Hersir, Bane of the Andals

Ser Benjen Stark, Moat Cailin

Benjen sighed as he took a seat in the White Wolf hall of Moat Cailin, his cousins stronghold. His wife, Dacey, sat next to him, placing her mace in front of her. A serving girl passed them some mead and some bread to start their day as they waited for Harlon to arrive.

“What do you think was so important that he couldn't just send us a raven and not make us stay here?” Dacey asked irritably.

“I know not,” Benjen replied. “But Harlon is no fool, if something is important to him and he wants no one else to know about this, I will sit here and listen.” He glanced at her with a side ways look and almost smirked. “So eager to get back to Castle Cerwyn are you?”

Dacey gave him a slight glare and clipped his shoulder. He fought back a wince. Damn her bear strength, he thought, rubbing his shoulder slightly.

“I barely even grazed you,” She smirked at his discomfort. It had always been like this, ever since they fostered at Castle Cerwyn. While they did love each other, their relationship started out as a rivalry that only children of seven could have. By the time they were old enough and wise enough to understand that human emotions were vast and varied, they had almost bungled their more mature relationship due to a lack of communication.

Benjen remembered the day he asked her to marry him. It had come after nearly a month of brooding and she was starting to lose her patience with him. His best friends, Larence and Callum, had told him to stop moping and get on with it or else one of them would do it. Callum was going to marry Wylla, Lord Manderly's daughter even though he had kept that a secret from them and her family at the time. Benjen's ears still rang from the shouting that ensued when the fat lord found out.

Larence, on the other hand, would have at least pretended to like Dacey to get him to take action. He was a much better swordsman than Benjen, as evidenced by the fact that he cut through many of the rebel Iron Born fighters without much effort. Him having the blood of a Berserker probably helped some.

“And it wouldn't do for a castle as great as ours to not have its new Lord and Lady.”

Benjen sighed, thinking back to the day that his father had told him the news about Lord Medger's will.

“Should he and his son die, he wants you or Dacey to inherit the castle and all that it entails.”

“But father, I'm not a Cerwyn,” Benjen said in shock. “And there are others who could take it surely?”

“No,” His father shook his head. “Not in Westeros at least. There are some Cerwyn's amongst the Winter Rose but they are too foreign in their ways to truly understand what it means to live and rule here. Medger views you and Dacey as two of his children, a bond that I am grateful you formed. If you do not wish to have it, I will have to raise up a Ser or Dame to a new status and gift it to them. If his daughter still lived, I would have given it to her without question.”

Benjen didn't feel entirely comfortable but he reluctantly accepted the idea. He didn't think that Lord Medger and Cley would die anytime soon. He had hoped that this would never become an issue or that his father would find a more suitable option. His father had pulled him aside after he named Wendel Manderly the Lord of Pyke and Warden of the Sunset Sea, to deliver the bad news.

Lord Medger had been found, dying next to his decapitated son. The wounds were too severe and he wasn't expected to survive. And thus, Benjen had been named Lord of Castle Cerwyn and Shield of Winterfell.

“No, it wouldn't do for such a thing,” Benjen turned to see Larence Nightfall striding over to them. “It might give off the wrong impression to the other lords and ladies.” He sat across from them, placing his Valyrian blade on the table.

“So, have either of you decided to change your names now that you own the castle?”

The political ramifications of his new lordship was not lost on him. The other houses would grumble about a Stark child getting more land when they did not. Many complained when his cousin was gifted Moat Cailin, named Warden of the Causeway, and spent a lot of money to fix it. Not even the promise of free passage to any Northman or the fact that he changed his name from Stark to Frost, a name no one had heard of in centuries, cooled their rising tempers.

At least the Northern Lords were consistent. Benjen's other cousin and Harlon's older brother, Ser Artos, was given land in the Black Brier Forrest, the smallest part of the Wolfswood that was also close to Winterfell though part of those lands nearly encroached on Tallhart territory and that of Deepwood Motte.

Artos was an absolute shit at times but he was respectful when the occasion called for it and even took a new name in the hopes of appeasing some lords for all the good it did him. He was now the leader of house Blackfang of Brier Wood Keep.

“No we haven't,” Dacey shrugged at Larence. “We've thought of many names. Cerstark, Monstark, Morstark, so on and so forth. Nothing worked.”

“Why not Dacen or Bency? Or a mixture of the two?” Larence just rolled his eyes when they stared at him incredulously. “I had to take the name of my new sword to think of a name for myself. Is it so surprising that my ideas were shit?”

