Hersir, Bane of the Andals

Ser Brandon Stark, Riverrun

The walls of Riverrun were more imposing than he remembered the last time he was here. He fought the urge to flinch as the memories hit him all at once. Him getting word that his sister was taken, him riding to Kings Landing, the torture that ensued when he challenged the mad dragon.

The noose that had been tied around his neck only tightened every so often when he was raised off the ground. His wrist still hurt from when he tried to shimmy to freedom. That was mostly done out of panic since they were iron chains and not rope. Rope he could burn with no problem, the iron would be hard to do so since he never tried melting any form of metal. Perhaps it was time to learn.

“Open the gates!” The cry came from one of the guards and the drawbridge was lowered. As he rode with his family, he fought back the snarl that built in his throat when he saw the man who tricked him: Petyr Baelish, standing by the Tully's smirking all the while. Beside him, Ned did growl but stopped when father looked their way.

“Be quiet,” He growled at them. “Now is not the time.”

Now is not the time, Brandon agreed. But before they left, Baelish would be dead. He would see to it personally. They dismounted and Brandon made sure to keep his head at an angle so his wolf cowl wouldn't fall back. The small mask that covered the top half of his face wouldn't be enough coverage and they all agreed that he needed to remain a secret.

His being alive would not be ideal until they could make sure the North was stable first. So he took a new name that would be good while he served out his penance for his stupidity.

“This is Ser Dustin Sand, my Wolf Knight and the First Sword of the Snowfall. He recently came into my service.”

Lord Hoster looked him up and down before dismissing him without a word. Typical behavior for one as proud as he. Lord Hoster never liked bastards, hated the fact that Brandon had one and only put up with his daughters bastard son Robin because they shared blood though that was just a lie.

Lady Catelyn did the same while she held her child but she still nodded respectfully due to his title no doubt. Ser Brynden saw right through the facade if the look in his eye was any indication. Brandon would speak with him later. Edmure remained oblivious but he did look at Brandon in wonder and awe, reminding him of Benjen when he was the same age. He glanced at Baelish whose eyes were alight with fire much like the sigil of his house but his smirk was now more sinister. Oh yes, this cunt would be dying before they left tonight.

“I wasn't aware that a Dornish bastard could be given such a title. One that hasn't been used since the Starks were kings.” Leave it to the Lord Paramount of the Trident to sound both interested and accusing at the same time.

“Whom I give the title to is my business but since you must know old friend, Ser Dustin helped us locate my daughter and helped us fight those that held her hostage.” The first half was true, he had convinced Lady Ashara to send word to some of the spies within Starfall and too his father before she gave birth and died of exhaustion. The latter half...well he wasn't in the right frame of mind or body when he was spirited away to the home of his brothers lady love.

If he ever saw Ser Jaime again, he would thank him properly for helping to sneak him out. Last time he was unable to because he was so damn tired.

“Ser Dustin has more than earned the title.” Father continued to speak. “Now are we to feast as allies or am I to take your daughter with us now and be done with it?”

Bread and salt was passed around after a moment and they made their way into the great hall. Ned and his wife spoke quietly as Baelish slithered his way over and held out his hand to him.

“Petyr Baelish, Lord of the Fingers.” He introduced himself. Brandon grasped the hand firmly enough to return the greeting though he wanted to break the hand altogether.

“Dustin,” He rasped. The name was done to honor the friend that he got killed when he rode to the Capitol, Lord William Dustin. Brandon didn't know what happened to his body but he assumed that it was burned like the others who displeased Aerys Targaryen.

“What part of Dorne do you hail from,” Baelish pretended to sound curious.

“Northern Dorne, near High Hermitage.”

“Your father is a Dayne then?”

“I don't know who my father is, but my mother lived in the village nearby.” They continued to make small talk and Brandon's anger grew and grew in the mere presence of this man. He had to stop himself from reacting violently when Baelish posed a question to his father while they ate supper.

“I understand that you have been made a grandfather for the fourth time with the birth of young Robb,” Baelish smirked when it became silent and took a sip of his wine. Father, for his part, merely stared at Baelish like the piece of shit that he was.

