CHP 42: First Men (Patreon)

Robb opened his mouth to say something but the older woman that had rode in with me moved first. Quietly, she approached the Stark and asked something I didn't care to listen to before she turned to me. 

"Ah."

It was her glassy blue eyes, and the similar scent that confirmed my guess.

She was Catelyn Stark, Eddard's wife, Edmure's older sister, and the mother of the direwolf litter.

Covering the distance between us with trembling steps, she looked up at me as her lips quivered... I cocked my head and offered her my hand for a shake but instead, she grabbed mine with both of hers, "Thank you. Thank you for protecting my children, my lord."

I smiled slightly, "You're welcome. Marika ought to learn a thing or two from you."

A mother's love was a beautiful thing to behold.

If even humans could hold so much love for their kin, why was it that she kept discarding hers like tools?

In her gratitude, Catelyn ignored my remark, "I am certain my son has said this before..." She let go of my hand and gave Robb an odd look, "But House Stark owes you a great debt. Do not hesitate to ask."

Clearly, she was much more used to the incessant politicking of the nobility with how she made sure to be loud enough for most of the gathered nobles to hear. It would save me a few boring conversations so I didn't mind.

I nodded, "Maybe I'll take you up on that sometime."

"Then, I would like to meet my father."

"I'll take you to him." Edmure cut in quickly, "Come along."

Petyr quickly followed the siblings, lips parting and closing all the way. I watched the little man leave with an amused smile before turning back to Robb Stark.

"I would walk with you once my men have settled in." He took his leave too, "I am thankful for your help."

The Starks and their vassal lords left for the keep quickly, disappearing into the Riverrun godswood, save for one.

A giant of a man with long dark hair that fell to his neck and a shaggy beard. He grinned as he stomped over to me before slapping my back with a burly hand, "How you been, Karl?!"

"...Do I know you?" I smiled.

He put a hand to his chin, nodding his head, "I guess I wouldn't remember a man I beat into the ground either, but I would remember someone I dran-... You son of a bitch you do remember me."

This was somewhat refreshing compared to the reverence the River Lords had started treating me with but, this too would fade away when the northmen realised the rumours about me weren't exaggerated fabrications.

"I've been great, Jon. You look like you got uglier though."

"Bah, better ugly than some flowery southron." Greatjon Umber threw his hands up, then flexed his arm, "You think a lass would care after seeing these?"

I looked up at the seven feet tall giant with a small smile, "I think folks would be too terrified to say no."

Jon laughed in that over the top way of his, "I'm not complaining!"

The Northmen were simple, and simple was good most of the time. They respected strength, disliked cowardice and underhanded methods but they could be a little too rigid since most of them frowned on gambling, or even playing around.

That became evident when I cast a wayward glance around us and noticed another giant, this one narrow gaunt with long grey hair, and a beard like Greatjon's. He looked at us with furrowed brows, and stern eyes that did nothing to hide that he was looking down on us.

But, wisely enough, he kept those thoughts to himself.

"That's Rickard Karstark." Greatjon spoke up, pointing a finger at the man's dark woolen surcoat, "See that white sunburst, that's their coat-of-arms. Stodgy old bastard."

I eyed the slight man beside Rickard, wearing a quilted tunic the colour of blood, a flayed man emblazoned on his chest, "And who's the pale dude?"

"Roose Bolton." Greatjon scowled, making no effort to hide his distaste, "I've been warning Robb about him for days now... The Boltons can't be trusted."

At some point, I had started making a conscious effort to not read the minute details on the faces of people that gave away their feelings and thoughts. It was a way to relax myself and to force myself to understand that I wasn't in danger every waking moment... but even then, I could see clear as day that 'Roose Bolton' held no love for Robb Stark, or any around him for that matter.

He noticed us immediately, and made his way over slowly, stopping a few steps short. He put a hand over his breast, bowing ever so slightly before looking up at me with eyes so white I would have thought him blind.

"You made a fine example of the Freys, Lord Karl. Might I ask how?"

His voice was low enough that most would have to pay close attention to not miss his words... a fine tactic for mental warfare.

But, it proved what I had surmised from looking at him.

"I walked through the place."

He too was a snake... and denizens of the Lands Between held a particular distaste for snakes.

Roose cocked his head slightly, "You walked through... the Twins?"

"Yeah, not my fault they decided to run at me."

"And the fi-"

"Right!" Greatjon cut him off, voice booming, "The place looks worse than Harrenhal... What did you even do?"

I noted the slight twitch in Roose's brow, even if he hid it far better than most I'd met in this world.

Instead of explaining, I held up a finger. They both watched curiously as a red flame flickered into existence at the tip before coiling around the finger like a snake. Then, it quietly faded out as if it had never been there.

"There's your answer."

I'd burnt the Twins, sunk the Iron Islands, beat back the Lannister host twice, so there was no point in making an effort to hide what I could... not that I'd ever tried to do that in the first place.

Chuckling at their expressions, I sauntered.

Addam ran up to me not long after, joining me as I treaded past the portcullis over the Red Fork and out onto the open field where the Northern host was setting up camp.

The men ignored the light drizzle as sergeants shouted orders and footmen set up pavilions with no regard for the mud. The camp followers ran around, setting up supplies as were needed and stables for the few horses they had brought along.

"They're really different." Addam commented, looking around meekly.

"Yeah... I guess that's First Men blood?"

"But the Riverlands also have it."

"And the Riverlands are also the centre of any war between the north and the south... with how much you lot like raping each other, I'd wager it's not as thick as these dudes." I chuckled, gesturing to the rough men working around us.

