Year 284 AC
The road to Castle Riversong, near White Harbor – Northern Westeros
The long column of foot soldiers, mounted riders, and supply wagons made their way up the long, winding road through the foothills that made up the heartland of House Greystark. I rode at the head of the column, accompanied by Ser Malcolm Andersen on horse and twenty men-at-arms on foot. Castle Riversong came into view as we crested a mound, and I smiled.
“Glad to be home, my lord?” Ser Andersen asked.
“Aye, that I am, Malcolm,” I replied. My smile faltered and I added, “If only we were able to come home sooner.”
I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder at the column of bannermen. When Lord Eddard Stark called the North to support Robert’s Rebellion, House Greystark answered. Three thousand levies supported by four hundred men-at-arms and two hundred horsemen composed of freeriders, northern cavalrymen, and mounted knights left Riversong with myself at their head. Now I returned two years later with only about half that number.
I should be grateful that Robert’s rebellion only lasted a year, said that cold, utterly rational part of my mind. The War of the Five Kings lasted twice as long with tens of thousands of men dead and many times that number of smallfolk suffering as a result.
That gave little comfort, as it seemed the War of the Five Kings would happen a generation earlier and with the brilliant warlords and would-be kings in their prime with all the ambition of wolves scenting wounded prey.
I closed my eyes and forced my heart to beat slower, breathing deeply of the biting cold breeze coming off of the bay. I opened my eyes again and said, “Feels like we got home in time for a comfortable autumn. Almost like The North is welcoming us home herself.”
“Could be,” Malcolm said. “Though I did enjoy the warmth of King’s Landing. That feeling of a bright, hot sun was almost as good as drinking spiced wine by a blazing hearth. Plus the view of all those beautiful women swimming underneath the Red Keep was something to behold.”
I gave a mirthful huff of a laugh, replying, “I could’ve sworn your hedge knight days were long behind, Ser Andersen.’
Malcolm simply shrugged and said, “Just because I’m landed now doesn’t mean I’m dead, my lord.”
“True enough,” I said with an actual laugh this time. “I suppose there’ll be many beautiful dowager ladies eager to explore your new scars at the end of this road.”
“I’m sure, just as there will be a teeming horde of eligible debutantes and other ladies eager to hear all about your bravery in the south.”
Rhaegar’s black sword piercing Robert’s heart flooded back to the forefront of my mind, and my mirth died with him. My mood must have shown on my face, as Malcolm’s own smile faded.
“Robert’s death was not your fault, my lord,” Malcolm said, trying to be reassuring in his gruff way. “War is a untidy business on the best of days, and even great lords may die from little more than a rogue arrow to the eye.”
I said nothing, glaring forward as I did my best to calm the churning storm of emotion raging within me. I eventually calmed enough to look back at Malcolm, only to find he had left my side and was moving down the column.
“Damn it all,” I sighed. I turned my eyes forward as well, where Castle Riversong stood in the distance like a stony mound amidst the rolling greenery that surrounded it.
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Castle Riversong was a modest holding by Westerosi standards, which by historical Medieval Earth’s standard meant it was a large, imposing fortress. An outer curtain wall surrounded it, made of grey stone with seven towers fitted with siege weaponry spread around it in a rough circle. A deep moat surrounded the wall, making the only large ingress point the oak drawbridge, which was just wide enough for a half-dozen knights to pass through side-by-side.
Hanging from the battlements were banners showing the sigil of House Greystark: a black longsword, pointed downward, with tree roots spreading from the tip and thick, leafy branches spreading from the sound pommel. In the background was the grey direwolf indicating the Greystark lineage from the Winterfell Starks.
Horns sounded as soon as the wall sentries spotted our approaching column, and the gates were left wide open for us. As I and the other knights at the head of the column rode out from under the gatehouse into the outer courtyard, primrose petals of white and yellow and pink hues were showered on us from the wall.
I couldn’t help but smile at the massive crowd of onlookers welcoming us home. They were castle servants, smallfolk come on business, lords and ladies of the court, and those men-at-arms deemed too old or too inexperienced to go on campaign so were retained to protect the familial seat of power. They all clapped and whopped and cheered as the fighting men of Riversong finally returned home. women and children rushed towards their male kinsfolk as soon as those men were spotted. Fathers hugged their children. Husbands embraced their wives. It was enough to make me forget the melancholy that persisted in my heart over Robert’s death, if only for a time.
An elderly knight, dressed in fine, fur lined clothes with a sword on his hip, approached me as I dismounted. He bowed, saying with reverence, “Welcome home, Lord Aleksander,” he said.
“Good to be home, Ser Alastair,” I said to the older man, who served as Riversong’s castellan. I looked around and asked, “Where is my father? Is he well? His last message indicated he was on the mend.”
