Excellent update! When I saw the screenshots for the conspiracy to place him as Lord Paramount of the North, I was hoping I'd see the account of the war when I kept scrolling down, and I was not disappointed 
From the Lips of Flayed Men - GoT AFFC Spoilers
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This is an excellent AAR, specially how lively the characters appear. Your management of Quellon's death bug was superb, as was that of the wars in general.
A couple questions, out of curiosity: Who is Brieene married to? And which is Roose's trait between skilled fighter and scarred?
A couple questions, out of curiosity: Who is Brieene married to? And which is Roose's trait between skilled fighter and scarred?
Excellent update! When I saw the screenshots for the conspiracy to place him as Lord Paramount of the North, I was hoping I'd see the account of the war when I kept scrolling down, and I was not disappointed
Thanks! I was going to break it up but it wasn't a titanic conflict so I decided to leave it in summary.
Thank you very much! It's always nice to hear from a reader! There will be some more of the in depth third person updates coming that will hopefully flesh them out more.
Brienne is married to someone named Gulian of Lapworth, who so far as I can tell is 8 years older than her, has no fighting traits and seems to be rather poor stats wise. They seem to get along well enough but have no children.
That trait is dynastic stain which I'm assuming comes from multiple generations gaining the dishonourable trait, or just from the Red Wedding. I've taken it to come from the Red Wedding.
Ooooh! The Roose is loose again.
Good luck repairing the North and returning it to a semblance of strength... into a state where you can stand a chance to repel southern armies, should they choose to meddle in the affairs of the north again.
Good luck repairing the North and returning it to a semblance of strength... into a state where you can stand a chance to repel southern armies, should they choose to meddle in the affairs of the north again.
Chapter X - Debts to be Paid
Lady Kyra and I were quick to celebrate our victory and soon, we spent so much time together that I couldn't imagine my life without her. She was always there, always ready to care and to listen. She made me smile, even when I would have rather not have but I couldn't be angry with her. She had given me all I had ever wanted, and was all I could have hoped for in a wife. She had given me two children, and despite the loss of our last child, we soon put such memories behind us.
It took me some time to realize the fact, but sure enough I did. I loved her. I loved her more than I thought I could have loved anyone.
It wasn't so long after my realization that she surprised me, and I had all the more reason to be joyous once again.
The birth of yet another son was cause for thought and I dwelled on the future of my family. Would they slaughter one another as the Freys had? Would they be divided and scattered like the Starks? Would they whisper and wait for years to destroy each other as the Lannisters had done? It was all the motivation I had needed to spend more time with Eddard, away from Brenett and I soon found that he had a religious streak in him. Though I was tempted to have ignored it wholly or indeed to try and talk some sense into him, I recalled the loneliness in the Godswood. The endless questions of whether I spoke to Trees or Gods. How does one hear a voice in the wind, and listen as to a monologue, to a steady gust? No, if Eddard believed them, if he could speak to them or thought he heard their whisperings, it was all that ought to have been needed. If he stopped believing they heard or answered his prayers, then so be it, but for Roose it was too late and he had no interest in the Gods. If they knew Justice, I would not have been born and would have rested in my Mothers womb as my father died.
Eventually my thoughts returned to my position, and to politics, and the war and all that lay ahead. They were cold thoughts, but Kyra warmed my bed at night now that she had elected to remain in the Dreadfort with me.
I was Lord Parmount of the North, at last. To suit my new position however, and under both Mother and Kyras courtly advice, I took better care of my appearance at more times, beginning with a new haircut that was simpler to maintain and suited me rather well. More importantly however, I also acknowledged the nickname I had earned on campaign, and took a red flayed image of the Stark Wolf on a field of red blood drops on black and embossed in white as my personal banner. I imagine it was even more imposing than my usual Bolton banners.
With my Lordship of the North secured and neither my own son Eddard Bolton or my brother Brenett Stark of age yet, it did not take me long to begin governing properly, and righting the wrongs of Arthor and Brandon. Truth be told, I intended it to be little more than a regency for my brother, Brenett Stark, but holding real power finally allowed me to begin making the moves I'd considered since my discussions with Mother and Master Roose before his passing. Immediately, there were debts to settle. A number of payments left the Northern coffers and the war had depleted my own coin in the Dreadfort, but I was confident these would replenish in time. More important to me however, there were debts of honour to be repaid, and all would be fulfilled in whole measure.
First, to Lyanna Mormont, who had fled to the Dreadfort after King Arthor had banished her family from Bear Island and had served me well on and off the field of battle since, I quickly reinstated her family and named her Lady of Bear Island.
Next came my debt to my other loyal servant and friend, Bannen Bain. To him, in recognition of his service, I appointed him as Lord of the Sheepshead Hills and declared his descendants should rule those lands as long as they walked the world. Thankfully, he already had an heir, his son Mors Bain who had been born while on the campaign for the North. He was surprised at my recognition and part of me wonders now if it was right to have given him an appointment and title, when for so long he had seemed content to protect me and fight at my side.
Perhaps one of my deepest debts was owed to Martyn Payne for conveying Tommens message to me and in due order two ravens departed from the Dreadfort. One flew to the Gold Road, and another to King's Landing, pledging my fealty to the Queen as Lord Paramount. To my surprise as I had heard of the Southern Troubles a great deal, and had not expected a blind man to escape them, he replied and informed me that he was in good health and was celebrating the birth of his sixth child, though he celebrated alone. The boy was a bastard who had returned with Martyn from the wars, his Mother unknown.
From Kings Landing, the raven that answered mine was proper but was little more than an acknowledgement of a fact, rather than expressing gratitude for removing Brandon, as I had somewhat expected.
The raven also included a brief aside on the new Lord Paramount of the Reach, Luthor Tyrell, Second of His Name.
Other debts lingered and would be repaid later. The betrothal of Brenett Stark to Cassana Karstark awaited in the years ahead, as did the betrothal of Eddard Bolton to Leana Karstark. But one in particular was more pressing above them. But more pressing than any yet answered, was the fate of Brandon Karstark and his kin of Winterfell. I had wondered a long while how to answer their claims on Winterfell. How best to deal with them and regain the seat of my forebears and the inheritance of my brother. There was little to answer me as I wondered however and I racked my mind over the weight of justice and their guilt.
I had learned from my last games of court, many years ago now it seemed, as I had fought Walder Frey and Koroxhar of Yeen, that arresting your enemies was much easier than proving their guilt to the realm, no matter your own convictions. Many of the convictions were difficult to attain, and more than once Lord Wihltred had nearly ruined his own case. Now, more was riding on the matter.
