrun and the outskirts of the enemy camp. Brienne stood silently beside Ser Brynden, waiting for whatever ploy the Lannisters would use against them. The archers and arbalests were on edge, with one word from their commander they would unleash folly after folly without hesitation.
Strange, thought Brienne. nightfall had passed hours ago, yet there was no sign of movement from the Lannister camp. From some of the exploits she had heard and what she had witnessed first-hand, Ser Jaime was not a patient man. He would have taken action by now, not even the defenses of Riverrun would have deterred him this long.
She then noticed Podrick making his way towards her. "My lady," he said quietly, "Will they attack soon?" He looked worried, perhaps it was the impending battle that unsettled him or perhaps it was the notion of fighting his fellow countrymen. Ser Illyn Payne, his own kin, was said to be amidst the Lannister lines.
"I'm not sure, I've never known Ser Jaime to wait this long before taking action."
"Perhaps, he believes Ser Brynden may yet relinquish the castle without bloodshed," he suggested.
"No, Ser Jaime knows the Blackfish will never yield the castle. He said as much before I set foot in Riverrun. Make no mistake Pod, Ser Jaime has a plan in mind, and he will execute it before the night is done." Podrick looked out into the darkness in silence.
"My lady," he said in a gentle tone, "I'm honored to be your squire, you and Lord Tyrion were the first nobles that I have ever felt proud to serve." His words surprised Brienne, there had been times she had treated him sternly or with annoyance, yet it seemed they had no effect on the young man. "I suppose there is comfort in knowing that if one were to die in service of such people, that it was for something greater than themselves. Not for land, gold, or even a crown, but for honor, loyalty, and for what's right." Brienne so captivated by his words couldn't think of anything to say, suddenly she felt honored to have such an earnest squire.
If fate proved kind enough, perhaps the lad could indeed become a true knight, worthy of the white cloak of the Kingsguard. She was about to say as much when he interrupted. "My lady, look! Someone approaches the drawbridge."
All eyes were suddenly on the figure slowly approaching with torch in hand. When the gates-man called for his name he cried out, "EDMURE TULLY, RIGHTFUL LORD OF THIS CASTLE! LOWER THE DRAWBRIDGE!" A murmur of uncertainty spread amongst the men. But there was no mistake, before them stood Edmure Tully, son of Hoster Tully, the Lord of the castle and of the Riverlands. That was when Brienne realized Ser Jaime's plan. He sent Lord Edmure to subdue the castle and order the garrison to lay down their arms.
The gates-man moved to lower the drawbridge but was stopped by Ser Brynden. "Do not let him in." barked the old knight. Brienne could see the inner struggle at the order on the soldier's face. It only grew worse as Edmure called out again.
"Ser, I am sworn to obey my lord's commands—"
"He's been their prisoner since they murdered your king at the Red Wedding," retorted Ser Brynden. "Why would the people who murdered your king at the Red Wedding suddenly decide to let him come home? Because it's a trap you twit."
Brienne could feel the conflict growing, her hand instinctively grasping her sword as she made her way to Ser Brynden's side. The bitter silence broken by lord Edmure calling out once again. She then caught a glimpse of the soldier's eyes and she knew he had made his decision. Her heart sinking as he turned to one of his comrades and ordered him to lower the drawbridge.
"I'll have your head before I surrender Riverrun," growled the Blackfish. As Ser Brynden drew his sword, Brienne heard the ring of a dozen more all around her. Where there was once a united force now stood two factions. Those loyal to lord Edmure and those to the Blackfish. Even with Brienne and Podrick at their side Ser Brynden's force was the lesser.
"You are not the lord of this castle, my lord," stated the guard regretfully.
"Fools," cried Ser Robin Ryger, the Blackfish's second in command, "You've handed Riverrun to the bastards and destroyed what chance the other River Lords had at holding off the Lannisters." Brienne saw the overcome look of Ser Brynden as he sheathed his sword and walked away with his motley followers in toe.