Ser Alastair stood straight and looked at me. I saw in his blue eyes a sadness reflected in his voice as he said, “Your father is well enough, my lord. He bids you come to him in the library as soon as you’re able.”
I looked behind me. My knights, with Malcolm at their head, were already directing the flow of incoming men and wagons, sending the levies to the armory to return their war gear, the men-at-arms to their barracks, and the wagons to the storerooms so the castle’s quartermaster could oversee their unloading. Malcolm must have felt my eyes on him. He turned to look at me, noticed Ser Alistair’s presence, and nod to me at the unspoken question.
I nodded back and told Ser Alistair, “I’ll go see him now.”
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Unlike most castles, who had their libraries in some dreary tower, Riversong’s library sat within the keep itself in a second story chamber, with a dozen large windows fitted with stained glass set against the outward-facing walls. Tall shelves and wide chests lined the walls as well, holding a near-fathomless collection of books, scrolls, and even some stone tablets carved with letters dating back to when the First Men tamed the North. A large brazier burned in the center of the chamber with many comfortably upholstered chairs and couches with small tables set strategically for the convenience of anyone who wished a quiet, warm reading space.
I found my father reading in his favorite chair, a high back oak construct with leather upholstery and packed with goose feathers. He put down his book as soon as I entered and smiled at me with all the warmth of a summer sun.
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“My boy!” he said in a gravelly, weathered voice. “Welcome home!”
“Father!” I said, rushing up before he could attempt to rise and hugged him where he sat. “I feared I’d not see you again.”
“Ba!,” my father said with all the bravado and certainty of a headstrong knight errant. “Greystarks always know when it’s time to join their ancestors, and I know my time won’t be for a while yet.”
We parted the embrace and I sat next to him, drinking in his features. Lord Arne Greystark was ancient by the standards of Westeros. A man of sixty-two years of age, his once handsome face was craggy and careworn. Underneath a mountain of furs and blankets I knew his once mighty body was emaciated and as brittle as dry twigs. One blue-grey eye had turned completely milky white, and his great mane of silvery hair was gone.
He puts on a brave face, but he’s not long for this world, I thought, and my heart ached. I never truly had a father in my old life, and in this world Arne Greystark had been a gallant man, almost larger-than-life itself in my eyes. I loved him as dearly as I’d loved my family back on Earth.
Soon he will be gone, and I will be truly alone.
My thoughts must have showed on my face, because my father patted my knee and said, “I’m not gone yet, my boy. I still have some important things to see and do. For one, I want to hold my grandchild in my arms!”
“How about I tell you about King’s Landing instead?” I offered.
“Very well,” he sighed, resettling himself into a comfortable position. “Tell me of this ‘Kingsmeet’ that everyone’s been gossiping about.”
I ran a gloved hand over my face as I processed my thoughts, putting them in good order before beginning.
“Well, I can first of all say that the Lannisters are in complete control of King’s Landing,” I began. “When our army arrived at the city, we found their banners hanging from all the battlements and the Red Keep itself. They took the city by treachery, turning their blades on the Targaryen bannermen as soon as they’d penetrated every defense. Ser Jaime Lannister himself slew the mad king on the Iron Throne, and was seated on it when Lord Stark entered.”
“Gods of old!” my father growled. “Do the Lannisters truly have no shame? No honor?”
No, but they usually win in the end, I thought. Aloud I said, “Lord Tywin allowed only a small number of us entry to King’s Landing, making the rest of the army camp on the fields outside the city walls.”
“Typical,” my father grunted. “I wonder how Tywin intends to hold King’s Landing, given he has all the Riverlands separating between Casterly Rock from the Crownlands. Tell me, did he try to claim the Iron Throne?”
“Not openly,” I replied. “He did a lot of politicking and sweet talking to get the other house lords to support his claim without his direct prompting, but Lord Eddard saw through it, as did Lord Stannis. They managed to rally enough opposition to keep him off the Throne.”
“Well that’s some good news at least,” Arne said before sipping from a goblet of wine. “So who is our new king?”
I realized I’d been dreading this moment, and I had no other recourse but to face it head on. I said, “There is no new king. We confirmed that the Lannisters slew every last Targaryan in Westeros except for Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys, who’ve fled to Essos with only a few loyal servants and knights. With Lord Robert dead and Lord Eddard unwilling to either claim the throne or support one of the Baratheon brothers, the Kingsmeet became a deadlock until everyone began leaving.”
“Damn it,” my father said. “Damn it all to the frozen hells! When I got your message about Robert, I prayed to the Old Gods and the New that Eddard would take his place. The Iron Throne needs a strong ruler, or at least a weak one who can be supported with strong councilors. Do those fools know what will happen now that there’s no central authority?”
I said nothing. What could I say? I agreed with him on all parts and didn’t feel like repeating his thoughts.
