Re: [CKII:AGOT] THE NORTH REMEMBERS (Updated: 04/08/2013)
“There were thousands of them, fifty thousand at least.”
“Eight thousand,” Hullen Glover corrected, “mostly infantry, and maybe two thousand horse.” Edwin shot his brother an irritated look before continuing, “Well... there was was more of them than us. We didn’t stand a chance.” Once again Edwin glanced at his brother but this time Hullen simply nodded his agreement. The hall had been silent as the two Glovers had told their story, but now a low hum grew as men muttered restlessly. The great hall was crowded, but it should have been overflowing for it was host to an assembly of the Northern Lords. However, many had ignored the summons and even more had fallen to the Ironborn reavers in the years before. The handful of High Lords that had attended were seated upon the dais. The two bickering Glover siblings were seated on the far end of the dais to speak for their father Galwin Glover, the erstwhile Lord of the Wolfswood; who was delayed on the road, having opted to remain with the remnants of his cumbersome army. Beside them sat the gaunt Calon Hornwood, who seemed an anxious man, yet had somehow risen to become the Lord of White Harbour after the collapse of House Manderly. In the centre was their young host, Aethan Karstark, Lord of Karhold. Though his mother, Lady Leana, had joined him to act as his regent and, evidently, stop him from picking at his nose. Finally, upon the opposite side, sat Hoarfrost Umber and Oryn Flint. Hoarfrost towering in his chair, huge and muscular; Oryn tiny beside him, lithe and sinewy. All in all, Hoarfrost doubted the High Lords of the North made for an inspiring sight.
A hush suddenly descended on the hall as Calon Hornwood stood. “This cannot continue,” Calon began, his voice peculiarly high, “something must be done to stop Goodbrother once and for all. I suggest we combine our strengths!” There was an immediate explosion of support from the White Harbor contingent, who pounded their fists upon the benches as if Lord Calon had solved everything, but the clamor quickly ended when they realised no one else shared their enthusiasm. There was no illusion to why the assembly had been called. It had been less than a month since Gorold Goodbrother had emerged from the Wolfswood to seize Deepwood Motte, the seat of the Glovers. Prior to the attack it had been widely believed that Gorold’s latest foray into the Barrowlands was like to be his last, for every report suggested that the Ironborn meant to depart the North for good. So the last thing the sleepy army at Deepwood Motte had expected to see in the dawns twilight hours was eight thousand howling Ironborn reavers erupt from the surrounding treeline. The fighting had been disastrous for the Glovers and Lord Galwin and most of his family had escaped capture at the cost of over four thousand men, including his eldest son. Though if Gorold had meant to crush the resolve of the remaining Northern Lords then he had failed, for the defeat of one of the last four great Northern houses had finally shocked those remaining into action. Out of the High Lords only the Boltons and Reeds had not attended, but that was not unexpected. Jyana Bolton had proclaimed her infant son as King of the North, and seemed completely uninterested in the Goodbrother invasion; While no one was quite sure whether the Reeds of the Neck still survived, and if they did then they would surely be too busy with the Southern army that had taken up residence in their godforsaken swamp.
“Its clear to anyone with half a brain we need to join our bloody strengths” shouted the bear-like Rodwell Mormont from one of the benches close to the dais, forcing a red-faced Lord Calon to retreat back to his seat, “its just a case of deciding who’ll be the one to lead us.” The hall instantly fell silent. Outside the blizzard howled, and Hoarfrost could picture Lord Galwin and his exhausted men battling through the snow, their fur-lined silhouettes hunched over against the storm. This weather had held for over a week now and had made travelling agonizingly slow, despite the snowshoes which Northmen made from hardwood and rawhide lacings. There could be no doubt that winter was finally upon them. “Let our father lead,” suddenly called Edwin Glover, interrupting Hoarfrost’s thoughts, “he’s the most experienced, and he’s the only one who’s faced Goodbrother before!”
“Aye and bloody lost!” offered a grim-faced man with the Karstark sigil upon his gambeson. The Glovers in the hall leapt to their feet, roaring their protests, and the Karstarks quickly followed, but Wendel had lectured Hoarfrost and the Umber contingent about the dangers of the assembly failing to old rivalries, and so Hoarfrost hurriedly stood. “Let me lead you,” he boomed, “I’ve fought battles and I’ve won. Allow me the honour of throwing the Ironborn back in the sea.” The Karstarks and Glovers forgot their argument and turned back towards the dais. For a moment Hoarfrost was foolish enough to believe he’d won them over with his short and clumsy appeal, then Hullen Glover stood. “You haven’t fought a real battle,” he shouted from the opposite end of the dais, “you knocked about a bunch of bloody sheep-shaggers is all!” Karstark, Glover and Hornwood men alike exploded in laughter as Hoarfrost and the Umbers balled up their fists and bit their tongues. Oryn Flint, whom Hoarfrost had made High Lord of said sheep-shaggers, threw back his chair and made to cross the dais, but Hoarfrost quickly checked him. “At least we’ve still got a sodding keep!” the familiar voice of Brun bellowed, ever the diplomat, and suddenly it was the Umbers turn to laugh. “Your Little Giants just a boy, and I don’t mean to follow a child to war! No matter how tall he stands!” someone shouted, and there was an explosion of jeers from the throng of Glovers. An Umber, who Hoarfrost guessed to be the Torgild, one of his newer guardsmen, lifted his voice above the noise, “the Young Wolf was still a lad when he went South!”