All those present were consumed by despair, save Brienne whose face shown with urgency and purpose. I failed King Renly, I failed Lady Catelyn, I will not fail Lady Sansa, she thought resolutely.
"Ser Brynden," called Brienne, "We must leave at once." For a moment it seemed Ser Brynden hadn't heard her. She called again, this time taking his arm. "The battle here may be lost, but the war is not!" Realizing her meaning, Ser Brynden's downtrodden expression transformed into resolve.
"Yes," he cried, "Ryger take three men and rally anyone willing to fight on and met us at the passage leading to the dock." The old warrior and his men proudly clasped their chests and marched off at great pace. For Ser Brynden's safety Brienne and Podrick remained at his side, witnessing the arrival of lord Edmure and the subsequent surrender of the castle. Guided by Ser Brynden, they dodged small search parties (both Tully and Lannister) making their way further into the castle until finally reaching their goal.
Ser Robin Ryger, was not far behind and with him stood two dozen men at arms and maester Wyman. When asked about his vows to serve the acting lord of the castle he merely said, he'd rather serve those with honor rather than being bound to those without it. Following Ser Brynden, they all made their way down the passage to the underground dock, which held three longboats that were capable of carrying them away. As the postern grated open, they silently paddled their vessels out of the castle and up the Trident.
As they made their way from the castle Brienne pondered at the turn of events. She had come in search of the Blackfish's aid and now she had it, but it was only a fraction of what she had hoped for. Still, they had Ser Brynden, a hero of the War of the Nine Penny Kings. News of his support for the Starks would rally both common and noble men alike.
As she turned to gazed back at Riverrun, she caught a glimpse of someone on the ramparts of the castle. It was Ser Jaime. While the others who had taken notice held their breath, Brienne raised her hand saying farewell to an honorable knight… and a friend. Ser Jaime returned the gesture. Perhaps there was hope for us yet Ser Jaime, she thought.
…
Weeks had passed since Jon and the others left the mountains with the clans in toe. Ser Davos had informed him that this was the same place that Stannis had positioned himself before marching on Winterfell. It proved strategic enough; mountains to the north preventing the enemy from flanking them; Last Hearth a few days ride to the East providing a steady supply line, and the Last River to the South preventing passage save the Kingsroad ford, which he had fortified until they were ready to march.
Admittedly, their camp was impressive, thousands of tents and almost as many banners billowing in the harsh winter wind. They were over five thousand strong at this point, it was better than he had hoped for, but the Boltons still outnumbered them. The bulk of their force were footman, while the Bolton's had a cavalry numbering over a thousand if the reports were to be believed. It was thanks to the newly arrived Lord Mazin and Larence Snow, the bastard son of the late Lord Hornwood, they even had a cavalry. Together they matched only three-tenths of the Bolton's cavalry. Three hundred forty-two mounted soldiers against a thousand, he thought.
Any capable commander would see that the practical course of action would be to consolidate their advantage of the highlands, avoid open conflict, and bleed the enemy of men and resources. But that would mean a prolonged war, one that would ravage the North. And in the end, whatever was left of their forces wouldn't stand a chance against the Walkers or the army of the dead. Jon knew if they were to survive, they needed to defeat the Boltons and retake Winterfell now.
He traversed the camp, searching for Ser Davos. As he made his way through, he was addressed as "m' Lord" or "Commander" by the men. It was strange, three years ago most of these men would have addressed Robb with such respect, while calling him Snow or"The Bastard of Winterfell." But here they were, following a man they had once mocked into battle. How strange life is, he thought.
Ahooooooooooouuu- A horn called out in a long low blast. Jon and those around him waited for another blast to call out. When it didn't come all breathed a sigh of relief. One blast for allies, two for the enemy, thought Jon. He had decided it was best to model their horn calls after the Night's Watch. But that still didn't answer the question, who was had arrived at their camp? Their latest petition the castle Cerwyn had been refused by the young Cley Cerwyn. Perhaps it was Umbers coming to join the main army, or lady Brienne with the Blackfish and his men.