Family, Duty, Honour.
Those had been the words of my grandmother, Catelyn Stark. I had never given House Tully much weight in my thoughts but now, it seemed their words bore down heavily on me. Family demanded the Winterfell return to the Starks. Duty demanded a swift and strong resolution. Honour demanded ... I remember stopping there many times as I thought. What Honour had I gained over the years? What Honour had I recovered for my House? What Honour would the realm accord me, and onto my dynasty after I passed?
What would my choice make of my Honour?
The thoughts plagued me and with no resolution after a fortnight, I decided to consider other matters before I returned to the Karstarks of Winterfell. Naturally, the realm had not been quiet.
News from White Harbour confirmed what I had heard months ago on my rise as Lord Paramount of the North. The Manderlys continued their gathering of titles alongside the Ryswells, and now a childhood friend had fallen prey to their machinations after a long siege. With damn near a third of the North set to lie under the rule of Bowen Ryswell when he inherited the Barrowlands and White Harbour, and nearly 10,000 men at his command, the North would not rest easy in the future if he proved an enemy of the Dreadfort ... Winterfell. An enemy of Winterfell. That was, and must be the seat of the North.
Other news from White Harbour though, was more welcome.
I wrote that I would be attending, and soon enough more news of the tournament reached my ears. The Nights Watch had returned after some time from their ranging, and both Jon Snow and Stannis Baratheon would be journeying to the tournament, to recruit new Crows for the Wall. Personally, I suspected they were coming to see the Flayed Wolf for the first time as well, but no doubt the Wall needed more men. Not since Mance Rayder had there been a Wildling threat, but rumours of White Walkers and all manner of creatures had been growing for some time. Now it seemed almost a regularity to hear of vanished babes or missing caravens, never found save for their abandoned goods. I paid them no heed.
At least ... not then.
Lady Kyra and I were quick to celebrate our victory and soon, we spent so much time together that I couldn't imagine my life without her. She was always there, always ready to care and to listen. She made me smile, even when I would have rather not have but I couldn't be angry with her. She had given me all I had ever wanted, and was all I could have hoped for in a wife. She had given me two children, and despite the loss of our last child, we soon put such memories behind us.
It took me some time to realize the fact, but sure enough I did. I loved her. I loved her more than I thought I could have loved anyone.
It wasn't so long after my realization that she surprised me, and I had all the more reason to be joyous once again.
The birth of yet another son was cause for thought and I dwelled on the future of my family. Would they slaughter one another as the Freys had? Would they be divided and scattered like the Starks? Would they whisper and wait for years to destroy each other as the Lannisters had done? It was all the motivation I had needed to spend more time with Eddard, away from Brenett and I soon found that he had a religious streak in him. Though I was tempted to have ignored it wholly or indeed to try and talk some sense into him, I recalled the loneliness in the Godswood. The endless questions of whether I spoke to Trees or Gods. How does one hear a voice in the wind, and listen as to a monologue, to a steady gust? No, if Eddard believed them, if he could speak to them or thought he heard their whisperings, it was all that ought to have been needed. If he stopped believing they heard or answered his prayers, then so be it, but for Roose it was too late and he had no interest in the Gods. If they knew Justice, I would not have been born and would have rested in my Mothers womb as my father died.
Eventually my thoughts returned to my position, and to politics, and the war and all that lay ahead. They were cold thoughts, but Kyra warmed my bed at night now that she had elected to remain in the Dreadfort with me.
I was Lord Parmount of the North, at last. To suit my new position however, and under both Mother and Kyras courtly advice, I took better care of my appearance at more times, beginning with a new haircut that was simpler to maintain and suited me rather well. More importantly however, I also acknowledged the nickname I had earned on campaign, and took a red flayed image of the Stark Wolf on a field of red blood drops on black and embossed in white as my personal banner. I imagine it was even more imposing than my usual Bolton banners.
With my Lordship of the North secured and neither my own son Eddard Bolton or my brother Brenett Stark of age yet, it did not take me long to begin governing properly, and righting the wrongs of Arthor and Brandon. Truth be told, I intended it to be little more than a regency for my brother, Brenett Stark, but holding real power finally allowed me to begin making the moves I'd considered since my discussions with Mother and Master Roose before his passing. Immediately, there were debts to settle. A number of payments left the Northern coffers and the war had depleted my own coin in the Dreadfort, but I was confident these would replenish in time. More important to me however, there were debts of honour to be repaid, and all would be fulfilled in whole measure.
First, to Lyanna Mormont, who had fled to the Dreadfort after King Arthor had banished her family from Bear Island and had served me well on and off the field of battle since, I quickly reinstated her family and named her Lady of Bear Island.
Next came my debt to my other loyal servant and friend, Bannen Bain. To him, in recognition of his service, I appointed him as Lord of the Sheepshead Hills and declared his descendants should rule those lands as long as they walked the world. Thankfully, he already had an heir, his son Mors Bain who had been born while on the campaign for the North. He was surprised at my recognition and part of me wonders now if it was right to have given him an appointment and title, when for so long he had seemed content to protect me and fight at my side.
Perhaps one of my deepest debts was owed to Martyn Payne for conveying Tommens message to me and in due order two ravens departed from the Dreadfort. One flew to the Gold Road, and another to King's Landing, pledging my fealty to the Queen as Lord Paramount. To my surprise as I had heard of the Southern Troubles a great deal, and had not expected a blind man to escape them, he replied and informed me that he was in good health and was celebrating the birth of his sixth child, though he celebrated alone. The boy was a bastard who had returned with Martyn from the wars, his Mother unknown.
From Kings Landing, the raven that answered mine was proper but was little more than an acknowledgement of a fact, rather than expressing gratitude for removing Brandon, as I had somewhat expected.
The raven also included a brief aside on the new Lord Paramount of the Reach, Luthor Tyrell, Second of His Name.
Other debts lingered and would be repaid later. The betrothal of Brenett Stark to Cassana Karstark awaited in the years ahead, as did the betrothal of Eddard Bolton to Leana Karstark. But one in particular was more pressing above them. But more pressing than any yet answered, was the fate of Brandon Karstark and his kin of Winterfell. I had wondered a long while how to answer their claims on Winterfell. How best to deal with them and regain the seat of my forebears and the inheritance of my brother. There was little to answer me as I wondered however and I racked my mind over the weight of justice and their guilt.
I had learned from my last games of court, many years ago now it seemed, as I had fought Walder Frey and Koroxhar of Yeen, that arresting your enemies was much easier than proving their guilt to the realm, no matter your own convictions. Many of the convictions were difficult to attain, and more than once Lord Wihltred had nearly ruined his own case. Now, more was riding on the matter.
