Chapter 95: Licking wounds

29 AF

Lord Galbart Glover

He sat outside his grandfather's tent as he cleaned the royal armor in the hot midday sun. Around him the sounds of the camp could be heard. Cooks preparing the evening meal, men shouting as they won or lost at a game of dice and stableboys puffing under the weight of the bales of hay they were moving. All around him, banners fluttered in the wind; proud direwolves dancing in the light breeze as far as the eye could see.

He tried to concentrate on cleaning the breastplate that he had in his hands and wanted to put all his frustration into his duties as a squire, but it didn't seem to be working. He just couldn't understand why his grandfather was acting like this. Why was he doing nothing?

His father had been killed. Great-uncle Jon and Cousin Benjen had been slain. Cousin Medgar had been killed. Other nobles from all important families had also perished, and his grandfather did … nothing. The battle had been two weeks ago, and they had hardly progressed fifty miles since. A distance they could normally travel in two or three days, as they faced no resistance. Grandfather spent half his days talking to Cousin Edrick or sitting alone in his tent analyzing the battle over and over again with only Grey Wind and Ghost to keep him company.

To make matters worse, he seemed to have turned more lenient towards their enemies than before, which was in direct contrast to the sentiment of all Northmen. Whilst he and most of their countrymen wanted to burn the whole Reach down, his royal grandfather seemed to have turned softer, as if his fire had suddenly burned out.

Luckily, Uncle Rickard was still here. His uncle, who was also in the middle of grieving for the loss of his family and friends, had taken charge of many things in their host. Many of the Northmen had seen in the Crown Prince a way to express their worries and frustrations. He had also gone out of his way to talk to both him and Rion, asking how they were and grieving together with both of them about the loss of father and Cousin Medgar.

Still, his frustration kept rising day by day, and he wasn't the only one. More and more disgruntled nobles were visiting Prince Rickard every day from all over the North and even parts of the Riverlands.

He hadn't been idle himself either. This morning his late father's younger brother, Uncle Ethan, had organized a meeting. One of the few good things that his grandfather had done since the battle was promoting Uncle Ethan to the active commander of the Glover forces. After the dead of his father, he had become the head of his house at only twelve-years-old. He didn't know how to lead; he was too young, and he couldn't combine it with his duties as a royal squire. His Uncle Ethan helped him with this and commanded the troops in his name. He also helped him out with grievances, but didn't overstep any bounds.

This morning, he had gathered other disgruntled kin on his father's side, the Woolfields and the Forresters. The Woolfield heir, Brandon, had also fallen in the battle. Brandon had been married to his Aunt Erena Glover, and their children, his cousins, were Brandon's heirs. Brandon's father, Lord Manfred, and his two younger brothers, Bennard and Walton, were fuming about the King's lack of action. Lord Edmyn Forrester had also died, his heir Gerhard Forrester also eager to avenge his father's death. His Uncle Ethan had married Gerhard's sister, and the relations between him and his, now lordly, goodbrother were excellent.

However, many of his disgruntled maternal Stark kin had also attended. Lord Cley Cerwyn, the King's own goodbrother, had asked the King for permission to go and burn down Longtable three times now, and thrice he had been refused. Lord Cley's second son and new heir, Rion, had also been there. After the loss of Cousin Medgar both were adamant on revenge.

Vassals, and members of other befriended houses had also been present, most notably Ned Umber, Eddarick Dustin and members of Clans Wull, Barclay and Liddle. Together they had agreed to position the king to allow them their revenge, hoping that their numbers would aid them to success this time. They would do so in private, as not to challenge his authority. No, grandfather had an almost mythical status among his kin and countrymen, but they would challenge his recent decisions in private. As his vassals, they had the right to do so.

Soon, Uncle Ethan would arrive here with the others to meet with grandfather. The audience had been formally requested and accepted, and Uncle Rickard had promised to also be present. His nerves were driving him crazy. Would grandfather relent? Would he be mad at him for pursuing vengeance against the Reachmen? Would he dismiss him as his squire? So many questions ran through his head.

He tried to shake them off, as he put the royal chest plate back after it was finished. He picked up his grandfather's helmet, and wiped it clean with a dry cloth first. After having removed all the dirt and debris, he picked up a wet cloth from his bucket and went to work, careful to not scratch the metal.

In rhythmic strokes he continued his work, until he finally saw a group of men approach. His great-uncle Torrhen, the Commander of the Wolfsguard, stopped them and told them to wait in front of the tent, as he walked inside to tell the King of their arrival.

He immediately stopped cleaning the helmet, almost jumping up, but Uncle Rickard gently, but firmly, put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him down again. "I can understand your eagerness to join us, nephew, but it does not excuse leaving the royal armor unattended in the middle of our camp. You can clean it after the talks, but you need to put it back where it belongs before you can attend."

He sighed but nodded. His uncle was right of course. Whether or not his grandfather would be angry on him for the purpose of their talks he could not know for certain, but he would certainly scold him for leaving his personal armor unattended. He picked up the helmet and ran with it into the royal armory tent. By the time that he got back, the others had already entered. Great-uncle Torr silently stepped aside as he approached, signaling that he was allowed to enter.

When he entered the tent, he saw how everyone who had attended their morning meeting had already taken a seat, with Prince Rickard sitting symbolically at the King's right side. Next to the Prince there was an open seat, and his uncle motioned for him to claim it as his own. He looked puzzled to his uncle, but his grandfather waved it away.

