GOT : Chapter 66
( Rickard POV )
The wind was softly blowing through the snowy plains of the North. The northern host was, for all intents and purposes, home. But there would be no rest for now.
Just like the war down south, the northern camp was bustling with excitement and had set up camp in Wintertown, just under the mighty fortress of Winterfell.
Just how the Ironborn managed to capture this monstrosity with a handful of men was beyond his understanding.
Had the sentries been asleep? Or did they just commit that many men to the war effort? Nevertheless, they now had the task of retaking it, and it would prove to be quite an easier affair than Moat Cailin.
Ravens had flown from the Stony Shore. The last Ironborn had been evicted from Torrhen's Square and Deepwood Motte, and their ships either burned down or captured. Lord Manderly's forces could now come back.
They, on the other hand, would continue north first towards Karhold, then Last Hearth and Eastwatch to assist the Night's Watch with their wildling problem, all the while raising men eager to fight down south.
After all, King Robb was not someone who would just abandon his allies at the snap of a finger.
Speaking of the king, he was once again hard at work in his command tent, his massive direwolf at his side, as if giving him advice on the next battle plan to use.
Quite a queer creature, that one. Rickard Karstark had never seen direwolves before, but the tales of these beasts were that of cruel creatures, and they were … on the battlefield.
Around the king and most Northmen, these beasts acted just like domesticated dogs. That is…if you count the domesticated dog's meal being an entire stag.
There were fewer men in the command tent this time. Daryn Hornwood had been sent to organize his wedding preparations at Karhold and Howland Reed had stayed back to defend Moat Cailin.
As a result, only him, the Greatjon, Lady Mormont, and Lord Rodrick Ryswell were in attendance. And the atmosphere was bleak, to say the least.
The king was still pondering over how to attack and where to attack, especially since a few Ironborn that escaped the slaughter at Deepwood Motte apparently reinforced the fortress.
Suddenly, two people appeared in the command tent, which made every single person in the room turn their heads towards them. These faces were those of Kyle Condon and Benjicot Branch.
The first was one of the king's personal guards, previously in service to House Cerwyn, and had been wounded several times down south.
Lost a few fingers and got badly scarred, but never stopped fighting. The other, Benjicot Branch, was a scout sworn to House Glover.
"Your grace." The two men bowed, with Kyle Condon speaking up. "We have come back to tell you that Deepwood Motte is ours and Lord Glover thanks his grace for ridding him of the Ironborn. He will send his men here as soon as he has finished rebuilding his defenses.
As for Lord Manderly, his host, once it has rested and replenished, will also be on its way to Moat Cailin and Winterfell both, as per your orders."
"Thank you both for your service." The king nodded. "However, Lord Glover had given me this very news by raven, there was no need to send forward runners."
"Oh, that's because he sent us to deliver a token of thanks, for your assistance in retaking his home." Benjicot Branch grinned through his dirty teeth.
"A token?" the king raised an eyebrow.
The two men nodded, with Benjicot Branch eclipsing himself for a moment, quickly speeding out of the tent, before dragging someone in.
"Let me go you, northern bastard! Let me go or I'll fuckin' unman you!"
The room suppressed a gasp, while some grinned in anticipation. The king himself allowed himself to smile.
"Well, well." The king taunted. "If it isn't Lady Asha Greyjoy."
The badly bruised prisoner was clearly recognizable with her short hair and small plate armor, clearly marked with the kraken sigil.
"Fuck you!" she spat at the floor, trying to reach the Greatjon. Unfortunately, this attempt came much too short and only earned a small chuckle from her uncle's slayer.
"Isn't it customary to kneel before a king?" Lady Mormont's icy voice resonated through the tent, with the assembly nodding.
"In your dreams, I'll…" Greyjoy's plea was answered with a kick to her back from the Branch man, sending her to the floor as she writhed in pain.
"Kneel, bitch." Benjicot Branch ordered.
The Greyjoy whore didn't have much of a choice as both Branch and Flint held her on her knees.
"My brother will never surrender." She spat out defiantly.
"I don't expect him to." The king replied icily. "Your brother, traitor, and turncloak as he is, will face my wrath. He will die, whether it be in battle, of hunger and thirst, by my hand or by his own men's blades, he will die.
He killed my brothers and slaughtered Northmen whom he knew and shared his bread and salt with for more than ten years. Your brother will die and I shall feed his corpse to the crows, Lady Asha."