Family, Duty, Honour.
Those had been the words of my grandmother, Catelyn Stark. I had never given House Tully much weight in my thoughts but now, it seemed their words bore down heavily on me. Family demanded the Winterfell return to the Starks. Duty demanded a swift and strong resolution. Honour demanded ... I remember stopping there many times as I thought. What Honour had I gained over the years? What Honour had I recovered for my House? What Honour would the realm accord me, and onto my dynasty after I passed?
What would my choice make of my Honour?
The thoughts plagued me and with no resolution after a fortnight, I decided to consider other matters before I returned to the Karstarks of Winterfell. Naturally, the realm had not been quiet.
News from White Harbour confirmed what I had heard months ago on my rise as Lord Paramount of the North. The Manderlys continued their gathering of titles alongside the Ryswells, and now a childhood friend had fallen prey to their machinations after a long siege. With damn near a third of the North set to lie under the rule of Bowen Ryswell when he inherited the Barrowlands and White Harbour, and nearly 10,000 men at his command, the North would not rest easy in the future if he proved an enemy of the Dreadfort ... Winterfell. An enemy of Winterfell. That was, and must be the seat of the North.
Other news from White Harbour though, was more welcome.
I wrote that I would be attending, and soon enough more news of the tournament reached my ears. The Nights Watch had returned after some time from their ranging, and both Jon Snow and Stannis Baratheon would be journeying to the tournament, to recruit new Crows for the Wall. Personally, I suspected they were coming to see the Flayed Wolf for the first time as well, but no doubt the Wall needed more men. Not since Mance Rayder had there been a Wildling threat, but rumours of White Walkers and all manner of creatures had been growing for some time. Now it seemed almost a regularity to hear of vanished babes or missing caravens, never found save for their abandoned goods. I paid them no heed.
At least ... not then.
Interesting character study. Are you going to work the Others into the story somehow, or is there going to be a Wildling resurgence? I had a game once where the Wildlings actually took over the entire North (but then the entire Seven Kingdoms stepped in and liberated them).
I like how human are you making me feel Roose, in the sense that he looks like a normal fellow trying to do his best, not the protagonist of a great history, and that improves the sense of believability, I think.
By the way, I wished you could use the CoA you described as your dynasty or realm insign! (but then I'd start demanded that the dynasty name be changed to Dreadstark, to better fit the banner LoL)
Great job there. Keep it going!
By the way, I wished you could use the CoA you described as your dynasty or realm insign! (but then I'd start demanded that the dynasty name be changed to Dreadstark, to better fit the banner LoL)
Great job there. Keep it going!
Ooooh! The Roose is loose again.
Good luck repairing the North and returning it to a semblance of strength... into a state where you can stand a chance to repel southern armies, should they choose to meddle in the affairs of the north again.
It is quite a challenge. The laws and the crown authority are very low now that everything has been taken under control.
Wait and see. I saw another AAR about the Greyjoys where a mad Wildling Invasion crossed the Wall and went absolutely ballistic. Any unexpected invasions are great, and I hope to have at least a few surprises for my readers.
Thank you very much! And unfortunately so do I. I imagine that Roose would too and having changed my family name to break with the past myself, I can tell you it is cathartic. Roose would surely like to do something like that, except the predominance of family and House in Westeros and the fact that his dynastic stain would still plague him make that route of action moot. The only reason to do so would be to consolidate his hold on Winterfell and The North, but the Starks are still kicking, and their presence makes that point moot.
Speaking of which, the Starks will be very important soon enough.
'The Flayed Wolf'? A custom nickname, I presume? I wonder what'll happen during the tourney; Jon will be wanting to see his 'sister' no doubt..
I'm always bothered by how the story goes against what happened in the books whenever I play aGoT mod. So I like about your decision to start the AAR with the story already having had gone beyond the timespan the books cover.
I'm always bothered by how the story goes against what happened in the books whenever I play aGoT mod. So I like about your decision to start the AAR with the story already having had gone beyond the timespan the books cover.
SPOILERS
Chapter XI - Black Stag, Black Wolf, Black Name
Roose pulled hard on his spear and blood squirted back into his face as he freed the weapon from the boars skull. The thing had been twice the size of any boar he'd seen before, and he was thankful he'd aimed true and got the beast through the eye. Had he been a drinking man, he might have missed. Another hard yank and the weapon slid out, blood oozing from the wound as the boar kicked and spasmed on the ground. The kicks of the dying. He licked his lips and tasted the salt in the crimson, as he wiped his face with his leather glove.
It was the fifth morning of the tournament, and so far everything had gone exceedingly well. Mother had decided to join him on his journey, she said to see her brother, but Roose gussed something else was afoot. Brenett Stark too had come to meet his uncle for the first time, and the Lord of the Dreadfort was keen to meet him as well. Along with them, his young son Eddard was in tow, and Bannen Bain had come as well. Along with Donnor, Brandon and now Master Jory, Keeper of the Windy Grove in the Dreadfort, it was the largest party that he had left his lands with in many years.
This morning though, he was with only Jon Snow and Stannis Baratheon, though his Mother, Walton Poole, Donnor and particularly Harlon, had asked to join them. Bannen at least had not approached him about it, and his sisters husband, Qhorin Reed seemed want to avoid his brother-in-law by all means after the rumours that he had had fathered a bastard and insulted Meliana's honour. Of course, Roose already knew they were true. His sister had come to him in tears a week ago, when they had first gathered for the Tourney.
"A fine day for a hunt." he said, breathing in the morning air deeply and turning to smile at his Uncle. The beast at his Uncles side peered around the black cloak draped over his shoulders and eyed the meat, though it made no motion. Ghost had grown massive now. Already large when it had been young, the wolf was nearly the size of a horse now, with jaws wide enough to take the head clean off a man. It's red eyes darted from the boar to Roose and Jon brought up a hand to stroke the beasts fur.
"Ghost agrees with you." Jon said, looking at the Lord of the North. The Lord of Winterfell. The Crow was everything that Roose had expected, though he had shaved it seemed. All the stories of his uncle spoke of his black beard and long black hair, but here he was a clean shaven man. He was dressed in all black, as was Stannis beside him who squinted in the morning light as the sun peaked into the forest. Both men had their swords at their side, Lightbringer and Longclaw, and each also had a silver brooche of their sigil across their heart.
"Your brother was quite the hunter, was he not?" Roose asked, looking at Stannis.
"Aye he was, and a King." He answered.