"The head of House Glover always deserves a seat of honor, as do any of my grandsons. You deserve it twofold. Now sit down Galbart, so we can start this meeting." King Robb Stark ordered him, and the recognition that his grandfather gave him made him puff out his chest.

He looked around the table, as he sat down. In front of him sat Lord Manfred Woolfield, and between him and the King sat Lord Cerwyn. Next to Lord Woolfield sat Ned Umber, then Eddarick Dustin, and then the Clansmen of House Wull and Barclay, and Rion. To his own right sat his Uncle Ethan, Lord Forrester and then Lord Liddle.

"Well," His grandfather scoffed, as he looked around the table. "Get on with it. I know you have prepared what you have to say. We are all Northmen here, no need to sugarcoat any of this. I am no Southern flower that will get offended by your grievances. You have received your audience, now use it." The King's bluntness would be unsettling to many, but not to these men. They appreciated it more than anything.

To his right, Uncle Ethan started speaking. "Your Grace, we have been asking ourselves why we have not fully taken advantage of our victory these past two weeks. We have won a pivotal battle, and the Reach is awfully crippled, if not terminally wounded, because of it. Yet, we are not capitalizing on it. All the men in this room have paid a horrible price for this victory, you and yours included. We would not want to see it go to waste."

All men grumbled their approval, and he joined in. "What would you have me do then?" Grandfather replied. "Pick up camp and force march everyone to Highgarden?"

"No, Your Grace." Lord Cerwyn shook his head. "We want you to do as you have done since you and I were but simple children, heirs to our lordly fathers. We want you to lead. There is no army commander more talented nor experienced than you are. We have our own ideas yes, but we would not mind you making other arrangements, as long as something happens. We want to stop crawling up the Roseroad like this. It seems eerily familiar to the tales of King Renly Baratheon's march the other way three decades ago, albeit in lesser spirits. We do not want to suffer the same fate as Renly did. Your vassals want you to act, our allies want you to act."

All men nodded. "I would follow you to ruins of Valyria without hesitation, Your Grace. What I will no longer do is be content to sit here and do nothing while our enemies regroup." Lord Liddle gruffly added, which was followed by a chorus of aye's, resounding from every side of the table.

His grandfather's face betrayed nothing, as he looked around the table before settling on Lord Cerwyn. "You spoke of plans of actions. Are there any others than you attacking Longtable?"

Lord Cley nodded. "Aye, we split up the army."

King Robb just cocked his eyebrow. "We split up the army?"

Ned Umber, Lord Smalljon's younger brother, answered. "Aye, we split up the army. It is too large, which makes it inert and cumbersome. Whilst our allies vowed to help us against the Tyrells, they also have other goals that do not completely align with ours and they are starting to make themselves heard. Let the Stormlanders break off to conquer the Blueburn and Cockleswhent vales. Let the Royces and their allies seek the plunder they long for elsewhere."

"And what would that achieve for us?" Their king asked them.

"It would immobilize the Reach." Lord Barclay stated. "After the battle, only one group of Reachmen retreated in good order, those under Lord Dickon Tarly. The others scattered to all corners of their kingdom. Some fled to Highgarden, but most ran home. Thousands of enemy fighters are scattered throughout the kingdom. Setting our allies upon their homes will ensure that neither the Tyrells nor Tarly can rally them again."

"Where would we be in your plans then? As I understand that none of you wishes to sit here and do nothing." Grandfather responded, the last snarky remark a clear response to their crude words, but nobody took the bait.

"We march further upon the Kingsroad, as it is one of the two major lifelines of the Reach. Yet, we do it quicker and more efficiently. The army keeps moving, only stopping to take major towns or castles. All the while we sent of splinter forces to take lesser keeps, towers and strategic towns or villages. We take control of the enemy's heartland and its abilities to raise or supply another army." Lord Woolfield explained.

"There are no major towns or keeps until we reach Appleton. There are dozens of smaller holdfasts and towns, but no major points." King Robb replied. Lord Manfred Woolfield grinned back in response. "Then we will cover a lot of ground quickly."

"What about Tarly? What if we stretch ourselves or our provisions too thin?"

Ned Umber joined in again. "All our scouts have reported that he has retreated back to either Horn Hill or Starpike. Both are at least two hundred miles away from our forces. Our outriders have confirmed that his forces crossed the Mander a few miles west of Cider Hall. If we march quickly enough and keep watch of all possible crossings, nothing unexpected of note can happen to us before we reach Appleton."

"My cousin will gladly volunteer some of Barrowton's riders to increase our number of scouts in the area." Eddarick Dustin added.

"My brother Morgan was killed fighting against Tarly's soldiers. My kin and I will pursue his force to the Redwyne Straits if you deem it beneficial. Be it to scout them or put them down for good." Dorren Wull, heir to the ailing Lord Hugo, grunted.

"Our men will also volunteer, if you deem it necessary, Your Grace." He spoke up for the first time, as he shot a doubtful look to his Uncle Ethan, and Prince Rickard. Both of his uncles shot him supportive glances, which made him feel better at his suggestion. His grandfather's eyes silently pierced into his own for a long while, before nodding.

Finally, Prince Rickard spoke up. "The plan has merits, father. We ensure the loyalty of our allies, by allowing them to claim the lands and loot they covet. It will also keep them far away from further … outbursts like at the Calmden Farms."

He thought back about that episode from a week ago. The clans of Skagos, under the leadership of Clan Crowl had diverted from the marching order without permission from the King. They had made for a small farming village situated a few miles to the south of the Roseroad. The lands belonged to a House Calmden, small and unimportant landed knights sworn to House Merryweather.