The king's icy tone cut short a bit of Greyjoy's defiance as she slowly realized how serious the king was.
"If you're going to kill him anyway, why am I here?" she frowned. "Am I to join my brother?"
"Actually, you're here to watch him die." The king shook his head. "You might be a Greyjoy but you still hold some value to your father. Then again, your father didn't care about Theon so he wouldn't really care about you…that said I'm still willing to give your old man a chance.
If I see one of his ships even set anchor in Northern waters, I'll have your head and have it sent to your father.
I've learned from my mistakes, Lady Asha. Your uncle died by the Greatjon's sword; your brother will die as well. Blood for blood. Two Starks for two Greyjoys."
The Greyjoy bitch moved to say something, but the king interrupted any chance at that.
"Have her bound and gagged somewhere secure." The king ordered Branch and Condon. "Do not mistreat her. Any man who touches her loses what he touched her with."
"Yes, your grace." Answered Kyle Condon as he dragged the Greyjoy girl out of the room.
"Is it very wise to keep her alive?" the Greatjon asked once they had left. "Remember what happened with the Turncloak."
"She's of more use to us alive than dead for the moment." The king sighed. "It brings me no satisfaction to not have her head right now, but should her father move against us again, I'll gladly send her to Lord Glover so that he may do what he wishes."
"That's if that old fuck Balon Greyjoy even listens…" Rickard scoffed.
"We can send a piece of her to prove she's with us…" Rodrick Ryswell offered.
The room fell silent.
"Like her breastplate, or a lock of her hair!" Lord Ryswell quickly corrected. "I'm not that cruel, yet."
Before any decision could be taken on the girl's immediate future, a man rushed into the tent once more. This time, it was Brandon Norrey, one of the mountain clansmen, well…the younger that is. The Norrey himself was likely busy calling up his men for the future expedition to the Wall.
"Your grace…" the younger spoke. "The Turncloak wishes to talk."
"Talk!" the Greatjon boomed. "He can go talk to his drowned god when he's been fed to the fuckin' crows!"
"Now, Lord Umber." The king rose from his seat, his voice having soothed somewhat. "Let's see what this traitor has to say. Maybe it will be a little more entertaining than the maps of the castle we've been looking at all day."
The giant Umber humpfed under his beard while the room silently chuckled.
The king himself left the tent, following the younger Norrey out of the camp and in front of the main gates of Winterfell, where, indeed, the Turncloak stood, alone, in front of the gate, while his Ironborn reavers all stood on the battlements.
"ROBB!" he shouted.
"TRAITOR!" the king shouted back, fire in his eyes as he advanced to a distance where he needn't shout much more.
"I've come to parlay." The Turncloak asked.
"The only parlay you'll be getting is the one with your Drowned God when I will have sent you to him!" the king raged back.
"Surrender to me before sunset or I'll kill your sister!"
The Turncloak looked shocked for a moment, before smugly proclaiming:
"Asha is likely at Pyke enjoying the benefits of a good reaving, you don't have her!"
Robb gave a sign to have the Greyjoy girl brought forwards. It took some time, but indeed, Asha Greyjoy was presented to the Turncloak, bound and gagged. After a quick moment, the king sent her back.
"There's your proof!" Robb shouted back. "Surrender or she dies!"
"You wouldn't do it Robb. We both know you can't do it." he punched back. "She's your prisoner and shall be treated as honor commands, or have you forgotten what Ned Stark has told you?"
"Don't you dare bring up my father's name!" Robb fumed. "You spit on his memory with every breath you take."
"Fine, Robb. You want your castle, you can have it! But you have to go through me first." the Turncloak defiantly replied. "You and me, beneath these walls.
No armor, no tricks, no direwolves. Just you and me with swords and shields. If I win, we get to go home with not a single hair on our heads touched, me and Asha.
If you win, you can have your shit castle back with everyone in it, if I have your word that Asha will not be harmed."
It happened before Rickard could even utter a word. Not a single member of his escort could as well, in fact, and he should have known staring into the king's eyes that not even the greatest of pleas would have backed him down.
"I accept, Turncloak!" the king unsheathed his sword. "You and me. No armor, no direwolves, no horses, since you've likely eaten them all already. And no tricks or I'll have your sister killed!"
"When the sun reaches its zenith, Robb!" he straightened up. "And I'll send you to your brothers!"
"And I'll send you to your uncle in the seven hells with the rest of your line of murderers!"
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