The day had been awkward so far. Jon had been strangely quiet despite Roose's questions and Stannis seemed as curt and to the point as a dagger in the belly. About as pleasant, too. Still, Roose was patient with them. After all, he had taken the seat of House Stark and had not yet returned them to Winterfell or the Lord Paramouncy of the North, while he had sworn fresh vows to Queen Myrcella on the Iron Throne - the Queen Stannis still accused of bastardry, even if he had given up claim to the throne after his defeat under Tommen Lannister and exile to the Wall. No doubt though that the King renouncing his Baratheon line had lent credence to those claims. More than that though, Stannis' only friend Davos Seaworth, The Onion Knight, had died in the dungeons of Roose's grandfather during the War in the North.
"I imagine it was some beast like this that got him." Roose said, kicking the boar at his feet.
"No. It was a Lion that got him." Stannis said, glaring into the gaping wound on the pigs face.
"And now they are bold enough to sit openly on the Throne." Roose added. "Coming from someone who has considered it, it is a drastic thing to renounce your line as they did."
"They had nothing to renounce." Stannis countered, looking square at the Flayed Wolf. "They were bastards, with no claim to the Throne, or my House."
Roose paused for a moment. His eyes turned to Jon. "The Lord-Commander is a bastard. I would say he has more than earned his position, and would have done well as Lord Paramount, had he accepted your offer to join you against the Lannisters." He smiled wryly. "The Gods saw fit to turn the proposition around it seems."
Jon's eyes hardened for a moment. "There is something we need to discuss." He said finally.
"Yes." Roose agreed, leaving the boar and returning to his horse.
"Two matters." Stannis said, shooting a glance at the Lord Commander. Roose ignored it as the other two Lords followed him and mounted as well. Ghost had watched them leave the meat, and after a nod from Roose, Jon let the beast feast on the carcass as they walked their mounts abreast to discuss the matters at hand.
"There's news beyond the Wall." Jon began. Roose was silent. He had heard enough rumours beyond the Wall that Jon could be about to discuss anything. "After the war against Mance Rayder, where the two of us broke his army," Jon gestured to Stannis "the Wildlings scattered back North or settled the New Gift at my invitation."
"I know. It caused us some trouble a while back under King Arthors reign, and few of the Lords approved - least of all the Umbers." Roose said as they walked over a small hill and passed over it, to follow a creek the led deeper into the forest.
"Aye. They were led by Tormund Giantsbane who garrisoned some of the forts along the Wall with the other able bodied men who came South. Those who returned North were led by a man we called The Weeper and for a year or so it seemed he might have held them together. Eventually some of Tormunds men traveled North with Stannis. They found the remnants of his army that had rebuilt what I knew as Crasters Keep, what we call the Weepers Fort now." Jon paused a moment, as if struggling to find the words.
"It was a charnel house of slaughter." Stannis interrupted. "There were carved limbs and bodies laid out as far as the eye could see in swirling patterns. Runes were painted in the snow, in the blood of the dead, and in the distance we could see a Weirwood tree, covered in the bodes of Wildlings who had been nailed to it."
Roose grimaced. "In the distance? How close could you get?"
"Closer than most would have dared." Stannis answered. "Two of us went hunting when we first made camp. They never returned. Another went for a piss less than ten yards from the fire. We found him drawn and quartered the next day. He hadn't made a sound. I carried on with two of the Crows and the last Wildling in our company. We found that ... that scene." He said, his eyes glazing over for a moment. "We carried on for a morning until we climbed a nearby hill to look out and see where the bodies ended. On the climb we lost a Crow. On the way down we lost the other."
"What do you mean, you lost them?" Roose asked.
"They vanished from as close to me as you are now."
"I can almost reach you." Roose said in disbelief.
"I know." Stannis answered.
"And they didn't make a sound?" He asked again.
"The only sound I heard was the spray of their blood on the rock behind me, and then nothing. No breath, no bodies falling to the floor. Nothing but blood." The Baratheon winced and looked up through the trees before turning back to Roose with a face of stone. If he was merely thinking or collecting himself, Roose had no idea. "That was when we saw them, on the way down. A pack of men on decrepit chargers with piercing blue eyes like sapphires you could spot a league away. Beyond them, a few thousand men fleeing the Keep and heading in the direction of the Gorge."
Roose was silent for a long while when Jon spoke next.
"A while later, we picked up their trail. Your man, Ser Walder rode out with Mance Rayder and found them at the Gorge, in Tormunds old Hall. One of his sons had returned to take residence there, and had a son himself. His name is Tormund, like his Grandfather."
"Without so much as a sound, he managed to encircle and attack Mance and his party. When Ser Walder and Mance and a few others escaped, we sent a larger party to retrieve them and guide them out. He ambushed them and even fewer survived. Through both ambushes, he was at the forefront and went mad in the battle. Eventually the survivors and he came to blows. His strength held Tormund off, but the Wildling turned on Ser Walder next."
Roose listened intently. He still remembered the day he earned the scars on his body, when last he hunted men over beasts and got more than he bargained for. Uncounsciously, he stroked the scar brandishing his cheek that ran from jaw to nose.
"The Frey fought bravely, but Tormund hacked off his arms and bit out his throat. Anyone who survived broke for the Wall after that and it was a miracle that Mance and a few others made it back."
Roose looked down at nothing, at the distance, at memory and time itself.
"Gods damn you Roose. Gods send you to the seven hells."
The injured Lord of the Dreadfort lay on his side, half awake and half alive as he watched his once-friend cover his face in his hands and weep in their own blood and the mud beneath them. He had taken everything from him. His love, his life, and now he would take his honour. Guilty or not, Ser Walder could no longer stay at court.
'The Wall.' The thought rang through his mind. 'The Wall.' Over and over as his vision faded into the empty black abyss.
He hadn't remembered that then ... He must have been imagining it now, especially after so long.
"Maybe it was Ser Walder's intervention that let Mance escape, if that's any solace, but when the Twice Turned reached Castle Black, we realized that it must have been Tormund who had led the Wildlings out of Weepers Keep."
"And?" Roose said stirring from his thoughts. "What's another demented Wildling savage beyond the Wall? You got out the ones you could."
"Aye the Lord-Commander did, and it's not the Wildlings we're worried about." Stannis answered. "When I spoke to Mance Rayder before he died, he said that he had only seen a man like Tormund once before in his life. When he described him, I knew that I'd seen a man like that before myself."
"And the more we spoke of Tormund beyond the Wall, the more stories and myths we couldn't tell from fact. Mance spoke of dead horses and dead men leading the vanguard in the ambush while the others could barely speak at all."