Clan Chief Harvertr Crowl had ordered all of its citizens, man, woman or child, to be executed and hanged by their entrails from the nearby tree lines. The tower of House Camden had been demolished, and its village torched. Its ruling house hadn't even escaped House Crowl's wrath, with all its remaining members hanging as proof of their recent extinction from the same trees as their subjects.

Harvertr Crowl had returned to the camp by nightfall, from head to toe covered in the blood of his many victims, and had proudly proclaimed his deeds, which had sickened their Southern allies. He recalled the events of that night vividly.

By chance, he had been there when Crowl was questioned by the Stormlanders, Lord Harvertr had showed no remorse whatsoever. He had looked them all in the eye, blood still dripping from the axe at his hip, while saying.

"They killed my son, Baldor. I looked upon his mutilated corpse with my own eyes. They stabbed him in the back, IN THE BACK. My son and heir was killed by some prissy coward who didn't dare to fight him head on. Baldor was a very skilled fighter. They thought they could butcher him like a common beggar, in the back and that no one would take notice. Well, Clan Crowl took notice. I NOTICED." The man had bellowed. "The only remorse that I feel now is that there aren't enough trees in this Gods forsaken kingdom to hang all these wilted flowers from. However, it won't stop me from trying. Many have died this day, but many, many more will die before Harvertr Crowl or his kin sheath their weapons. A duty of vengeance has been forced upon us. It will only end when all of my people bath to their lips in the blood of my son's killers, or if we all die trying. If the latter is true, then the Gods will welcome us to their halls as heroes, and our sons will burn the Reach again to finish the job in the coming years." The Skagosi clan chief had spat back.

This had been met with shock and outrage, as a heated back and forth started. This had lasted until one knight, Ser Clifford Swann, had pointed to him personally, while accusing Lord Crowl. "How can you speak such filth, such barbary, while kids watch upon you this very instant. Have you no sense of decency?"

Lord Harvertr had simply laughed. "That is no mere child. That is the Glover of Deepwood Motte. Through his mother's side, he is the grandson of the King. Through his father's side he is the grandson and direct heir of Red Robett, the Freybane. That boy knows more about the ugliness of war, and the necessity of vengeance, than you will ever do."

He had then turned towards him. "Tell me, Glover, do you think I was unjustified? Your own father was killed in the same attack as my son. Wouldn't you have joined us, if you were just a few years older?" The dark brown, almost blackish, eyes of the Skagosi warrior chief had pierced into his eyes. To the shock of all in attendance, he had reluctantly agreed with the statement. Hateful glances had been thrown at him from a Riverlander knight wearing two blue towers on his silver-grey tunic. Before it could escalate, Prince Rickard had arrived and diffused the situation. Lord Crowl hadn't been openly reprimanded for his actions, but he and his men had been stuck with latrine and baggage duties ever since.

The events had caused a rift between them and their allies, and his uncle and grandfather had realized this. As his grandfather's squire, he often overheard their conversations. Prince Rickard had brought the idea of splitting up the army twice before.

Grandfather didn't reply to his son's remarks, instead peering over a map of the Reach. A silence settled over the meeting, as all looked upon the King in anticipation. Finally, after what felt like ages, grandfather spoke up.

"Your plans have merit." He finally spoke, in a slow and measured tone. "Splitting the army to destabilize the Reach's potential to regroup is a good plan. I will discuss it with Royce and Baratheon. I will also think where to send the Valemen best. A location that would be strategically viable, but also full of loot and plunder to satiate their objectives."

"I want scouts to be send as far away as possible. From Goldengrove to Cider Hall, I want no surprises. If possible, we even let them cross the Mander until they reach Whitegrove. I count on the men of Houses Dustin, Glover and the clans to bolster the numbers of our outriders so they can do so." He shot a lock across the table, even locking eyes with him. He timidly nodded under the stern icy blue gaze.

"If there are no further grievances, I would like to end this meeting. I must prepare an army to march in the coming days." None said another word, and they all filtered out of the command tent. Rion waited on him at the exit.

"What are your duties for the day?" His cousin, well he was actually his mother's cousin but the Cerwyn heir was only two years older than him, asked.

"I have the clean the King's armor." He responded back, his voice betraying how little he looked forward to the job.

"I had planned to clean the prince's armor tomorrow. I could shift it around and we could do it together, if you want?" His friend asked him. He nodded happily, and Rion ran off to the prince's tent to get everything he needed.

Not much later, they sat in the warm Reach sun together, their sleeves pulled up and their hand soaked as they diligently cleaned the royal armor. They spoke about how their lives had changed these past two weeks.

He'd had it hard with his newfound responsibilities as lord of his house, as they came much too soon, but Rion might have had it even harder. His cousin had always expected to be a free spirit, as was the prerogative of a second son. He had longed to travel the kingdoms with the Crown Prince and maybe visit the Free Cities once his duties were done before entering into Winterfell's service. Now he had suddenly become the heir to House Cerwyn, with duties to his father and ancestors he could never shake. Gone were his dreams of seeing the Titan of Braavos or visiting the brothels of Lys.

"How is your father doing?" He asked his friend.

"He has been fickle ever since Medgar died. He is biding his time, but he is waiting to get revenge. I have never seen him like this. At home, mother can be fickle. Father normally is as steadfast as a rock, always calm and collected, even joyfull. Now, he is restless. Uncle may be king, but he won't be able to deny my father his revenge for much longer."