“The Young Wolf?” a fresh-faced Glover shouted, before mockingly laughing, “And how many came back from his folly, if that bastard had just-” but he was cut short as one of his own comrades stepped forward and slammed a fist into the side of his face. There was a moment's pause as both sides watched the man stagger slightly and then collapse, before they returned to jeering and hurling insults at each other. “Enough!” roared Hoarfrost, and his plea seemed to work as the clamor lessened. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw it and every eye was suddenly following the bread roll as it arced it way up from among the cluster of Glovers to bounce between Hoarfrost’s eyes and fall into his horn of ale with an audible plop. There was suddenly silence. Time itself seemed to stand still. Hoarfrost found himself looking upon his men, who stared back expectantly. Brun had a look of outrage, while Wendel shook his head slightly, his eyes urging Hoarfrost to remain calm. Hoarfrost nodded slightly, grinned, then bellowed, “get ‘em!”
The Umbers surged towards the Glovers and the two sides clashed in a flurry of fists. The rest of the hall froze, until Rodwell Mormont turned to the Branch beside him and clobbered him in the nose. In seconds the assorted retinues of great and small Lords turned upon each other, plunging the hall into complete anarchy as they hunted down the sigils of rival houses. Hoarfrost wasted no time, unceremoniously scrambling over the high-lords table to join the fray. The Glover brothers followed suit, leaving Lord Calon sheltering beside Lady Leana and the little Lord Aethan, who was clearly enjoying the spectacle. Only the handful of apprehensive Karstark guardsmen standing close behind their Lord had been permitted to carry weapons within the hall. Which was fortunate for the fight was savage. Hoarfrost bellowed incoherently as he bullied his way into the mêlée, making for the security of the small knot of Umbers that Brun had rallied. Oryn was behind, keening some terrible war cry as he lashed wildly out at anyone to slow to move from their path. They made good progress as men hurriedly parted before the huge Hoarfrost, but as they neared the centre of the hall the sheer weight of men slowed them. Then suddenly the world was white as someone drove a fist into the side of Hoarfrost’s face. He stumbled, but kept his footing as a mob of Karstarks closed in around them. The blows rained down incessantly, and someone had climbed upon his back. “Umber!” Hoarfrost found himself bellowing as he dug his elbow into the ribs of the man around his neck, “Umber, Umber!” The arms slipped from around him and Hoarfrost immediately lashed out. A Karstark reeled away, his nose broken, but suddenly Hoarfrost’s head was ringing, and his legs felt like folding beneath him. He forced himself to stay upright and swung blindly out. A shock of pain ran through his fingers as his massive fist crunched into something hard and bony. Then once again he was struck in the head, and this time he felt his legs give way and he collapsed to a knee.
Instinctively he raised his arms to shield his head, but instead of more blows there was a sudden cheer and a rush of hands reached out to haul him back to his feet. His vision cleared and the hard-featured face of Tormund, one of his guardsmen, came into focus, he was grinning broadly, blood thick between his yellow teeth. Brun thrust him aside and slapped Hoarfrost on his shoulder, “bastards almost had you!” Hoarfrost spat blood and glanced around at the dozen remaining Umbers. His assailants had been routed for the moment, recoiling from the savagery of the attack and Hoarfrost took the opportunity to survey the battlefield. Throughout the hall the brawl continued. The more numerous Karstarks were clearly having the best of the fight. The Hornwoods and the various lesser Lords were still fighting among each other, while the Glovers looked in a desperate position as the Karstarks closed in about them. Oryn Flint had somehow found himself marooned upon a bench, though was putting up a valiant defense as he wielded a ham joint with deadly efficiency. “Right,” Hoarfrost began, but paused to inspect his men. They looked a terrible state, their clothes were ripped, their faces bruised and blooded, the skin torn from around their knuckles. Though as they met his gaze they grinned, and Hoarfrost felt a deep and brotherly love well up inside him. These same men had followed him into the cruel mountains of the clans and there stood side by side in the Stony Pass, now they stood beside him once again. Mors the Crow-catcher, Harras Littlehands, Ulwyn, Allard and Bennet Snow, Harwood, Gregor, Rodrick and the two Tors, Torwin and Torgild. Hoarfrost laughed and Brun rolled his eyes and shook his head, but Hoarfrost didn’t care for he knew no army in Westeros could hope to defeat him with men like these at his side. Wendel wasn’t among them, but he’d never been a fighter and so Hoarfrost guessed he’d found refuge somewhere. “Glovers look in trouble. I know their bastards, but I’ll wed a Frey before I let the Karstarks beat us,” continued Hoarfrost, his words having the desired effect as his men smiled wolfishly, “Glovers don’t think we can fight, so lets show the whoresons how Umbers scrap, eh!” Then the horn sounded.