"That was when you called the Ranging." Roose realized.
"Exactly." Jon answered. "We marched in two groups, one to Weepers Fort under Stannis Baratheon with Samwell Tarly and half our men. The other group marched with Theon Greyjoy and myself to the Gorge. Stannis' group found nothing. No bones, no bodies, no blood, no trace. All they found was the empty Fort. My men reached the Gorge and had a brief parley with Tormund and he told me everything I already knew."
"You spoke with him?" Roose asked. They had been walking for some time now though he hadn't noticed it, and now they had followed the creek so far that another quarter of a league and they would reach the clearing just a short distance from White Harbour. The morning was still as beautiful and still all the same, but the air had a new chill to it as the conversation had persisted.
"Aye, and do you know what he told me?" Jon asked. Ghost had caught up to them now and trotted round behind them, the horses made noises amongst themselves but were surprisingly easy around the Direwolf.
"No, I don't." Roose answered.
"He told me he was born dead. He told me the White Walkers had brought him back to life and that after more than twenty years of searching alone, they've begun gathering all the Wildlings left beyond the Wall to look for the Horn of Winter"
"The Horn of Winter? Joramuns Horn?" Roose asked, pulling his horse to a stop. For a moment he caught himself believing the tale but the rumours had been growing since before the War of Five Kings, and he had heard enough of them in his own life that they seemed less to be stories and more and more portents of what lay ahead, and worse besides.
"Aye." Jon said, stopping his horse as well, along with Stannis.
"If the Wildlings find the Horn, then the Wall comes down. If the Wall comes down, there's nothing left to stop the White Walkers from marching all the way to Dorne." Stannis concluded.
"But it was destroyed. Your own priest, that Red Woman, she destroyed it." Roose reasoned. Everything he had heard about the war said that Mance Rayder had found the Horn and that Melisandre had burned it along with all the dead from the Battle in the Snow.
"Mance Rayder claimed to have the Horn, and Melisandre claimed to have destroyed it." Jon said. "Both were lies, and Mance confessed some time after he bent the knee, confirming what Tormund Giantsbane had told me already."
"So it's still out there?" Roose asked in disbelief. The Horn in the hands of the White Walkers ... It was an impossible thought.
"With her last breaths, the traitor Melisandre, told me as much." Stannis said. "Before I drove a sword through her chest."
Roose was silent. He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to feel. He had thought the Wildling threat over, a shadow of the past. There were fewer raids these days than in generations past and the Winter had been slow coming since the War of the Five Kings, a long cold summer that hung on the edge of turning worse every year. Besides, the tales of the White Walkers had always been a myth ... a story to frighten children and little lords into listening to their elders. To think that it was all wrong ... to think there were fewer raids because more Wildlings served the others, to think that Winter stalled because the White Walkers were waiting to come with it and to think that the White Walkers might find the Horn of Winter with this Tormund beyond the Wall and bring the last guard of the Seven Kingdoms crashing down ...
"We have to find it then." Roose resolved. "We have to find the Horn of Winter before the White Walkers." Jon shook his head.
"You have to rule. I've seen you in the lists the last few days, and I've heard how people talk about you. You don't seem as bad as some say but you have their respect at least, and you have legitimacy. Legitimacy that no one else does." Roose took pause and looked up at Jon. "I am a bastard. Bran and Rickon were gone for years and no matter how much I vouch for them not all the Lords will be convinced, and the Queen less so. Sansa has married some southern Lord and her children will be of his House, not to mention her Lord-husband has imprisoned her."
Arya is still missing and-"
Jon stopped mid sentence. Roose's head turned and he struggled to make sense of what he'd heard.
"Arya is my Mother." Roose said. "Arya Stark, is my Mother." Jon closed his eyes and lowered his head. It was Stannis who spoke next.
"Did she ever tell you how she came from Kings Landing to the North? Did Bran and Rickon ever confirm her lineage? Has she ever come to the Wall to visit her brother, her closest brother?" Stannis asked. Roose was silent. Everything he'd heard today confused him. "Have you ever wondered why she pushed you and Walton Poole together as kids? Why she asked you to grant him titles?"
"What are you saying?" Roose asked, his voice becoming more of a growl. "Tell me Lord-Commander. What is our second topic of discussion?"
Roose flipped down the maw on his helmet. The Flayed Wolf they called him. With the blood of Stark and Bolton in his veins it made sense. It was all that had made sense. Now, everything was in question and he needed to ease his mind. To set it at rest. He felt the charger beneath him raise its head and grunt and exhale as it readied itself. It was a massive horse and jet black, save for the cloth draped around it bearing the black field marked with white embossed crimson droplets, and Stark wolf. They were his colours. It was his sigil. It was his name.
It's what he had told himself his whole life. It was all that had kept him going. The Starks had been honourable where the Boltons had earned the hatred of the North for their villainy and cruelty. He had fought for his seat because of his Stark blood and the claim granted to him by the Lannisters. He had fought for his honour because of the strength in his Stark ancestors. Now it all ebbed away like the cold breath the horse exhaled in the morning, and the wind leaving the crowds lips as they roared their approval.
It was the last day of the tournament now. Lord Donnel Ryswell had already been announced to have come in third, having barely beaten out Harlon Umber, the heir to the Last Hearth though the Umber boy was only 15.
This was the last fight in the list, and he looked through the fangs of his helm at the opposing knight. The man did not have as dramatic a helm. In fact his helm was rather simple, being plain and merely doing the job of covering his head and face. It was all the Night's Watch had accorded him. At his hip was his sword, the famed Valyrian Steel blade Longclaw and it bore the Stark Wolf on its hilt. His horse was a beautiful white creature and the cloth upon its back was the white field and grey wolf of House Stark.
Lord Commander Jon Snow was across the field and stood as still as stone atop his calm, white beast. When their talk had turned to argument, and yelling turned to screaming, and push had turned to punch, each knew that this was the only outcome of the Tourney of White Harbour. The Black Wolf stared across the field at the Flayed Wolf, and Roose Bolton struggled to control the grimace on his lips or the tears of anger and confusion that rolled down his cheeks and along his scar. His charger felt the tension as it had done before, when it rode with him against Brandon Karstark, and instinctively ground its hoof into the dirt, digging in a display of pride and aggression.
Lady Wynafryd of White Harbour entered the stand after a small delay and quickly took her place to preside over the final match. She was an older lady with an aged face and lines that spoke of wisdom, though Roose didn't know if she was truly as smart as she looked. It almost reminded Roose of his own mother. Another tear rolled down his face as he blinked to clear his eyes and the crowd cheered for all the pomp that had come of the tournament and that was usually hard to find in the North. She waved with a gentle grace and took her seat in a grey blue velvet gown with a white fox fur shawl, though the weather today was overcast and cool, and might have warranted warmer wear.