He nodded along. He had been noticing the changes in Lord Cerwyn's behavior too. He wasn't the only one. Many friends and acquaintances from the North had been behaving oddly, as most had lost close kin in the recent battles. He wondered if he was behaving strangely himself, but he couldn't tell as his whole life had turned upside down and nothing seemed normal anymore.

"He has been giving me more tasks and responsibilities lately. It will become hard combining those and performing my duties to the prince, but Cousin Rickard has been very forgiving. He told me to do my best and to not worry about it for now, and that a more permanent solution will be found after things calm down." Rion explained.

"That's good. Prince Rickard is a good man." He absentmindedly replied.

Rion nodded but changed the topic of conversation. "And you? How are things going for you?"

He shrugged. "My Uncle Ethan has been an enormous help. He has taken command over my family's troops in my name. The soldiers know him and the lower nobles respect him. He takes care not to overstep his boundaries and makes sure he does homage to me wherever necessary, but he is effectively managing the encampment alone. I am forced to deal with any grievances or disputes myself, but Uncle Ethan is always available for advice, as are grandfather and Uncles Rickard and Jon. Even my Stark gooduncles have chimed in with some advice, Ser Allard Royce and Ser Jeffory Mallister have both come to express their condolences and offer guidance. Mallister even spoke about deepening the ties between our houses after the grieving periods for both our fathers have passed."

Rion listened attentively and gave him a sympathetic smile, but didn't say much. He didn't know what to do with that look, so he squinted intensively at a filthy spot on his grandfather's armor, putting all his strength and determination into scrubbing it off. Afterwards he slumped forward. "Sometimes, I don't know if I have it in me … to rule our house."

His friend frowned. "Of course you do, Gal! You have been instructed by the King for years. You might not realize, but once you come of age you will be more ready for it than most Northern heirs ever were. You just aren't ready yet. Listen to grandfather, learn from him and his advisors, and in time you will be a natural. I plan to do the same with the Prince. You have your uncle here to help you, and your mother can help take care of most things at home. Everything will come around in the end, give it some time."

He nodded meekly. "Thank you, I needed that." He genuinely voiced. His older cousin clapped his shoulder in support, completely forgetting the filth and soak that it was drenched it.

"Hey!" He shouted, as he looked at the dirty spot on his tunic, that clearly had the imprint of Rion's hand.

His friend laughed a little guiltily, but he wouldn't get away so easily. He scooped a bit of water up from their filthy bucket and splashed it at his cousin. Rion looked affronted, but he just grinned in response and soon both of them were laughing loudly. Some of the soldiers around them looked questioningly at them, and great-uncle Torr raised his eyebrow, but none stopped them and for a quick moment he felt careless, as together they guffawed into the clear midday air.

(Two days later)

Queen Alys Stark

The great hall of Winterfell was bathed in golden light, the long summer evening casting warm hues over the ancient stone walls. The hearth, dark and unlit, seemed strange without its customary fire, but the summer heat made it unnecessary. The banners of House Stark hung motionless in the still air, their colors vivid in the glow of the setting sun.

She sat at the high table, her sharp blue-grey eyes scanning a parchment while Osric hovered nearby. Her brown hair, which had recently become streaked with silver, was tied back in a practical braid, but still wisps escaped to frame her face. She quickly pulled one back behind her ear so she could continue to read. Her gown of pale grey linen, trimmed with green embroidery, was light for the season and comfortable but still marked her as the queen. Despite the warmth, she kept her expression cool and resolute as she read the latest missive from the South. It contained barely any news. The army didn't seem to be moving. What was Robb doing? Why weren't they exploiting their victory? Was Robb hurt and didn't he tell her? She would write another letter to Torr tonight. Her brother wouldn't lie to her.

Beside her, Artos, her infant grandson, lay swaddled in a wicker cradle. The little boy was dozing peacefully, one tiny fist curled under his chin. Alys reached out absentmindedly, her fingers brushing his cheek as she turned to her steward and cousin Osric. She could do nothing about the situation in the South. She could only make a difference here in the North.

"Ensure the granaries are inspected again," she ordered. "Summer or not, we cannot risk spoilage with the war draining our stores. And tell the kitchen to prepare extra provisions for the harvesters tomorrow. They'll need strength for the fields."

"And may this summer bring many more harvests." Her one-handed cousin replied with a nod. He left just as the door swung open to admit her gooddaughter Allara, her heavily swollen belly preceding her. Allara's dark-brown hair was pinned up loosely, her face flushed from the exertion of walking. Her three children followed behind her, together with young Vala, barefoot and rosy-cheeked from playing in the godswood.

"My Queen," Allara said, sinking onto a bench with a sigh, "your grandchildren have been pretending to be direwolves again. Edwyle nearly toppled into the pond chasing a rabbit."

The eldest of the children, six-year-old Edwyle, looked sheepishly at her. "It was a fast rabbit, Grandmother," he said, his wide eyes pleading for forgiveness.

She suppressed a smile. "A fast rabbit indeed," she murmured, ruffling his hair. "But a wolf must know when to wait and when to pounce, Edwyle. A lesson for another day."

Before Allara could respond, another figure entered the hall—her daughter Margaret, fourteen years old and brimming with nervous energy. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a tight braid, though tendrils escaped to curl at her temples. The sleaves of her dress were rolled up, and a tired but determined look was etched upon her face, evidence of her latest efforts to relieve her of her of some of her duties. She wouldn't know what to do without her dutiful, willful youngest child.