“I still don't know why you did that,” Benjen wrinkled his nose. “The last person who did that was Daemon Blackfyre.”

“His family is still around in the East,” Larence half shrugged and looked at his sword with affection. “He was a bastard like me and since we Northmen like to appropriate Southern practices, well, could you blame me? Lady Donella was right about one thing, I would never be a Hornwood or have ownership of my father's lands. But as a Nightfall? The sky is the limit. I have my own sigil, my own name, now I can serve one of my oldest friends properly.”

“Whether you were a Snow or Nightfall, you would always be welcome in my home,” Benjen said firmly with his wife nodding along.

“At least I'm welcome somewhere.” Larence muttered bitterly and Benjen frowned. His friend had been effectively cast out of Hornwood, albeit with reluctance on his brother, Halys, part. His sister by law, Donella, treated him like the plague, mainly due to the teachings of the Seven with which she was so fond. Not even when he saved her and her son, Daryn, from a black snow leopard, did she think to welcome him to the only home that he ever knew.

“How about Redstark?” Dacey asked, patting his sword. “This used to be Red Rain, why not pay tribute to that?”

“Because I'm pretty sure that this belonged to house Reyne and then it ended up in the hands of house Drumm. The name worked well for them but I feel no need to pay tribute to it.”

Wolf's Retribution was its new name and that was all that needed to be said. He almost shuddered when he thought about the fight that earned him this blade. An Iron Born raider had charged at him, sword and axe in hand. He removed the axe with no problem but the sword fight lasted longer than he expected, mainly due to the fact that the raider fought dirty.

Benjen played dirty too, spitting in the mans face before hooking his sword guard with the other and thrusting up. As the enemies sword launched in the air, Benjen stabbed his opponent in the belly with a roar. He caught the other sword when it came back down and sliced the top of the other mans head clean off, exposing his brains to the world.

Benjen's shock only lasted so long before he had to engage in another warrior then another until there weren't many left. He well paid the Iron Price many times over and renamed his sword after he had finished vomiting. Now all he needed to do was change the guard and the pommel to something more appropriate. Something he would advise Larence to do since his guard was in the shape of a damn squid.

“If we could get away with it, I would suggest we use Longclaw for our name,” Dacey murmured sadly.

Her brother Jorah had disgraced their house and their family sword when he traded some of the smallfolk to slavers and almost got Callum's half sister Berena captured. When he and his wife attempted to run, it was Callum who caught them first as they tried to pull a stunt by taking a ship from White Harbor to get to Braavos instead of taking one from Bear Island and down south.

Callum nearly killed them both as he vowed to bring all slavers who poached on their land to justice. However, since both of them were high born, and both were Westerosi and in the North, its Warden had to distribute punishment. He still hamstrung Jorah who fought fiercely with the blade of his family.

Jorah had accepted his punishment with as much dignity as he could, and he revealed that he had been stealing from the coffers of Bear Island to pay for the lavish lifestyle of his wife. Since his father had stepped down, and since he was the Lord of the Island, he almost got away with it until the debt kept climbing higher.

His wife, who hailed from House Hightower, demanded that she be sent home as she was not born in the North and not entirely subject to its laws. Lord Rickard countered that since she knew of the crime, prospered from it, encouraged it, and felt no remorse about it, she had to die as well.

The only one who spoke in defense of the woman was Maester Walys, who said that she should be sent home. He hadn't been seen in awhile, not that Benjen missed the bastard one bit. What with him selling secrets to his masters in Old Town.

House Mormont, at the behest of its new lady, Maege, turned over their most prized possession to house Stark to help pay for half of the debt. They said they would pay the rest of it in time, declining the offer to have it forgiven on the grounds of ignorance.

“Ignorance is not bliss,” The She Bear said fiercely. “We will feel the sting of my nephews foolishness and we will live with it. In time, his shame, our shame, will be forgiven but not forgotten. Longclaw is yours my lord, we will never hold it again. Not even when everything has settled.”

 “And why can't you use it?” Larence challenged Dacey. “Who says that you cannot?”

“Larence-”

“No Dacey, speak truthfully, why can you not use the name? The sword will be given to a new owner one day, why let its name go to waste? Bears are not the only creatures that have claws, wolves do too. Its a perfect name for your new house.”

Benjen could see the indecision in his wife's eyes. She wanted to use the name, maybe even help bring honor back to it but she was being held by back. By what, he wasn't sure, but he said his piece.