Roose watched the stands as the trumpeter marched up to his station and looked at his Lady for the command. For a brief second, Roose's eyes darted to Jon Snow. The Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. The Bastard of Eddard Stark. The bastard who had known his whole life what he was and who he called family. The man who would have been his uncle. The man who should have been his uncle. Lady Wynafryd raised her hand into the air and smiled at the crowds.
But this bastard, this Black Brother couldn't ever be his uncle. Not now. Not after Roose had confronted Lady 'Arya' Stark and had been met only with tears, all but confirming his thoughts. His whole life she had lied to him, to the whole Seven Kingdoms. She had let him believe he was something he wasn't his whole life and now he knew the terrible truth of his brother and sister, Meliana and Brenett. The terrible truth that he could never tell them or let pass from his lips. The only people who knew and who could ever know was himself, his Mother - Lady Jeyene Poole, Stannis Baratheon and Jon Snow. But Mother had kept the secret this long and despite the need for Stannis against the Wildlings and White Walkers, he was old and would die soon. Soon enough it would only be Jon Snow who knew the truth. Jon Snow and himself, now.
Roose blinked again and realized his breath was ragged as his eyes cleared. It felt as though he had already been fighting Lord Snow all morning.
The trumpet sounded and he spurred his horse into action. The charger roared forward and Jon's horse did the same, running like an avalanche towards him. They came closer and closer and Roose wondered if it was better to let go. To let the problems of the world sort out themselves. To let go of the North, of his House, of the White Walkers, the Iron Throne, all of it. To drop his shield and lean into the lance. It would be so easy. He could see the window approaching. It might even look like an accident if he made it right. He started to feel the weight that had carried with him since birth. The last Bolton with the blood of Starks ... The redeemer of his House ... the Lord of the North ... It was all so heavy.
His shield began to sag and slowly, he felt his grip come loose as he stopped caring, as the tears on his face eased and his breath seemed to slow and calm itself. He felt the weight falling off of him as he rode.
Jon Snow reared his lance up and away as Roose Bolton leaned into the blow, the lance careening off the Flayed Wolfs shield, and throwing his head back from the blow. Roose lance missed just over Jon's shoulder and the blow pulled him back to reality as he widened his eyes and came to his senses. As he turned the corner at the end of the list to make the second pass, the crowd roared and he turned his head sharply to face Lord Commander Jon Snow. He gripped his lance tighter and dug the spurs deeper into his horse, sending it at the Crow faster than he had pushed it since the war. With his other arm, he brought the lance up and this pass, Jon brought his lance around in a straight impact on Roose's shield. Roose's lance too smashed into Jon's shield and seemed to them both as if they fell off in unison as the crowd exploded in uproar and cheers.
Jon struggled over to his side and pushed himself up as Roose sprang to his feet and drew his sword. Longclaw flashed from it's scabbard and Jon rose to his feet to block the first blow made by Roose, a straight two handed cleave with his longsword from overhead. The clash of steel was magnificent and against the Valyrian blade, sparks flew as his own sword ground against the finer metal. The crowd roared at the display as Jon pushed back and stabbed forward with his blade, though Roose sidestepped and slapped it away with the flat of his sword.
The Flayed Wolf swung out with his sword in a wide arc and Jon jumped back. Again, the Lord of the Dreadfort slashed forward and Longclaw came up to block him, sending sparks scattering overhead. Jon pushed back and set Roose on his back foot, slashing out with his blade and scattering sparks as the weapons met in a dance of steel. He swung round and struck low but Roose blocked the strike and flung his blade back, with both men spinning round to catch each other overhead. There was a great roar as the swords met and the fighters grabbed the others sword hand with their free arm and struggled against each other. Roose was younger but both were still the same strength and neither could gain the upper hand as they struggled.
"I ... am ... a ... Stark" Roose hissed. He took a breath as he brought his head back and slammed it into the face guard of Jon Snow. The Lord Commander threw his head back from the blow and let go of Roose's hand. The crowd gasped and one woman in particular caught Roose's sight in the crowd. He paused a moment as she leaned to the man beside her and whispered, eyes wide. She wore a green dress and symbol of House Cassel adorned her sleeve. For a moment, Roose's heart sunk ... had they heard him?
Before he could think again, a mailed fist slammed into his jaw as Jon Snow regained his footing. "Do you want the whole world to hear you?!" he whispered, as he brought round his sword again to strike upwards. Once again he was confused. Why would Jon let him keep his honour? Why would Jon let him keep his name and his Houses as all they were and had been? He was a Stark, but he would let this pass? His thoughts almost got the better of him as he struck down and blocked the blade, almost wondering in the back of his mind if Lord Snow was holding back. Roose swung wide and Jon stepped out of his reach but as the Lord Paramount stepped back he took another second to think. With his sword in both hands, he swung the blade high and caught Longclaw mid air.
As if it was naught but glass, the steel shattered on the Valyrian blade in the air and the spark sent all the spectators to the floor as they roared their approval. Dropping his blade, Roose grabbed Longclaw out of Jon's hand and slammed his plated elbow into the Lord Commanders ribcage. Jon keeled to the side and gasped for breath as Roose spun round behind him and kicked out the back of his legs, bringing the Crow to his knees before wrapping Longclaw round and pressing it against Jon's throat.
His breathing was hard and he kneeled down behind the bastard, suddenly realizing the cut on his leg and the blood draining into the mud from his side. "Lord Snow" he began, whispering into Jon's ear as the crowd went silent.
"I will not give my honour for the secrets of my father and I will not give the respect I've earned for the whispering of a Mother, or a Wolf, or a Stag." he hissed. "Go back to the Wall with Stannis Baratheon and stay there. Freeze at the Wall and leave me the rotted honour you've shown me so clearly." he drew back, suffering another breath out of spite for his Mother, his Father and all the Gods with a part in his fate.
"I will flay the man living who hounds out this secret and you will hold your tongue, or you will swallow it." he growled.
"Go back to the Wall and leave me be." he said, his voice trailing off as his grip on Longclaw failed and he dropped the blade.
"Go back ... and leave me a Stark." he finished.
Jon and Roose slumped forward from the ordeal.
The Crow breathed a sigh of relief, and the Flayed Wolf wept in the mud.
Nice update, I was worried one of them was going to die there. I like this look into the darker side of Lord Roose. Could it be foreshadowing for whats to come next?