"Mother, the birthing room is finished. The rooms are cleaned, new linen has been draped over the bed, the Maester has briefed the healers and midwifes." Margaret announced, as she coddled one of her nieces' hair. "

Alys looked up, her expression softening as she regarded her youngest child. "You've been busy, Margaret," she said. "But you should take care not to overwork yourself. Summer is no excuse to forget to rest. Take a seat and have something to eat."

Margaret nodded but her eyebrows frowned stubbornly. As she said down, she countered her good advice. "You're always working, Mother. So is Allara. It would be unjust for me not to help, besides the Gods know that you can use it."

She laughed loudly at her youngest daughter next to her. After composing herself, she placed a hand on Margaret's shoulder. "You are right, and you do help, my little wolf," she said gently. "But there is strength in pacing yourself. The North needs its Starks strong, not worn down like an old saddle."

Margaret hesitated, her defiance softening into a faint smile. "That includes their Stark Queen, mother." She shook her head at her daughter's defiance, but let it slide. Now that Allara was expected to give birth at any moment, she would have need of Margaret's help, and her daughter knew that a little too well. She herself could not leave. The battle had shaken the North to the core. She needed to remain in Winterfell to provide stability to their vassals, but maybe she should send the girl to Castle Cerwyn for a few days, to keep her aunt Arya company. Her goodsister had not been in a good state since she had received the news that her eldest son had died in the fighting. Jonelle Cassel was helping her out, but Lord Cley's elder sister could only do so much. Maybe her daughter and her direwolf Breeze could bring her some solace.

Allara shifted in her seat, rubbing her belly with a wince. "She's a good girl, My Queen," she said, her voice tinged with admiration. "You've raised them all well."

Alys returned to her seat, her eyes drifting to the cradle where Artos stirred but did not wake. "I've raised them to endure," she replied softly. "Because the North endures. But even the strongest wolves need their pack. Margaret has received that lesson in abundance, maybe more than any other of my children apart from Rickard."

Her gooddaughter's eyes followed hers to the crib. "Don't worry about Artos. My children will be thought the same lesson. Their cousin may lack a mother, he will never be without his pack."

She smiled at Allara. She had been one of the best choices that she and Robb had made. She had come to love Rickard, and they had been very happy together the last years before the war. She could be hard, and her length made her very imposing, but she was also intelligent, grateful and possessed a basic cunning that one wouldn't immediately expect from her considering that she was Smalljon's daughter.

Originally, the marriage had been purely political, and that had also paid off. She maintained great relations with many houses in their kingdom and had actively pursued closer ties between Rickard and her many family relations.

On top of that, her Umber and Mormont blood had also brought a simple, rugged atmosphere with her when she had arrived at Winterfell, which had served to trump most of the Southern influences that once been so common in the heart of the North. Her initial ladies consisting of Mormont and Umber cousins, daughters of Clan Chiefs from the Northern Mountains and even one from the Wolfswood Clans. She had worked actively to broaden this, and a Hornwood and Sumber cousin had also joined her together with a Flint, and Riverlander cousins Elyana Goodwood and Melissa Blackwood. Together they had formed an active and imposing presence of Old Gods believers in her halls.

For political reasons, she had partially countered this, and had herself taken daughters from Houses Paege, Darry, Deddings and Brune as her own ladies but nonetheless it was clear that the continuous Southern presence was much less, especially since her goodmother had gotten sick last winter. Lady Catelyn had suffered a stroke four years ago, at the blessed age of sixty-one years old. Due to the good care of Maester Jonos, she had survived the ordeal, but she had never fully recovered and had stopped actively partaking in the running of the household. She spent most of her time travelling to and from the Dreadfort, Moat Cailin or Castle Cerwyn to see her children and play with her grandchildren.

As her thoughts ran rampant, the hall settled into quiet as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the stones. Her two eldest grandchildren Edwyle and Lynara had ran out with to play with Vala, Margaret and Breeze, while little Arrana had fallen asleep with her head on her mother's lap.

For a moment, the weight of war seemed distant, held at bay by the fleeting peace of the season, but it all changed in an instant as Allara loudly gasped. Her head shot towards her gooddaughter, who looked back at her with wide eyes. "My water just broke." She uttered, as little Arrana started crying from suddenly being woken up.

Her grandchild was a little early, but in some way, she was just in time now that every preparation had been finished. She jumped up and picked up her granddaughter from Allara's lap, absentmindedly comforting the little girl. She snapped orders to the guards and servants in the hall, two guardsmen immediately coming to her gooddaughter's aid, while servants ran to get the Maester and the midwives.

Little Arrana looked concerned about her mother as Allara was guided by her ladies towards the rooms prepared for the birth. "Is momma in pain?" The little girl asked her. "No, don't worry little she-wolf. Your mother was just surprised. Your new brother or sister has just announced that he or she will be arriving soon, and she must prepare for the arrival, but she is not in pain. Come, let us find your siblings and your Aunt Margaret. You can play together with them while I will help take good care of your mother."

This seemed to placate the little girl, and together they walked out of the Great Hall to the children and direwolf that were playing outside. Lord Roderick Dustin took the crying little Artos in the other direction, to the nursery. You could say a lot about Old Lord Roderick, but he doted on his newborn grandson. The whole of Winterfell seemed to have jumped awake from their blissful little summer nap, as they prepared for the arrival of another Stark pup into the world.