“We'll speak to my father about it.” He told her, knowing that it was all that they could do. The clacking of wood hitting the ground caught his attention. A hooded figure holding a Weirwood staff that had a small branches wrapped around a bronze sphere walked beside three others.

The first was Ser Harlon Frost, formerly Stark. He was his deceased uncle Willam's second son, and he had fostered in the Vale like Ned. He lived with the Hunters, an old family of the First Men though he did visit other Vale houses during his fostering, such as the Arryn's and the neighbors of his foster family, the now extinct Corbray's.

They were now extinct due to Harlon. He had discovered while he was there that Ser Lyn Corbray, a troublesome knight that was gifted their family sword, Lady Forlorn, had been raping his page, a boy of nine. Harlon, incensed, drove his dagger into the man and made him confess in front of all his smallfolk as he bled and while his cock swung freely.

While the boy was being tended to, Harlon publicly executed the knight in the name of the Old Gods, since it was in their religion that those who commit such acts were to be killed immediately and without question. He even did it with the Valyrian blade that the fiend carried.

He gave Ser Lyn's armor to the family of the boy, The Hollow's, as payment. They were a small house that had felt lucky to have their son be potentially knighted by a man such as Ser Lyn. When they were told the truth, they were horrified.

Ser Lyn's brothers, Ser Lucas, and Lord Lyonel, attacked Harlon differently, one directly and madly, losing his head. The other, challenged him to an honor duel and lost a leg at the thigh and died due to blood loss.

In response, some of the more Andal blooded houses demanded Harlon's head. He argued in front of Lord Jon Arryn himself, that he was merely following what his religion taught him and the laws of men.

Ser Lyn was caught in the act, he made his confession and by the will of the Old Gods, was served justice. Harlon acted accordingly but he humbled himself before Lord Arryn as the Vale was his region and he would submit himself to his will. Lord Arryn called for him to face trial, one of combat since he was a noble born son.

Upon his victory and declared innocence in the eyes of the Seven who are one, he was banished from the Vale for life. Lord Arryn let him keep the Valyrian blade, much to the grumbling of those who shared blood with the Corbray's, and even knighted Harlon before he left.

He said it was because Harlon stood for justice and avenged an innocent child that was wronged. What was more knightly than that?

Jon Arryn even rewarded Heart's Home, the seat of house Corbray, to the Hollow's, making them a new noble house. Whispers stated that Lord Arryn was losing his mind but the man defended himself saying that honor demanded these people be repaid in some way and it cleared up the potential legal battles that would ensue over ownership of the castle.

It wouldn't heal the boy of his mental scars or change what happened, in any way, but it was a chance for them to heal in some fashion. It helped that they were extremely loyal people, to house Arryn and their new liege lords, the Hunters.

That was four years ago however. Lady Forlorn had been renamed to Three Ravens Folly, with the same heart shaped pommel still attached as a reminder of its origins. And if news from the south held some truth to it, Lord Jon Arryn no longer cared about upholding honor like he once did.

The person next to Harlon was his bastard half brother, Ser Locke Wynter. He was the product of a smith from Winter town and Lady Bella of house Bolton, Ser Willam's wife. Upon discovery of the affair, Ser Willam asked his brother to let him deal with them personally, a request that was granted. Willam kept them both locked away as lady Bella grew with child. When Locke was born, he was taken away from his mother and given the name of the Locke family who had blood ties to each house.

“He will be mine to name and mine to raise. Be grateful that I am letting him live at all.” Were the last words he ever said to his wife before he had her hanged alongside the smith. Though Locke was not his son in any legal capacity, Ser Willam still took care of him, if only in memory of the good times he and his wife shared.

And the Last person to join them was Sandor Clegane, a boy of thirteen who was here at the behest of Harlon's wife, Tyta of house Frey, who was his cousin. The boy's father, Argyle, had pleaded with her to take both him, and his daughter Rissa, into their home for safety. Apparently, the oldest boy, Gregor, had burned his brothers face and broke his sisters arm when they were younger and his behavior had become more unsavory as time went on.

Considering the sudden death of Lord Argyle, and the rumored actions of what happened in Kings Landing, it wasn't that surprising.

“Peace,” Harlon spoke with a raised hand when they all made to rise. “You need not rise for me.” As he and the men sat down he turned to the hooded figure. “Introduce yourself my friend.”

The figure drew back his hood, revealing dark shaggy hair and unnatural green eyes that glowed at times.

