Battles in the North I
Lady Barbrey Dustin, Barrow Hall, The last month of 283 AC
Barbrey looked over the suit of armor that she had made for her son. It was large and hopefully she was correct in thinking that he would be as big as his father. White wolves were painted and etched into, signifying his birthright to Winterfell.
She scowled when she thought of the little rat that now passed for a Stark heir.
He looks too much like a damn fish, She snarked in her mind. If it wasn't for the slight grey in his blue eyes, she would have accused the Southron whore of fucking a member of her family. Of course, this particular whore had a backbone, one that Barbrey would enjoy breaking when the time came.
She ran her hand along the pommel of the sword that she had reforged for her son. Originally it had belonged to house Hightower, but it was taken by Roddy the Ruin and kept with house Dustin. Why they never openly claimed it was not known but when she married into the house, she had it sent to the Mountains.
The goat fuckers up there did a good job in reforging it, She thought, touching the horseshoe pommel that wrapped around a circle that had a horse head etched into it. The horse was to honor her house and the house that would help her place her son in charge of Winterfell. The Stark name wouldn't survive after this, but the Stark blood would live on, and that would be enough hold the North.
The blade of the sword was no longer black like before, now it held a slight orange hue and the ripples in the blade made it look like fire from a crude drawing. She thought that was odd, since the northern ore often produced blue grey blades but she thought it was fitting none the less given the colors of her house.
She sighed and went to the window to over look her men that were training diligently, even now when the sun had gone down. The new year would be upon them soon, and a new war would erupt in the North. If Brandon was still alive, maybe all of this could have been avoided -
BOOM!
A large explosion rocked her back and she looked to see one of the towers, the Barrow Tower, was set a flame. Before she could give a command to her men, the window she was standing in front of exploded as well.
Lord Benjen Longclaw, outside of Barrow Hall, Same Time
“Do you know how much this is going to cost to fix,” Callum asked him, taking a swipe at a Dustin guard and lopping his head off. “Larence isn't going to be happy -”
A mad cackle cut him off and they both turned to see their friend gleefully cutting down several Dustin guards in the span of a few moments. Righteous in Wrath indeed, Benjen thought with a shake of his head.
“I don't think he cares right now,” Benjen dryly replied, spinning on his heel to dodge a blow and shooting his hand out towards his attacker. Spikes of ice formed around his hand and he nailed his attacker in the face. The guard's face exploded into gore from the force before he fell to the ground dead.
“Ser Crow, I leave these men with you, you know my fathers will. Kill those who won't surrender, bind those who will,” He told Callum, mindful to not say the word shackle around his friend, knowing his friends hatred of the item in question.
“Aye Lord Longclaw, it will be done. Now go get the bitch that helped start all of this.”
“With pleasure,” Benjen growled cutting a man in half with his sword before he took off in a run towards Barrow Hall and went inside when he reached it.
Benjen had to give the guards credit, they were loyal to their mistress. But they were stupid. They had the higher ground on the steps going up the keep, but they lunged or jumped at him instead of forming a wall of spears at the top of the stairs to try and stall his movements.
Not that it would have helped, He thought, freezing a man in mid air and moving out of the way as his frozen body continued on its journey. He heard it shatter behind him but he paid it no mind as he had reached the top of the stairs. He froze two more guards and pushed them over, again paying no mind to the sound of shattered ice.
The door to the main chambers was off its hinges. Benjen pulled it out of the way and let himself in. He cursed at what he saw, the damn projectiles they used had hit this room dead on. Most of it was destroyed, including what looked like a suit of armor. Orange steel glinted at him in the light of the small fire that had started.
He turned when he heard a noise. Barbrey was under a pile of rubble, wheezing for breath.
“So this is how it ends is it?” Barbrey coughed and spat out some blood. She made a truly pitiful sight as she lay on the ground. “I birth a Stark child and this is what I get?!” She snarled at him.
“You birthed a bastard, Barbrey.” Benjen corrected her solemnly, gripping his sword. This would come back to haunt him, especially when he looked at his nephew.
“Who looks more like a Stark than any spawn of that Tully bitch!” Barbrey snarled out again before coughing again. “Do you plan on killing him as well?” She demanded.
“He is kin, regardless of his bastardy. No harm will come to him.” Part of him was angry that she would think such a thing of him, but he did just lead an assault on her and her men.The others would take care of her allies.
He raised his sword to kill her.
“No, I won't be killed by an Iron Born weapon, kill me the proper way.” Here Benjen hesitated. “You owe me that much.”
“I owe you nothing woman,” Benjen snapped back. How dare she think that? "You were going to commit treason against my family!"
“My last request then,” Barbrey said weakly. “One Northerner to another. Please.”
“Very well,” Benjen thought on it and formed an ice blade around his hand. He loomed over his target and readied himself.
“Protect my son,” Barbrey continued. “And teach him well.”
“I will.”
“That sword on the table is his, the armor too.” She gestured but Benjen just nodded his head. She was clearly disoriented if she thought the table had survived the blast. “Go on then, do your duty.”
Barbrey gasped when the ice blade slipped between her ribs and stabbed her heart. Benjen shoved his blade further, feeling the blood warm the ice before he removed his hand. He watched the light leave the eyes of his brothers lover.
He moved to grab the sword she spoke about. His father would decide what to do with it. He grabbed a lantern from outside and threw it on her body, watching it catch fire. Even with the White Walkers being destroyed, the North Men still burned the bodies of the dead, especially if they couldn't reach a Maester to prepare the bones.
He waited for the body to burn some more before he put out that fire and the other one. Taking his leave he passed a portrait of the late William Dustin, the last true Dustin and sighed sadly.
“Such a shame,” He murmured and walked away to go find his friends.
Lord Larence Nightfall, the main courtyard of Barrow Hall
Larence came down from his trance, breathing heavily. He surveyed the area around him, Dustin men were either dead or bound in chains and Dustin banners littered the ground. He looked up to see a silver and red banner fall into place of the old ones on the wall, the black leopard head in its center.
He almost cried when he saw his banner but refrained. This was his home now, with the titles and incomes to boot. Hornwood could remain with his brother, but now this was something all his own and he would defend it until his last breath.
“We'll have to see about getting you a wife,” Callum's large frame came up beside him, and bumped his shoulder.
“A wife?” Larence blinked.
“Yes, you're a lord now,” Callum rolled his eyes. “You'll need a lady to marry.”
“I doubt that there are many that would marry a bastard ,” Larence replied flippantly and grimaced when his friends face became like stone. “Sorry Cal, I didn't mean it like that.”
“Indeed,” Callum rumbled. Larence knew that Callum loved Wylla, and Wylla loved him, but she missed her family who still hadn't spoken to her. Mainly because of her marriage to Callum.
“So, has Lord Stark given you a keep to run, if not you can have Goldgrass or a place nearby,” Larence offered, knowing that the Stout's would be killed or were dead already. “I could always use your counsel.” That was partially a lie since Callum's skill lay in battle, not the governing of the people. It was said that he was a much calmer version of his father, Mors Umber, a man who couldn't be bothered to act like a lord even though his blood was noble.
“Lord Rickard says he has plans for Wylla and I, but he will speak with us about it at the convergence of Lords,” Callum frowned but offered a slight smile in the end. “I thank you for your generosity my friend.”
“We bastard boys need to stand together, no?” Larence said firmly and held out a hand. Callum grasped him by the forearm and gave it a shake.
“We stand together.”
The Banner of House Nightfall of Barrowton in case any of you wondered what it looked like.