Bravo! You've had me hooked for weeks, but I had to come out of lurking to commend you on this chapter.
Great update! I loved how you involved the walkers in an in-game ranging war. Very ingenious. And Roose confronts her true ascendancy at last! I'm eager to see the consecuences this revelation will bring forward...
By the way, I wasn't aware that old gods followers -or black brothers, for that purpose- could participate in tournaments. Is that a feathre of the base mod? Or did you moded it in? Or does it has to do with White harbor following the Seven?
By the way, I wasn't aware that old gods followers -or black brothers, for that purpose- could participate in tournaments. Is that a feathre of the base mod? Or did you moded it in? Or does it has to do with White harbor following the Seven?
I believe anyone in the seven kingdoms can join and hold tourneys but only the faith of the seven followers can be knighted. Even in the books, Jory Cassel participated in the Tourney of the Hand.
Sansa was imprisoned by her own husband? Dang. Any reason why? (I didn't miss something did I?).
Thank you for this update!! This was really a great episode. Roose Bolton the Younger, confronted with his true parentage by no other than Jon Snow o Marvellous writing!! Thank you so much for it. The perfect mood-setter for tonight's GOT episode.
o Marvellous writing!! Thank you so much for it. The perfect mood-setter for tonight's GOT episode.
Yes it was custom. As for the tourney I hope you enjoyed the last update!
And thank you. I hadn't intended originally but it surprised me and I went with it.
Thank you! Roose has always had a bit of a dark side, but it's not the usual villainy. He's clever enough to make use of his family's reputation and doesn't mind reinforcing it, but how much he actually takes after them is debatable and will be in focus later.
Thank you! Always great to hear from a reader!
Thank you! I always intended it be an issue around this time and in other AARs I was always rather bothered by the total absence of the White Walker threat. I'm trying to explain and expand upon it here.
And this is correct for the mod at least.
No, to be honest I have no idea. I just got a message pop up one day as I tagged her as an important character.
Thank you for this update!! This was really a great episode. Roose Bolton the Younger, confronted with his true parentage by no other than Jon Snow
Thank you very much! That's very kind of you!
Bolton AAR - First character proceeds to be just and brave.
Although that deceit and cynicism might cancel it out a little.
But really, I'd say it's written very well, and I love how you work the events into the story.
Although that deceit and cynicism might cancel it out a little
.But really, I'd say it's written very well, and I love how you work the events into the story
.
Chapter XII - The North and The South
The weeks after the Tourney were a dark time in the Dreadfort. I stalked the halls in an ill mood and in the company of Kyra and my friends I pushed them away, refusing to discuss what had changed me from the Tourney. Only Mother Jeyne knew. She was wise enough to stay out of my way, but Brenett was unaware and on more than one occasion I left him confused with a look on my face of sorrow and fury. I couldn't tell him. But all the same I knew who he was. I knew who my sister Meliana was. I knew who I was. They were the secrets I would have to carry to my grave. Neither of them could know, and if history considered the possibility, it could jeopardize everything I had worked for to return the Starks to a place of honour before the tourney.
I had no choice, I would keep my promise to Jon Snow. I would flay any man who questioned the possibility of my families lineage.
Weeks passed and my mood remained grave. Ravens came and passed with news from across the realm and beyond. They said that Edmure Tully, the last of the main branch of his House had died in Mereen across the Narrow Sea and far beyond in Slavers Bay. He would have been an older man by now, and his release of two dragons had no doubt earned him the ire of the Ghiscari Empire.
As usual however, the reputation of House Bolton, the Flayed Wolf and my own ill temper had some uses at least. With a single raven, and a reminder of the twenty flayed skins bearing the Stark wolf when I seized the Lord Paramouncy of the North, the Lord of Chyttering Brook cowered in his castle and at once ordered the release of Sansa Stark. The promise of 30,000 angry Northmen marching on a single keep can sway many Lords.
I heard thanks from her shortly after, but even so my mood remained. Thankfully, Master Jory, Kyra, Mother, and all my family pulled together to try and drag me out of it. I was surprised when I walked in on them all waiting me with full tables and wide smiles. The fact that I retreated to my study for so many hours no doubt made it easier to organize. For the night, I managed to forget my troubles. I managed to forget my name and everything but Kyra, and her love.
It was not a week later that I learned of more violence in the realm. Given old loyalties to House Stark, the Lion on the Throne and my on infamous name, it was of little surprise that the smallfolk rose up once again. The first uprising inspired a second and I wrote to my Queen Myrcella and assured her that I would crush the fools and that no one would think of rebellion for another generation.
We hunted them through the North and eventually heard that Brandon Karstark had joined the rebellion. Marching into the field with them as the fool he was, we cornered them in Acorngrove with a few thousand more men. Winterfell had turned against him and denounced him as they cast him out. With the few supporters he had gathered to him, we finally met to settle the matter of Winterfell and deal with the wretches who were no doubt inspired by the peasant rebellion under Arthor. But I was a different man, and would punish their treachery harshly.
The battle was bloody and Brandon and his ilk were ill prepared. We outfought and outmaneuvered them through the entire battle and left them with a scant thousand survivors. Of the 600 men we took prisoner, all but one head rolled in a fortnight as all were asked a simple question. "What aid have provided the Iron Throne?" The last man, the only we let live claimed to have saved my wife from a group of bandits some years ago when they were both young. He led her through the woods and eventually they hid in a rotted tree by a creek outside Flint's Keep.
His name was Harrion and to my surprise, Kyra had indeed known him in her youth. In thanks, I spared his life and sent him to the Wall to serve Jon and prepare against the Wildlings and White Walkers.
News through the rest of the campaign was sparse as we hunted fast, soon bringing out the hounds for the hunt as the rebellion scattered and the scum fled. One of the more important ravens spoke of the Riverlands and the death of Lord Paramount Clement II. No explanation was given, but he was known to be a weak boy. News also came from of Shireen Baratheon, who had died after falling ill in the dungeons of Lady Paramount Brienne of Tarth.
Eventually, we finished the rebels and strung up Brandon by his ankles in a Weirwood Tree where we left him for the beasts. With the excuse of the rebellion, I stripped his line of Winterfell, and announced myself as regent of the Castle until my brother Brenett came of age. The fighting had distracted me more and I at least felt satisfied with attaining Winterfell for my brother. If nothing else, a Stark would at least reign in Winterfell. To solidify his claim, I fufilled his betrothal to Princess Cassana, daughter of Arthor Karstark, King of the North and they wed in a lavish ceremony at Winterfell, the first of a Stark since Eddard and Catelyn wed more than forty years ago.