“My name is Ser Devyn Reed. I believe you know my brother Howland lord Benjen?”

“Aye, he's a good man your brother.” Benjen was slightly unnerved by the look in the mans eye but he didn't let it show.

“Show them,” Harlon commanded and Devyn tapped his staff to the ground twice. The torches in the hall had their fires turn blue in response and there was a grey haze that affected his vision.

“Do not be alarmed,” Devyn murmured. “I do this to make sure that no one but us can see what I show you.”

“And what do you have to show us?” Benjen said as calmly as he could.

“The battles to come. You would do well to heed my warning.”

Lord Tywin Lannister, the Red Keep

Tywin gritted his teeth and fought down his temper.

“Your grace, you released my son -”

“Aye I did, and how did he repay that?” Robert snapped at him. “He's gone. Fled into parts unknown like some common thief.”

“We don't know what happened-” Tywin tried again but was interrupted once more.

“I have made up my mind Lord Tywin, if your precious son the Kingslayer is not here by the weeks end, he loses all rights to the Rock. I will not have some ingrate rewarded with a future title like Warden or Lord Paramount. Be grateful that I am to marry your daughter and that you have another son, now get out of my sight.”

Tywin left in a quiet rage, looking for the new Hand, Lord Arryn. His eastern counterpart took one look at his expression and sighed.

“I am sorry that you were unable to convince his grace to change his mind.”

He may as well have said 'I told you so' which he did twice before. Tywin had been told that Baratheon was stubborn and stupid when it came to politics but he hoped to persuade him. Now he was stuck with a monster for an heir and had no legal right to deny him the Rock. He wouldn't kill the beast either. He was a Lannister above all else and the last piece of his wife even if that piece was only half.

“Yes it is regrettable but his grace is wise and I know that my son will do his duty to his family,” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. Damn Jaime for being a fool and damn Baratheon for this situation.

Lord Arryn smiled with is eyes even if the words that followed were solemn, “I am sure he will.”

Both knew it was a lie bout neither said it out loud.

“And how is the peace accords coming along?” Tywin eyed the stack of parchment on the table.

“They are coming along well, thank you for asking.” Jon Arryn almost sounded bored and dismissive. “Copies will be sent to all those who are allied with us.”

“Including House Stark?”

Jon Arryn pursed his lips, “Yes, including them.”

“I was under the impression that they were no longer allied with the Iron Throne. Something about kneeling to dragons?” Tywin almost smiled as the other man grimaced.

“It wouldn't hurt to try and mend some bridges.”

“Of course it wouldn't, but I would recommend speaking with the heir overall. He is your foster son is he not, and brother to his grace? He would be more amenable to negotiate I would think.”

“Until Lord Rickard dies, I will not be speaking to his son about this unless both of them are present.”

That wouldn't do, Tywin thought. A good chunk of the Thrones money came from the North. Then again, Tywin could provide the money as their mines were still active. Yes, that was a thought.

“Do you plan to make peace with Dorne?”

Tywin almost sneered at the thought of making peace with those snakes but composed himself, “Why would I need to do such a thing?”

“Don't play games, lord Tywin. We both know that you have the chance to make things right and gain a kingdom back.”

“I owe them nothing. What happened to their precious Elia was necessary. And I would remind you, Lord Hand, that you and your foster son prosper the most from her death and that of their children.” He pressed his hands onto the desk and leaned over to glare at the older man. “It is why I am still here after all.” I am not going away old man, and neither is my loyal dog, He thought.

Jon Arryn for his part did not cower away, something that earned him respect from the lion of Lannister, “If there is away for us to avoid unnecessary bloodshed and make peace, we should strive to gain it.”

“I owe them nothing,” Tywin repeated, stepping away from the desk and towards the door. “Good day to you Lord Arryn.” He walked out the door and closed it quietly instead of slamming it like a petulant child. He had felt the Arryn seal in his hand when he was on the desk and almost swiped it.

He had come up with a plan to forge a letter in Lord Arryn's hand to tell lord Hoster Tully to hold the Starks there at Riverrun when they passed by. There were several problems with the plan however. He didn't know anyone who was good at forging letters, he didn't have a letter from Jon Arryn to give them and Lord Hoster may have thought it strange to do such a thing since the Starks technically did nothing wrong.

They and the North as a whole would have to be dealt with for his grandchildren to know peace. And unlike the other fools that called themselves lord, Tywin was more than happy to do the deed. Or find someone just as good for the job.