My father glared forward at the far wall, his still sharp mind racing like a stallion at fall gallop no doubt. Eventually he sighed and refocused on me, asking, “So what instructions did Lord Stark give you before you left the army?”
“He said to disperse our levies and enjoy being home, but to keep the men-at-arms nearby and ready for a quick deployment. He didn’t come out and say it, but I read between the lines. He fully expects the Lannisters to attempt an annexation the Riverlands.”
“A reasonable expectation,” my father admitted, stroking his bare chin. “If Tywin expects to hold the whole of the Crownlands, he’ll need a secure supply line between Casterly Rock and King’s Landing. He will need to either force House Tully to bend the knee, or replace them with a House that will. I don’t expect Lord Stark will let his new wife’s homeland become Lannister vassals. Does he have any idea of when the Lion will make its move?”
“Lord Stark believes we have a few months at least. Maybe a season. It depends on when Lord Tywin is confident of victory beyond a reasonable doubt.”
Arne Greystark was silent a moment as he thought, then asked, “What of Robert’s brothers? Surely at least Stannis is willing to honor the alliances made between Stark, Baratheon, and Tully.”
I spread my hands, replying, “I honestly have no idea. Stannis is inscrutable. He might join forces with us. He might support Lord Tywin if he deems it a better choice for his realm. Or he might remain completely neutral and wait to see whose left standing when the dust settles.”
“Bah,” my father grunted, now rubbing his eyes. “Too much is uncertain. Too many possibilities.”
I nodded, sharing his frustrations, but said, “So we’ll take it one day at a time. For now, let’s enjoy the quiet.”
“You’re right, my boy,” he nodded. He looked at me and smiled, saying, “I don’t think I can call you a boy anymore, though. It seems you’ve come into your manhood since leaving to answer Lord Stark’s call.”
“I’m still the same, father,” I replied.
“You talk and think like a lord should,” he stated. “I know in my bones you’ll lead our house to greatness once I pass.”
My chest felt as though a cold knife nicked my heart at his words. I loved this man. I didn’t want to think about losing him. Yet I smiled on and said, “Hopefully not for a while longer. I still have much to learn from you.”
“Quite right. You need to learn to wield that Greystark charm to win hearts and minds of your peers and the ladies. Though I dare say you’ve already won those belonging to Lady Deidre.”
I flushed at the mention of Deidre Ashwood, the daughter of our closest ally among the Houses surrounding White Mouth Bay. She had also been my closest friend since childhood. Our correspondence had been my only source of joy since leaving home for war, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited at the prospect of seeing her again.
My father gave a hearty chuckle that turned into a fit of hacking coughs. He didn’t miss a beat, though. As soon as it was done, he said, “I want my grandchildren, lad, and there is no better match for you than her.”
“I don’t think I have the time to consider matrimony,” I replied evenly, “let alone starting a family. Besides, House Greystark’s position is strong. We are in Lord Stark’s favor and our lands are the most prosperous fiefs this side of Winterfell. We can afford to wait a while longer for a marriage to provide an heir.”
“Forget about alliances and heirs for a moment, son,” he said with a dismissive wave. “What I speak of is love! She is clearly infatuated with you, and you with her. I still recall all the time you spent with that wolf-blooded girl. You two could hardly be separated! Thick as thieves you were! Friendships like that are the foundations for loving marriages that bards and minstrels pluck their harps over.”
“We are nobles, father. We must marry to secure the future of our houses,” I pointed out, more out of an automatic deflection than any real dislike of the prospect of marrying Deidre Ashwood. I never liked discussing these matters of the heart on Earth, let alone in Westeros, and especially not right now with war unending on the horizon.
“Then marry her to strengthen ties!” my exasperated father sighed. “The Ashwoods might not hold a great city like the Manderly Family does White Harbor, but they are still our closest neighbors and a major economic partner. Tell yourself whatever excuse you need. Just take her hand before some other strapping knight does.”
“As you wish, father,” I said in my best diplomatic way. “I’ll consider your wisdom carefully For now, let me enjoy being home.”
“As you wish,” he sighed, then said with a cheeky smile. “Though I’d be ready for another campaign to begin soon.”
“Pardon?”
“As soon as you returned home, I sent messages by bird to our vassals and neighbors. In less than a ten-day, we shall celebrate your triumphant return and your coming into your inheritance,” My father declared, pride in his good eye, his smile and his words. “I’ve decided to abdicate the title and responsibilities as Lord of Riversong and Head of House Greystark to you. Our people need a strong, capable leader for the coming days. Plus maybe having all of those mothers howling mad to match you with their daughters will encourage you to pick Lady Ashwood faster so I can have my grandchildren!”
I sat there, jaw agape and dumbstruck at this sudden turn of events, as my father’s jovial laughter echoed through the library.