Some weeks later, in recognition of my promise and the swift end to the rebellion, Queen Myrcella Lannister named me Warden of the North. There was no ceremony and it was only affirming what everyone knew already.
With the traditional title of the Lord of the North, I returned to the Dreadfort from the end of the rebellion, and the wedding of my brother in better spirits to meet with my family.
It was a long time before another raven came from the Queen. When it did arrive, over a year from the last, much had changed. The children were older and had grown. Eddard had grown better than Brenett with his sword and Lacey was older too. She had started playing more with the boys her age and I over heard her gushing to Kyra about one boy or another every so often. So long as she kept her honour, I paid it little heed. Mother Jeyne had given Meliana such freedom and so long as Lacey kept to the bounds of my will, she was free to do so as well.
With the raven, came at least a month of travel on the road. Now though, with my family older, I decided it was time they saw more than the North and the towers of Winterfell or the walls of the Dreadfort. Soon, we would march south and Northmen would look upon the Red Keep for the first time since Eddard served as Hand of the King to Robert Baratheon.
The weeks after the Tourney were a dark time in the Dreadfort. I stalked the halls in an ill mood and in the company of Kyra and my friends I pushed them away, refusing to discuss what had changed me from the Tourney. Only Mother Jeyne knew. She was wise enough to stay out of my way, but Brenett was unaware and on more than one occasion I left him confused with a look on my face of sorrow and fury. I couldn't tell him. But all the same I knew who he was. I knew who my sister Meliana was. I knew who I was. They were the secrets I would have to carry to my grave. Neither of them could know, and if history considered the possibility, it could jeopardize everything I had worked for to return the Starks to a place of honour before the tourney.
I had no choice, I would keep my promise to Jon Snow. I would flay any man who questioned the possibility of my families lineage.
Weeks passed and my mood remained grave. Ravens came and passed with news from across the realm and beyond. They said that Edmure Tully, the last of the main branch of his House had died in Mereen across the Narrow Sea and far beyond in Slavers Bay. He would have been an older man by now, and his release of two dragons had no doubt earned him the ire of the Ghiscari Empire.
As usual however, the reputation of House Bolton, the Flayed Wolf and my own ill temper had some uses at least. With a single raven, and a reminder of the twenty flayed skins bearing the Stark wolf when I seized the Lord Paramouncy of the North, the Lord of Chyttering Brook cowered in his castle and at once ordered the release of Sansa Stark. The promise of 30,000 angry Northmen marching on a single keep can sway many Lords.
I heard thanks from her shortly after, but even so my mood remained. Thankfully, Master Jory, Kyra, Mother, and all my family pulled together to try and drag me out of it. I was surprised when I walked in on them all waiting me with full tables and wide smiles. The fact that I retreated to my study for so many hours no doubt made it easier to organize. For the night, I managed to forget my troubles. I managed to forget my name and everything but Kyra, and her love.
It was not a week later that I learned of more violence in the realm. Given old loyalties to House Stark, the Lion on the Throne and my on infamous name, it was of little surprise that the smallfolk rose up once again. The first uprising inspired a second and I wrote to my Queen Myrcella and assured her that I would crush the fools and that no one would think of rebellion for another generation.
We hunted them through the North and eventually heard that Brandon Karstark had joined the rebellion. Marching into the field with them as the fool he was, we cornered them in Acorngrove with a few thousand more men. Winterfell had turned against him and denounced him as they cast him out. With the few supporters he had gathered to him, we finally met to settle the matter of Winterfell and deal with the wretches who were no doubt inspired by the peasant rebellion under Arthor. But I was a different man, and would punish their treachery harshly.
The battle was bloody and Brandon and his ilk were ill prepared. We outfought and outmaneuvered them through the entire battle and left them with a scant thousand survivors. Of the 600 men we took prisoner, all but one head rolled in a fortnight as all were asked a simple question. "What aid have provided the Iron Throne?" The last man, the only we let live claimed to have saved my wife from a group of bandits some years ago when they were both young. He led her through the woods and eventually they hid in a rotted tree by a creek outside Flint's Keep.
His name was Harrion and to my surprise, Kyra had indeed known him in her youth. In thanks, I spared his life and sent him to the Wall to serve Jon and prepare against the Wildlings and White Walkers.
News through the rest of the campaign was sparse as we hunted fast, soon bringing out the hounds for the hunt as the rebellion scattered and the scum fled. One of the more important ravens spoke of the Riverlands and the death of Lord Paramount Clement II. No explanation was given, but he was known to be a weak boy. News also came from of Shireen Baratheon, who had died after falling ill in the dungeons of Lady Paramount Brienne of Tarth.
Eventually, we finished the rebels and strung up Brandon by his ankles in a Weirwood Tree where we left him for the beasts. With the excuse of the rebellion, I stripped his line of Winterfell, and announced myself as regent of the Castle until my brother Brenett came of age. The fighting had distracted me more and I at least felt satisfied with attaining Winterfell for my brother. If nothing else, a Stark would at least reign in Winterfell. To solidify his claim, I fufilled his betrothal to Princess Cassana, daughter of Arthor Karstark, King of the North and they wed in a lavish ceremony at Winterfell, the first of a Stark since Eddard and Catelyn wed more than forty years ago.
Some weeks later, in recognition of my promise and the swift end to the rebellion, Queen Myrcella Lannister named me Warden of the North. There was no ceremony and it was only affirming what everyone knew already.
With the traditional title of the Lord of the North, I returned to the Dreadfort from the end of the rebellion, and the wedding of my brother in better spirits to meet with my family.
It was a long time before another raven came from the Queen. When it did arrive, over a year from the last, much had changed. The children were older and had grown. Eddard had grown better than Brenett with his sword and Lacey was older too. She had started playing more with the boys her age and I over heard her gushing to Kyra about one boy or another every so often. So long as she kept her honour, I paid it little heed. Mother Jeyne had given Meliana such freedom and so long as Lacey kept to the bounds of my will, she was free to do so as well.
With the raven, came at least a month of travel on the road. Now though, with my family older, I decided it was time they saw more than the North and the towers of Winterfell or the walls of the Dreadfort. Soon, we would march south and Northmen would look upon the Red Keep for the first time since Eddard served as Hand of the King to Robert Baratheon.
It's not gonna be that "justified war" council event is it?
Re: The Rebellion - Sometimes it's good to have a harsh reputation...I doubt the peasants will think of rebelling again any time soon.
Re: The Rebellion - Sometimes it's good to have a harsh reputation...I doubt the peasants will think of rebelling again any time soon.