Jon altered his course to the direction of the horn, finding not only the mysterious new arrivals but Ser Davos as well. The onion knight was shaking hands with two of the snow-clad strangers. Jon then noticed the standard bearer behind them, a drawn white bow on a maroon field, the sigil of house Glenmore. Noticing his approach, the snow-clad strangers drew back their hoods, revealing Duncan Tuttle and the presumed commander of this force.
"Duncan, it is good to see you," said Jon. "When we didn't receive word from you, we feared the worst."
"Apologies my lord, but it proved too dangerous to send word of our arrival with the Bolton patrols scouring the countryside. And those of Lord Ryswell as well." Jon did not like the sound of that.
"Has Lord Ryswell pledged his fealty to the Bolton cause after all?"
"Not fully. No," replied Duncan. "He sends out riders to ensure the houses sworn to him remain in the Rills, but he will not commit his men to the battle. We had to hide in remote glens for weeks at a time to avoid them, we have Lord Robert to thank for getting us here." Duncan gesturing to the man beside him. He was a young with red hair and an even redder beard.
"My Lord," he addressed. Jon offered him his hand to which the man shook eagerly. "My uncle, Hoster Glenmore Lord of Rillwater Crossing, sends his regards and what forces he could spare to uphold his oath to house Stark."
"His aid is most welcome and yours as well," replied Jon as he looked to the force before them. They bore leather armor and were armed with longbows and common longswords. "How many men did you bring?"
"One hundred fifty archers trained in long and close-quarter combat. My uncle wishes he could have sent more, but feared reprisal for defying Lord Ryswell's orders." Jon understood the game Lord Glenmore was playing. By sending a smaller force he could claim to his liege lord that they rode out without his consent, fulfilling his oath to house Stark while leaving him blameless in the eyes of house Ryswell. Still Jon would not turn away any help that presented itself.
"Your uncle proves himself a true friend and ally of house Stark. We appreciate the risk he takes for us. With the Boltons and his own liege lord."
"It was a hard choice for him," replied Robert Glenmore his tone solemn. "We have already suffered greatly at the hands of Ramsay Bolton. My cousin Arthur… was butchered by that savage two years ago. But my lord uncle, realizes the danger Elaena faces should the Boltons and Whitehills remain in power. He will not stand idle while his daughter… and grandson are in peril. My lord, is it true that Rodrik Forrester is here with you?"
"Aye, he's serving as a captain in the infantry." At this Robert Glenmore stiffened. "Is there some conflict between the two of you?"
"Nothing to warrant your concern, my lord. I have great respect for the man, but I would have words with him for bedding my cousin and fathering a child off her." An understandable grievance thought Jon, but such petty feuds could sow dissention among the ranks.
"I assure you from the way Rodrik speaks of Lady Elaena, it's clear that he loves her and would marry her given the chance."
"And Elaena would marry him I have no doubt of that, but that doesn't change what happened. If they had restrained their passions, Elaena would be safe at Rill-water Crossing with her family instead of hiding gods know where." There was some truth to his words, but Jon knew all too well the warmth and comfort found in a lover's arms. He could not fault another for such weakness, not without branding himself a hypocrite.
"I've found that some men are made of oak; strong and unyielding, but most are made of flesh and blood. These men are often led astray by their feelings, but they can still have honor and good hearts."
"Wise words, my lord," replied lord Robert, "but there are matters to attend to. I must oversee my men as they set up our tents. If my lord has any need—"
"There will be a meeting tonight to discuss our state of readiness. Every officer is expected to be there." Both Jon and Davos bayed lord Robert and Duncan farewell and worked their way to the command tent. Before long Sansa, escorted by Rodrik, joined them. All four discussed the state of the camp.