(Ten days later)

Prince Rickard Stark

The warm sunlight of the Reach poured through the tall, arched windows of the Appleton solar, gilding the room with a golden glow. He stood apart from the gathering, his frame outlined against the vibrant fields beyond. The tapestry of the Reach stretched as far as the eye could see - rolling hills quilted with orchards heavy with fruit, pastures dotted with grazing sheep, and distant villages cloaked in green and gold. It was a land of abundance, so different from the rugged, unforgiving North he called home. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the scene, as he contemplated how different his people's lives would be with these resources at their disposal. Contradictorily, he longed for the snowy wastelands that were his home in winter, now more than ever.

Behind him, the room buzzed with the low voices of war. His father was seated at the head of the long oak table, his auburn hair, streaked with white and grey, catching the sunlight as he leaned over a group of maps sprawled with markers and scribbled notes. His brow furrowed as he spoke, which happened more and more frequently ever since his Uncle Jon's death. Around him gathered his bannermen and allies—a grim assembly of the staunchest Northern lords and Riverland commanders.

Lord Domeric Bolton stood with his pale hands clasped, his voice steely and measured as he contemplated multiple cunning maneuvers. Lord Smalljon Umber, his own goodfather, grumbled his dissent, as he asked aloud why they would wait any longer to march on Highgarden. Lord Hoster Tully, pointed at the map, as he pointed out the Reach's last other true remaining strongholds in Horn hill, Goldengrove and Oldtown, urging them to blockade Highgarden and move against the former first.

Other experienced commanders, namely Blackwood, Mormont, Deddings, Locke and Paege, joined in supporting one plan or the other. In the meantime, younger powerful nobles from his own generation like Dustin and Manderly tried their best to make themselves heard.

The air was thick with tension and strategy, a mixture of the Northern chill and the Reach's heavy warmth. Yet, he stood silent at the windows watching it all. Young Meeron Reed joined him, a nod of his young friend more than enough to understand that he was also here to observe the spectacle. In the loud discussion, only a handful of nobles remained silent, amongst them his younger brother Jon and his cousin Edrick, the new Lord Whitefyre. During all of this, their direwolves lazily dozed in the sunlight at his feet, not caring about what must be the millionth war council.

After a while, his father exchanged a silent, but meaningful, look with him. He instantly knew what to do, and slowly walked over to the chair opposite his father at the other end of the table. After sitting down, he clasped his hands, immediately catching everyone's attention.

"My Lords, our aims are clear. Firstly, we need to march on and invest Highgarden. Secondly, we need to secure our supply lines to and from it to make sure that our siege there is not broken. All other goals and plans are secondary. We have cut off the head of the snake weeks ago at the Fallen Flower's, and enough blood has spilled. If it's possible to end this war sooner rather than later then we need to take it. We have all lost more than enough already." All lords solemnly agreed with that.

"Do you really think that the Tyrells will surrender?" Lady Dacey Mormont asked, looking both to him and his father.

"Their army has been scattered. Most of their vassals have either been killed or captured and their monarch is a young boy. Their situation is already built on quicksand, resisting would be utterly moronic." Lord Brynden Blackwood countered.

"I do not dispute that, Lord Brynden. However, it wouldn't be the first moronic thing for these flowers to try and do, nor the last I am afraid." Lady Mormont replied, which Lord Blackwood begrudgingly had to agree with.

His father intervened. "My son is right. Now is the time to march on Highgarden! Nevertheless, you all propose interesting points. They are indeed secondary, but nonetheless interesting. Oldtown poses no immediate danger because of the distance for now, and our allies from the Vale will take care of Goldengrove and the Rowans. Our only real threat, apart from the seat of House Tyrell, is House Tarly. Whether the Tyrells will agree to our terms, or not, we cannot know for now as it depends on who becomes regent, nor does it matter for our plans. If they do, our march ends there. If they don't, we march on and pillage more of their lands until they come to us begging to surrender."

All nobles nodded along. "Coming back to House Tarly, it has come to my attention that he has taken the new Lord of House Peake, who is his nephew, under his wing and has wrestled control of the remaining forces of Whitegrove from their aging lord as well. Nonetheless, he only commands some seven to eight thousand men, while deserters and refugees flood his and his allies' lands. We must ensure that he won't be "able to come to Highgarden's aid without attacking him head on. He would force us to partake in long and costly sieges, whilst constantly attacking our supply convoys and rear. I don't want to be bogged down for months in the Dornish Marches. It could be our undoing."

"We will send multiple chevauchees into their lands and send messengers to the Baratheons to do the same from the east and south. These raids will aim to damage their small, landed vassals and amplify the already existing internal turmoil in their lands. It will also serve as an opportunity for some of the younger nobles to prove themselves." His father decreed. Dustin, Hayford and Manderly immediately perked up, eager for glory, while the older Lords Umber and Blackwood did the same, thinking about the possible opportunities for their young kin.

"The main force will continue along the Roseroad to Highgarden, but we will march at a slow pace. My heir is right, we need to secure our supply roads. I want all holdfasts, big or small, between our position, the Mander and the Lesser Mander secured. I want garrisons at all possible crossing places, and I want scouts send to the other side of both rivers. We will take no chances." Some of their vassals were surprised, but none objected. Dustin even looked pleased, as he probably rightly assessed that this would also give more possibilities to him and his younger cousin Eddarick, who had lost his father at the Battle of Pinkmaiden and his brother at the Fallen Flowers.