In the confined space the sound was deafening, and the fighting abruptly ended as the Northmen winced and clapped their hands to their ears. Hoarfrost looked towards its origin to find Wendel stood atop the high-lords table. “This is our last chance!” Wendel shouted after he had brought the warhorn from his lips. “Gorold Goodbrother and at least eight thousand Ironborn are out there!” he motioned towards the doors at the end of the hall, and a few Northmen spun round half-expecting Gorold himself to be stood behind them. “If we fail today, then we lose everything!” Hoarfrost had never seen Wendel so passionate, and the intensity of his words had subdued the hall. Suddenly Wendel pointed his finger at Hoarfrost, “Lord Hoarfrost has no right to lead you!” At once Brun started forward, thrusting his way through the crowd, “you traitorous little bastard, I’ll wring your scrawny-”
“Brun!” barked Hoarfrost, and Brun stopped and fell silent. Wendel was frugal and did not have battle-courage, but he was honest and more importantly kin, and so Hoarfrost trusted him. “He’s not Lord Paramount, and he’s sure as hell not a King,” there was a ripple of laughter through the hall. Hoarfrost and his men grinned, for it was a running joke among the Umbers that their Lord was far from Lordly. “But he’s m’cousin, I grew up with him, I fought beside him, I know what kind of man he is; and its the kind the North needs right now. A warrior. He won’t ask you to bend the knee to him, or give him your oath; but he’ll ask you to fight with him. That you fight for your homes and families and everything else you hold dear,” Wendel paused, catching his breath, “will you fight with Lord Hoarfrost?”
“Aye!” roared the Umbers, and some of the lesser Lords and their men took up the cry. However, the Glovers, Karstarks and Hornwoods remained as silent as their Lords, to whom their loyalties lied. The shouting died down and all eyes turned to the dais. Lord Calon remained fixed in his chair, his brow glistening with sweat. The little Lord Aethan sat with his arms folded, upset that Wendel had spoiled his entertainment, while his mother looked terrified beside him. Hullen Glover suddenly stirred, he had been among the fray and so did not bother to try and reach the dais but simply climbed upon the nearest bench. “We were sent here to speak in m'fathers stead. Lord Hoarfrost is a good warrior, aye, maybe even great, but the Glovers had suffered more tha-” Whatever Hullen had meant to say was cut short as the doors were thrown open.
Every head turned. In the doorway stood a lone man. He strode forward, his longword clattering against his chainmail, muffled by the thick layers of snow-specked furs. There was no introduction, but even so the room parted before him, for there was an air of authority about him reserved only for the high-born. He had an hard and weather-beaten face, with quick green eyes which made him look younger than he was. His chin was clean shaven, which was a rarity in the North, and he had neatly cropped grey hair. It appeared he would continue straight to the dais, but he stopped suddenly and turned towards the wide-eyed Hullen. “Father? I thought...”
“I had a feeling you two’d botch things up,” interrupted Lord Galwin Glover. He turned sharply away, apparently finished with his son, and his fierce gaze immediately picked Hoarfrost out from the surrounding men. Once again the press parted before him as he strode meaningfully towards Hoarfrost and stopped directly in front of him. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the giant towering before him. Hoarfrost frowned and instinctively straightened up. “You look nothing like y’father,” Galwin suddenly broke the awkward silence, “you anything like y’father?”
“No.”
“Thats a relief,” Galwin turned sharply and strode to the dais, Hoarfrost shot a bewildered look at Brun and followed. The entire hall seemed dumbstruck. When they reached the dais Hoarfrost made to return to his seat, but Galwin stopped him at his side and turned to face the hall. “I’ve seen what these whoreson’s do first hand,” he did not raise his voice as he spoke, and didn’t need to, for the hall had been silent from the moment he had entered. “And it won’t be us who suffer for if they win they’ll kill y’all. But they’ll take your wives for their own and make your children, and your childrens children, and everything after slaves,” he spoke bluntly, his tone not meant to inspire but merely to state the facts. Galwin's brow suddenly furrowed, and his looked down at the floor. When he raised his head he had a pained expressed, and for the first time his age showed and he was suddenly only a grieving father, “I’ve... I've failed my people. I've failed my family.." The room was deafeningly silent. Galwin looked close to tears, but then he swallowed and all at once he was Lord Galwin Glover again, “I will not fail the North and if a Glover must follow an Umber, then by the old gods so bloody be it!” With that he turned to Hoarfrost. “Lord Hoarfrost, I hear your a hard man and a good leader, and I hope I heard right... because the strength of the Glovers is yours.”
OOC
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Originally Posted by Paraipan