Groups of three hammered long rods into the ground, while others pulled on ropes to raise the pavilions and tents. When they did, a few would run inside to properly prop them up before followers ran in to furnish them with whatever their respective lord had brought along.

There were a lot of different animal furs from wolves to bears to moose being used, possibly for warmth or maybe just as trophies.

But, what stood out most was the factual difference in the countenance of the two peoples...

"Hell, I'd bet good money their nobility are all related to each other somehow. Probably marry cousins or something." I shrugged.

"T-They can hear you."

It was almost endearing how naive Addam could be.

"Am I wrong, boys?"

"Nah." A passer-by spoke up with a loud laugh, "Ma was da's second cousin!"

"Mine was a bloody first cousin!"

"Least they don't marry siblings." I shrugged.

"I think the mountain clans up in the wolfswood do that too!" One answered before hammering down a rod into the wet soil.

"Oi Jon! You married your aunt, didn't ya?! Fuckin' mutt!"

Addam paled as I laughed, "You get acquainted with your new friends, I have someone to find."

Patting his shoulder, I walked into the camp, sniffing the air as I went past men setting up a fire... in rain... then direwolf pavilions, until I finally came upon a small figure carrying sacks into a tent.

Dressed in a dark rugged gambeson too large for his body, 'he' quickly turned away as I approached, kneeling on the ground to gather... grass. He'd wrapped a crisp cowl around his face to hide his sex.

When the Northern host had arrived, I'd spread my senses to grasp their numbers... What I also noted then was the Starks.

Four of them to be precise, Robb and Catelyn Stark made two. There was an older man with them who I realised was Hoster's brother, Brynden 'Blackfish' Tully... but that made three. The small figure was the fourth 'Stark'.

I'd have thought it was some bastard child if not for the fact that I recognised the particular scent of this Stark.

"Weren't you and Sansa supposed to be safe at Winterfell with your little brothers?"

'He' suddenly jerked, turning around with steely eyes wide, "H-How do you know?"

"You're the only person who knows I hunted dragons for most of my life." I chuckled, tapping a finger against my nose, "You think I can't distinguish humans based on their smel-?"

"T...That's creepy."

My words got caught in my throat, "...Fair. In my defence, I can't help it."

"That's... even creepier."

Defeated, I raised my hands in surrender, "Alright, I just won't try to explain it. But, mind explaining why you're here, Arya?"

She jerked again. Then sighed and took off the cowl her head to reveal a familiar long face, pale and slightly gaunt, just with shorter hair than I remembered.

"Robb told me to sit in Winterfell like a lady. I don't want to be a lady."

This kid was damn devious, resourceful too if she'd disguised herself throughout the journey.

Scratching my head, I plopped down on top of a nearby barrel, "How'd you even hide?"

"What?" She cocked her head, visibly confused.

"What?" I echoed back, amused.

"You're not going to scold me?"

"Do I look like I will?" I raised a brow, "If anything, credit to you for being able to disguise yourself that well."

Arya paused for a moment before her thin lips curved into a bright smile, "I hid with the squires. They didn't recognise me at all after I cut my hair! I beat another squire, Alec, too. But, I didn't like the food much and the bedding was very hard." She crossed her arms near the end, falling into quiet contemplation, "I wanted to hug mother though."

Kids were quite endearing, with their skewed worldviews and the sheer audacity of their thinking.

"Well, you should have. It's not like they could have taken you back once you crossed like... dunno, Moat Cailin or something." I stared at the grey sky as Arya's face turned sour, "And hey, even if you don't want to be a lady, you shouldn't just give up the advantages that come with being one."

"There's nothing good about dresses and sitting pretty! Or being in love like Sansa!" 

"Sure..." I held up a finger, "But as a lady, you could just order everybody who thinks you shouldn't fight to stick their attitudes up where the Sun don't shine."

After bearing firsthand witness to the combat prowess of Malenia, Blade of Miquella, and the genius and cunning of Ranni the Witch, I couldn't say women couldn't do anything even if I wanted to... but, different world, I supposed.

Arya narrowed her eyes in thought, "They'd just say no."

"They don't say no cause you're a lady. They say no cause you're young." I jumped off the barrel.

"Are you sure?"

I smiled softly and ruffled her short hair, "Pretty sure. You can even order that Septa you told me about to go away."

"Even Septa Mordane?!" She gasped, shocked... in the way sheltered kids often were.

I nodded, "Even Septa Mordred."

Kids could be pretty stupid sometimes.

"Now come on, I'll take you to your mother."

She hesitated, taking a step back, "You promise she won't be mad?"

"I promise." I held out my hand and she took it meekly.

We walked back through the camp, which was nearly completed by now. I even spotted Addam getting drunk with a couple of rough northmen, mumbling something about Ol' Bess with a red face... which was the name of a person and not a cow, I'd checked.

I saw Lords getting settled into their pavilions as their followers fastened their banners outside, but, it turned out there weren't many Northern Lords here, just those with the largest numbers. 

House Bolton, with the flayed man.

House Karstark, with the grey sunburst on black.

House Umber, with the raging giant.

And two more banners I didn't recognise.

One had a clenched silver fist on scarlet and the other had two rusting axes, their black shafts crossed with a similarly coloured crown above them on bright yellow.

"Who do those banners belong to?" I asked Arya.

She followed my gaze with curious eyes, "That fist is House Glover. And the other is House Dustin... I don't think Lady Dustin is here but nevermind that, I heard you beat the Lannisters!"

"Who told you that?"

"A singer."

-
Hope you enjoyed.

Alright, I've segmented the longer chapter into 3, should be around the same size as this. I'll drop them soon as I've finished editing. And I am NEVER writing a long chapter again. 2k word chapters daily (mostly) are way better. I'm sure you agree.