He glanced at the map of the area. Only small holdfasts remained there. After the battle, they had slowly followed the Roseroad towards Appleton, capturing multiple smaller holdfasts along the way that were crucial to protect their supply line. They had expected a long siege here, but Lord Appleton had ridden out of his walled town five days ago and had cleverly negotiated his surrender.

The Reachlord had proposed handing over both the castle and the town without a fight, in exchange for a few conditions. Firstly, he wanted his two sons, who had been captured at the Battle of the Fallen Flowers, freed without a ransom. Secondly, he wanted his lands and town spared from any pillaging or looting. Thirdly, he wanted a promise that his subjects would be unharmed. A clever ploy, as he had had no hope against tens of thousands of enemies anyway. It would ensure that House Appleton would emerge as a regional power after the war. All its neighbors would be forced into depth to rebuild their lands and pay the ransoms for their kin, whilst the Appletons would not.

None of them cared much for this development, and his father had readily agreed with the proposal to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. None of their vassals had complained, as all carried more than enough loot to satisfy their every desire by now. Besides, Appleton had been forced to hand over large portions of his stores, thereby strengthening their supply situation further.

Lord Appleton and his family had been moved northwards to Bitterbridge, where they would remain in house arrest until the Reach surrendered. At that time, they will be freed. His father would personally pay the Freys and Lockes for the ransoms they were owed for the lord's two sons. The town guard had been dismantled and the garrison disbanded, with Northmen and Riverlanders in full control of Appleton.

The only other notable castle in the area, New Barrel, had refused to surrender and was under siege by his Karstark cousins. He had personally advocated with his father to give them the command, something Edrick and Rickon had thanked him profusely for. He had worked himself up as the advocate for the grievances of the new generation, a thing his father seemed pleased about. True to his word, many commands after the battle had gone to his peers, and many more opportunities were to come their way.

What his father proposed, taking all holdfasts between the rivers, was a tad extreme, but it would prove an effective way to ensure their supply routes so close to Highgarden while given them an opportunity to enrich themselves further without any real opposition in the heart of the Reach. Besides, half of those holdfasts were sworn to Appleton, and would surely surrender on the same conditions as those given to their liege lord.

His eyes glanced over the other maps, depicting other parts of the Reach where armies were marching upon. A week after the battle, their coalition army had split in three parts.

The Valemen had marched towards Goldengrove, and after taking that they would continue towards Standfast, Coldmoat and Stackhouse thereby securing all that remained of the resistance in the Northmarch and the Lesser Mander Valley. They would make a fortune doing so, and all the loot and prisoners they would capture would greatly enrich those houses in contrast to those that didn't join House Royce's call and ensure the dominance of their allies in the Vale after the war.

The Stormlords had marched on Cider Hall, which was by now under siege. They would then raid and plunder along the Cockleswhent Valley until they reached the border of their own kingdom. If the Reach hadn't surrendered by then, they would and do the same to the Blueburn Valley.

This way, they would effectively control half the Reach, with Highgarden serving as the gateway in between. In the meantime, the Sunset Coast was still successfully being raided by their Ironborn allies.

Good news had also just come in that his uncle, Lord Cley Cerwyn, had sacked Longtable. After losing his heir in battle, the always composed husband of his Aunt Arya had gone into a frenzy. He had become fickle, restless and neurotic. His father had finally ordered him to work it out on the seat of House Merrywheather, which he had now successfully done leaving nothing but blackened ashes behind of the once great castle. One of his Cerwyn cousins would be left in charge of the area with a small garrison, as Lord Cley would rejoin them at Highgarden.

He tried his best to focus on the battle plans, but his mind kept going North. This morning, news that had come from Winterfell. His wife, Allara, had given birth to their fourth child, a son. He was healthy, and she had named him Benjen, after his young cousin who had perished in the battle. It was a good and strong name with a lot of Stark history, at least two Kings in the North had the same name and his late grandfather had had a younger brother Benjen who had joined the Night's Watch.

Before his departure, they had agreed upon another name, but he was glad that she had changed it. This was more fitting. Late Benjen's brother, his cousin Edrick, and he had been spending a lot of time together and Edrick would most often be found with either him or his father lately, if he wasn't brooding on his own. Upon hearing the name of his new son, the young Lord of Dragon's Lair had immediately expressed his gratitude at the gesture, as had his father and the Manderlys, Edrick's maternal kin, soon after.

He tried to shrug off his thoughts, as he bend forward to join in the discussion of who would march on which holdfast with what number of troops. Many young nobles got official commands, big or small, like Eddarick Dustin, Ser Tytos Blackwood, Ser Robin Deddings, Mors Umber, Ser Wyman and Ser Wyndar Manderly, Ondrew Locke and Ser Lymond Bracken. These weren't the most dangerous, nor the most difficult, tasks to complete. As such, they were a great way for younger nobles to gain experience, a thing which he fully tried to exploit.

However, since the news of the birth of his son, all he had wanted was to go home to Winterfell. He had discussed it with his father before the war council, and he had told him that that was how he had continuously felt during his campaigns in the South after the birth of his elder sister Edda. So, it seemed that he would have to accept and endure how he felt now. It would not go away until the Tyrells agreed to their terms.

This is it for this chapter.

Jon's death has taken a big impact on Robb, and the Northern vassals (with the Crown Prince) start protesting until Robb is forced to give in. The alliance splits up to cover more ground and we get to see the personal aftermath of the battle with the tragedies of the Glover and Cerwyn families central in this. You will see more of those two boys in the future. Other characters will also rise to the forefront, as Robb will need to replace those he lost. Robb becomes very cautious; we'll have to see if that continues.