“I'm sorry, who are you again? Littlefucker was it?” Father asked calmly and Brandon allowed a small smile cross his face when Baelish choked slightly on his wine. He probably didn't expect such a response from a high lord.

Catelyn looked slightly appalled at what just happened. Hoster Tully glared at his former ward. Ser Brynden just rolled his eyes and continued to eat his venison.

“This is Petyr Baelish lord Stark,” Edmure Tully snickered slightly. “He hails from the Fingers, and his keep, The Titan's Hold, is on the smallest of them. Littlefinger is what most people call him.”

“My mistake then,” His father shrugged and went back to eating.

“My spy master brings up a good point even if it was not his place to speak of it,” Hoster Tully still glared at Baelish as he spoke. “He informs me that you now have two bastard children?” He shifted his glare to Ned who put down his cutlery and eyed his father by law with a calm expression.

“I do,” Ned replied and Catelyn looked dismayed, much like she did when Brandon told her of his son. “They were conceived before I married your daughter.” Ned added in attempt to sooth the situation.

It did him no good here. This lord in particular did not abide by such things as bastards unless they were blood related to him and he only did so with reluctance. If the Night's Watch still existed, young Robin Rivers would be sent there when he was old enough to speak. Now he was destined to be a serving boy or some such.

That life was better than a lot would get, but knowing Hoster Tully, he would make the boys life miserable.

“So they are the get of that Dornish woman, then?” Hoster Tully tried very hard not to sneer at his good son.

“They are Lady Ashara's children, yes.” For someone who could tell when others were lying and hated lying himself, Ned was actually rather good at it. Then again, we all have a great reason to do so. Brandon thought and it was only half a lie.

“And they are with their mother?” Lord Hoster seemed to know the answer already but he wanted it out in the open. He wanted his daughter to know specifically.

“They were sent ahead of us to Winterfell, they will be raised there until they are old enough to go their own way.” It was the only potion that made sense to them. Ser Barristan didn't need to go back to the capital as he was released from his vows and he swore to protect the last child of Rhaegar Targaryen to the best of his ability. Brandon knew that he would protect Jonothor as well since it was no secret that the man loved Ashara Dayne. He would never admit it out loud but Brandon could see the look of grief every time the Knight's eye wandered towards Ashara's son.

Brandon would watch him. He was sure that the man wouldn't hurt a child, the father of that child? That was a different story, one that would have dire consequences should Barristan decide to try anything.

“The Daynes were well off last I heard, why can't they take care of the bastards?”

Father, having grown tired of the direction in which this was going, slammed his hand onto the table so hard that a lot of the items on it shook, “Watch your tone Hoster. This is my son and heir and he is not on trial.”

The guards shifted at his tone but a hand from Ser Brynden stopped them from doing more. Baelish looked mildly pleased with the chaos that had been started by him. Edmure Tully and his sister stared at the Northern Lord with wide eyes, both having jumped at the sudden noise before Catelyn tried to calm her now crying son.

“This is my home -” Hoster began angrily but Rickard spoke over him.

“I am well aware of where we are, but we both know that your fucking spy has already told you these things. I can see it his rat eyes! The only reason you speak of these things is simple. You seek to embarrass and harass my son and I will not have it!”

“Both your sons have embarrassed my daughter and shamed her!” Hoster snapped back, rising from his seat. “They have shamed my house!”

“And what do you plan to do about it, hmm? Are you going to demand that you come to Winterfell and piss on my elder sons place in crypts?” His father still sat in his seat and glaring at the man he called friend. “What do you want Hoster? Tell me so we can all take our leave and be done with it.”

“I want those bastards out of Winterfell for starters, keep them North if you wish but I will not have them raised alongside my grandson.” Hoster hissed. “Everyone knows that bastards are not to be trusted.”

“Then why do you have your bastard grandson here?” Rickard raised an eyebrow. “Why would you want him in your stronghold?”

“That's different.”

“How? His birth and the refusal to share the father's identity saw you lose the chance to have a grandson of yours be Warden of the East.”

That was the agreement made in response to Lysa Tully's lack of innocence. Ser Elbert Arryn was confirmed as the next Warden and Lord Paramount regardless of whatever children Jon Arryn had with Lysa.