"At last count a hundred-twelve men arrived from the Wolfswood. Mostly Bole and Branch footmen," stated Rodrik. "All outfitted with ironwood shields and axes. I've spoken with lord Wull and the castellan of Last Hearth about fitting them with light mail."
"And the Free Folk?" inquired Jon.
"When I brought the matter to Tormund, he said they fight better without mail slowing them down." Jon was not surprised by that. The Free Folk were not traditional soldiers, they honed their skills to accommodate quick incursions into enemy lands and falling back.
"Has there been any conflict between the Free Folk and clans?"
"There have been a few brawls, none have been fatal though. We should be thankful for that, but since the Hornwoods and Mazins arrived the number of brawls has grown."
"How are the horses faring?"
"Rather well," said Davos, "With the supplies from Last Hearth, we've kept them well fed and sheltered from the cold. I've also had sentries placed around the camp to prevent the Boltons from ransacking it in the middle of the night, like they did with Stannis' camp."
"Good, we'll need them ready, we're not staying here much longer. Another storm could hit any day."
"Aye, the snows defeated Stannis as much as the Boltons did."
"We need to march on Winterfell now, while we still can."
"With three thousand clansmen; two thousand wildlings, two hundred Hornwoods, one hundred-fifty Glenmores, one hundred forty-three Mazins, a hundred-twelve Forresters…"
"And sixty-two Mormonts," finished Sansa.
"It's not what we hoped for, but we still have a chance. If we're careful and smart…" Before Ser Davos could finish, an argument broke out between a wildling and a Hornwood soldier. "For fucks sake!" Without another word Ser Davos marched off to intercede with Rodrik close behind. As Jon and Sansa continued to walk, he could feel his sister's concerns and frustrations building.
The tension was finally broken when she said, "I see the three of you have decided everything." Jon knew why she was upset, when he informed her of his intentions to begin the march to Winterfell, she told him that their army wasn't ready. That they should wait for the Umbers or the Blackfish to join them. But there was no news from Brienne, and last raven sent by Mors Umber said that Karhold was holding out against their siege. The longer they waited the greater the chance Ramsay would attack them on his terms. Since then, they have had the same argument again and again. "It's not enough Jon. We need more men."
"There isn't enough time Sansa, if we delay any longer—" Despite the best efforts of Rodrik and Davos the argument became more violent.
"If we went down to Castle Cerwyn, I know we could—" Others began to partake in the skirmish.
"We fight with the army we have!" he declared, his own temper flaring as the brawl began to ensue. Jon didn't want to leave the argument like that, but saw Rodrik and Davos needed aid, he marched over and helped bring order to the chaos. When he looked back Sansa was gone. Seven hells, he thought.
…
Sansa had signed and sealed the letter. She had acquired a raven from lady Lyanna's maester and had waited until dark before releasing it. She had her reasons for doing it. I did it for Jon and all the others, she told herself over and over. Despite the forces they had amassed the Boltons still outnumbered them. She would not let chance take away what remained of her family, not this time. Yet, as she watched the raven soar away, she couldn't help feeling as though she had welcomed the Stranger into their hall. If the Stranger brings death to their enemies then so be it, she thought.
Author's Note:
As you may have noticed, I'm trying to portray Jon and Sansa a little different than the show. Jon in accordance with the books, is more intelligent (considering in the books he tricked Stannis into sending Mance Rayder's son away, compelled him to seek out the Mountain Clans, and negotiated a deal with the Iron Bank). Sansa, I think at this point is tired of being a pawn in the game, and having watched players like Tryion, Littlefinger, and Cersei (in a significantly less instance) for years, she is ready to take part in the game. She is also more adamant in the belief of family, even she and Jon do not always agree, everything she has done and will conspire to do are in the best interest of her family.
And yes she is beginning to formulate a plan involving Jon and the future of the North.
I hope this chapter was entertaining, Please follow and review if there is anything you like comment on. Any constructive criticism is welcomed.