We see what happens in Winterfell, and how Alys is dealing with baby Artos, pregnant Allara, her grandchildren and Vala Snow. The duties left on her shoulders are huge, but her youngest daughter Margaret helps out where she can. While Robb fights his wars, it is Alys that nurtures and protects the legacy of House Stark and keeps the North afloat, as was often the case with women on the homefront. We also get more information about Prince Rickard's wife Allara, and how she behaves.

Rickard has become a father, again. He wishes to end the war and hopes that the Tyrells will be forced to negotiate once they turn up at Highgarden. He knows what to do, but his heart longs for Winterfell and his family. The Northern lords get their first opportunities for revenge, Longtable is viciously sacked and New Barrell put under siege, as the main army marches along the Roseroad.

Thank you for your support.

Fannic

Reviews:

- RomanOrtega: Certainly not his family. Robb respects the Tarly's keen mind for strategy, and Jon died honorably in battle in contrast to what the Freys did. However, he might want revenge on Lord Tarly.

- Scifiromance: Thank you! Yes, Garlan and Dickon's battle plan was sound. The impact of the battle is huge. On a personal level, but also for the entirety of the nobility. Many important heirs and lords have died, thereby changing the whole dynamic of the Northern nobility. Dickon Tarly is dangerous, but he is cut off from Highgarden and licking his wounds. We'll see how he reacts now that his own lands will suffer raids from the north, east and south.

The losses are horrible for the North. Robb loses many useful and emotionally important figures. Robb won't want to risk Edrick, however Edrick might think differently. He might want revenge.

- George Christian810: Well, most seem to disagree with you.

- Supremus85: Depending on the terrain, the defender has often the advantage, yes. That's how Dickon managed to pull off his deception. They have started their march on Highgarden, but it is indeed formidable. Most of the Northern lords are hoping that the Tyrells will want to negotiate once they get there. There is debate on the bloody revenge, most of the North wants it but Robb seems very reluctant. Nonetheless, the first pieces of revenge have already happened, namely Calmden Farms and Longtable.

- Max20.7: Yes, it was necessary. No way that the North escapes such a war with all of its main characters still living. There is a difference between Tarly and for example Bolton and Frey. Tarly did it "honorably" on the field of battle. This changes how people look at it somewhat. However, Dickon Tarly is a very hated, but feared, person for the Northmen right now.

- Yogurt9928: Yes, your predictions were on point. Ghost will live for a while longer, we will see what Edrick does with him.

The impact on Robb has been great. He has fallen into a mental pit due to grieve. Edrick is also at a low point, understandably. We'll see if he rises out of the ashes or if it becomes too much.

The looting of the Reach has already begun. The alliance has split up and is marching against the last vestiges of resistance (Goldengrove and Highgarden), while taking action against Horn Hill. More on that later.

- Force Smuggler: Thank you!

- ZegetaX1: Because it wouldn't be realistic for all main characters to survive a war on this scale. Besides, it is ASOIAF. Its best and most realistic feature is that people die as they would in reality. Robb has achieved great things here, but at the cost of many of the people that he loved: Ned, Lord Rickard Karstark, now Jon, … and many other friends dear to him. War is no game. It kills and maims, and no one comes out unscathed.

- Poly19hum: Thank you! It wasn't easy to kill Jon off, but I tried to give him the last moments that he deserved. It does create many opportunities for other characters to rise to the forefront.

- Timdoe: Het blijft ASOIAF natuurlijk, de onverwachte dood van belangrijke sleutelfiguren in het verhaal is één van haar bekenste eigenschappen. Bran had gekund, maar Jon heeft een grotere impact, ook naar de toekomst toe. Je analyse van the Reach is exact wat er aan het gebeuren is, en de noordelijke adel heeft Robb tot de orde geroepen zodat ze er gebruik van kunnen maken. Hoe vond je de reactie in het Noorden?

- Graycup113: Yes, he was. They deceived the scouts of the alliance, making them think they had less cavalry than they actually did by keeping them back. After the fighting had started and Jon's cavalry was engaged, Tarly came in with some two thousand horses that nobody had seen coming, leading to the deaths of many.

- Timothy: Now! The following chapter will be published much sooner, as it is almost finished.

- Iacopo Passerini: No problem, friend. Your loyal following of this story always manages to lift my heart. The Northern forces want revenge, but also peace. They are tired. They will try to get a favorable treaty at Highgarden, but will the Tyrells agree to it? No one knows. If not, they might march as far as Oldtown.

- Church21: I replied to you in a PM.

- Guest: I did, sorry. Someone had to die, the war was too great and too dangerous. It wasn't easy to kill him off, but I had to for realism's sake. Yes, that was exactly like I pictured it as well. Maybe, through warging, it even was Arya … ?

In 47 years, to be exact. 30 years on the nose since Ned died, yes. Robb is taking it very hard. Luckily, he has strong children and vassals/friends that remind him of his strength and force him to rule. Garlan is dead. He died in the battle against the forces of the Vale and those in the center. I had to choose who's dead to show, and I chose Jon's. Your analysis of Robb is correct. He'll study everything until he falls over and will try to prevent his family from suffering more horrors.

Garlan brought his end on himself. He was greedy, prejudiced, zealous and power hungry. He caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people, both in the Reach AND the Riverlands. Considering that he valiantly died in battle, he got off lightly. However, whether his legacy and the fate of his family will be so kind I don't know.