Because she refused to name the babes father and because she refused to get rid of the babe to begin with, Hoster Tully took him in as punishment for her. He said he did it because the boy was family and now he was arguing to keep Stark blooded children away from theirs.

It made Brandon angry that this man would demand such a thing, the fucking hypocrite.

“It is different,” Hoster repeated with gritted teeth.

“Again, how?” His father stood. Brandon and Ned both joined him. “You Southerners like to hold someones bastardy over them and we Northerners let them prove their worth. Have you heard of Northern lead rebellions with Bastards at the lead? If there were any, I don't know of them but I know of all the True Born fuckers that tried to destroy my house and subjugate my people. A lot of them came from places like this.

“You want me to put my flesh and blood out of their home but you wish to keep yours here? If you are going to demand anything of anyone Hoster, at least lead by example. As for your request, denied. I will not abandon my family when I have already lost enough of them.”

“Then my daughter stays here with her son. Lets see how your lords react to that.”

“By all means, keep your daughter here,” Rickard shrugged. “Shes a lovely girl, I'm sure that you can sell her womb to next highest bidder. Its what your house does best after all. But when we leave this place, I will ride North and gather any volunteers I can get to come here and lay siege to this castle. I meant what I said when I won't abandon my family and that boy is my grandson.

“You want to know how my lords will react? They'll be furious but not at me. When they find out that you threatened to hold him hostage, they'll be chomping at the bit to get him to where he belongs. Even the rivals of my house would frown at what you have done and offer any aid that they could. The Bolton's especially.”

The Tully's looked horrified by what he was saying, Catelyn and Hoster especially. Brandon's heart had been hardened by his experience but he still cringed internally at his fathers words. The Bolton's loyalty was questionable at best but they had no love for the South and disrespect to the Northern heir was not to be tolerated. Of course, they would find some way to play it to their advantage but they would help all the same.

“Riverrun can withstand any siege,” Lord Hoster's words were hollow at best given the look on his face. Not even Baelish looked smug any more.

“Not if we poison the river that flows directly underneath it and provides you with food and fresh water,” Rickard countered. “It won't hold against those who have sworn loyalty to me and mine. We still remember the lay outs of all the castles that we helped protect when Harren the Black enslaved the Smallfolk to build that monstrosity of his, this one included.

“And don't think it wouldn't be easy to get here quickly either. Lord Frey, as ghastly as he is, has an agreement with my nephews since they married two of his daughters. He may not like it but he likes you even less. The new king won't help you either, he has to hold the capitol and marry whatever bride he was to marry. If Tywin Lannister has his way, it'll be his daughter.

“I'm sure you'll find a great ally in the Lion of the West. Maybe you could have young Edmure here marry a Lannister from one of the lesser branches with the caveat of having more trade with the Westerlands. And besides, it was his Bannerman who helped solidify the ascension of Robert, something you and Jon Arryn didn't bother to discuss with me. Under this new Regime you could prosper quite a bit, much like you did when the Targaryen's raised you from petty lords to Lords Paramount.”

His father was daring Lord Hoster to do or say something stupid. The words were said pleasantly enough, but the underlying threat was too great to ignore. His father had no powers but his gift lie in the fact that he could make anyone feel uplifted with his praise and deeply ashamed with his criticism. Lord Rickard toed the line between South and North. He was cunning when he needed to be and blunt and vicious enough to satisfy the Northern lords.

In short, Rickard Stark was a powerful man and the world would have never seen the likes of him again if he had answered the summons he received from the Mad King and perished in that city.

“You have one hour to get out of my home,” Hoster Tully said quietly, furiously. “Take my daughter and her son. Take the bastard grandchild of mine since you seem to love them so much. Mark my words, old friend, should anything happen to my daughter and her family because of you, I will launch an attack on your country with the rest of my allies.”

Rickard leaned over the table as far as he could, “And I expect you to be on the front lines, fighting with all you have, should it come to that. I will do the same. Goodbye old friend, and good luck to you in all your future endeavors” He left the table without another word and he was followed by his sons.