Battles in the North II
Ser Jaime Lannister, Rillwater Crossing, the same Night
He locked swords with what he assumed was a squire before he gripped the boy by his shirt and threw him away.
“Stay down boy,” He snarled, kicking the boy in the face for good measure. Damn, Jaime thought moving more into the fray, he might have known where Lord Aeron Glenmore was.
The Lord's son was dead, killed by the hand of the former slave known only as 'Digger' and his strange, curved weapon that he threw with great force. It split both the helm and skull and then came back into the waiting hand of its owner.
It was said that he was originally from Andalos, but he had spent a lot of time in the fighting pits, so his accent was very hard to place. He himself did not know where he was from, having been taken as a babe and sold into slavery. The only thing Jaime really knew about him was that Braavos had sent him and his team here and that Jaime was to take his son, Owyn, on as his squire when he was old enough.
He caught a strike that would have taken his head, and a hand burst from the chest of his would be killer who gasped. Behind him stood another former slave, a giant of a man called Pusher. He was a cart mover in Volantis and had lead a revolt that saw some of his fellow slaves, also named Pusher, freed from their bondage. Jaime was unsure as to how he came to know Digger, but they were two parts of a three package deal.
Pusher practically tossed the dead body over his shoulder. It sailed through the air, before landing on another person. Jaime almost flinched but stopped himself. He went through chain mail, boiled leather, and some plate as well, what in the Seven Hells is he? He thought.
“Try not to get so much blood on me next time,” Jaime wiped at his face while Pusher grunted and turned his head, showing the large tattoo on the left side of his face. Jaime turned to the sound of a woman yelling at several men that she killed or was in the process of killing with her flaming sword. This was Yira, another former slave and Pusher's wife. “What is she saying?”
“She says that they are a disgrace to their ancestors, and that they bring shame to their families.”
“She does realize that she is saying it in High Valyrian, yes?”
“In the heat of battle, ones blood is quite high, no? One cannot think clearly, with all this chaos about them.” To emphasize his point he swung his large arm out, catching a guard in the chest and sending him flying into a group of more guards. As they all bowled over, Jaime was sure that the one Pusher hit was dead and the others were severely injured.
“Ser Jaime!” Ser Brock Mazin called to him and he turned to his future brother by law. “We've found Lord Aeron!”
“Then bring him, Lord Rickard wants him alive.”
Ser Brynden Tully, the Dreadfort, Midnight
“Always fucking hated crossbows,” Yoren growled beside him, breaking of part of the bolt that pierced his shoulder.
“At least they take too long to load.” Brynden muttered taking hold of the other end and yanking it out. “Get to the Maester, he'll set you right.” Yoren gave a grunt and shuffled away. Brynden took the time to look about the place.
What a mess, He thought with a grimace. One because of how things looked and two because his chest still hurt from the sword blow he took. Thank fuck for armor, he thought, taking notice of Ser Locke.
“Ser Blackfish,” The other man greeted him with a slight smile. If Brynden had been a green boy, he might have flinched at the new scars that lined his friends face.
“Ser Wynter,” Brynden nodded at him. “Trying a new look I see.”
Locke chuckled darkly, “My cousin is good with knives, I'm a little bit better,” A bruised and bloody Roose Bolton was dragged by his feet from behind Locke who turned to where Brynden was looking. “Put him in the carriage, make sure he doesn't die on the way to Winterfell.”
Cold blue eyes looked up at Locke then around.
“Take a good look cousin, its the last time the flayed man will ever be seen again.” Roose spat in Locke's direction, ever defiant.
“Where are his wife and child,” Brynden asked curiously. He knew the plan was to let the boy live since he was still a babe and could be taught but he was unclear as to what would happen to lady Bethany.
“Domeric is being tended too by his wet nurse, Lady Bethany is dead, has been for a while it seems.” Locke shook his head, looking a little sad. “Roose loved her, as impossible as that sounds.”
“No more impossible than finding pathways into every part of the North apparently,” Brynden murmured quietly to the other man. “Thank the gods that Lord Richard shared that information.”
“Aye.”
Neither of them knew how Lord Rickard found these pathways, but he told them how to access them and over the many months up until now, they studied their targets. It was the only way for this plan to work.
“Speaking of Lord Rickard, here, a gift for you.”
Brynden took a tiny scroll from his fellow knight and opened it. He blinked at the words.
“You want me to watch your new keep? One you don't even own yet?” He asked incredulously. He knew little of Brier Wood Keep, outside of the fact that Ser Harlon went there to personally lay siege to it and to bring his brother in.
“You're trustworthy enough and I need to watch the Dreadfort for some time. You think my banner is just here for decorative purposes?” He nodded to the red arrowhead on white and black before he passed another scroll to Brynden. “This one is just as important.”
Brynden gave it a pass over and snorted, “I'll not be a lord.” He replied stiffly.
“Technically you'll be a Landed Knight like me. Your son or daughter would lead your house as lord or lady when they're old enough. Picture it, House Blackfish of Tumbledon Tower,” Locke gave an exaggerated framing gesture with his hands. “And the land is yours anyway, and unless you plan on dying any time soon, its going to remain yours until then.”
Bugger, Brynden thought. He never wanted to be a lord, and he still didn't but maybe he could use this opportunity to rub his brother the wrong way. He was very good at it and his potential success was sure to upset Hoster.
“Fine,” He gave a resigned sigh and received a huge grin in return. The grin grew even more when several men approached him. The grin faded at the solemn posture of the men. Brynden straightened at the sight of them.
“Shanks, where is he? Is something wrong?” Locke moved forward and demanded, “Where is my cousin, I told you to get him. Where is he?!” He yelled when he did not receive an answer.
“Locky,” Shanks murmured then stopped speaking and moved aside to reveal a cart with two bloody sheets.
“No, no, no,” Locke pushed past them and pulled back the sheet with the smaller outline. He gave a cry, “No! No Roger, not you. Oh gods please not you!” He clutched at the body of what looked like a five year old boy.
“What happened?” Brynden demanded of the one known as Shanks. Locke still wailed over the body of his dead kinsman.
“We came across the bodies in the village they were staying at,” Shanks responded calmly, not the least bit intimidated by Brynden. “Several Bolton men were in the area. They did the deed but wouldn't explain why.”
“How many men?”
“Eight.”
“And did you bring any back?”
“There are three outside of the castle, the rest fought back and were killed. They killed old Ben and a few of the dogs.”
“Bring them in and throw them in the cells,” Brynden ordered since his friend was in mourning. “Lord Wynter will deal with them in his own time.”
What a fucking mess, He thought moving towards his friend to try and comfort him. It would do him no good, not when ones grief was so fresh, but Brynden would not abandon his friend in a time like this.
This is the Banner for house Wynter:
