Brandon the Shipwright attempted to sail across the Sunset Sea, but never returned, his tomb in the crypts of Winterfell remaining empty. He made landfall on what would become the Sunset Islands and now the youngest son of Brandon VII Stark attempts to cross the Sunset Sea and return to Westeros, this is the tale of his adventure and what it means for the future of Westeros. Winter is Coming. Feedback is appreciated.
Chapter 1: Prologue "We made it?" The thought echoed through his head as the young prince coughed up a gallon of seawater. "We made it..." Again the words rang, behind the exhaustion and thirst the prince felt an overwhelming scene of pride and joy as he laid on the cold sand of whatever beach he'd washed up on, he had no idea where he was exactly but he'd done what his father and brothers had claimed was impossible. He was, he thought beyond all the doubt, in the fabled land of Westeros. "Or I died and this is some cruel jest..." He thought as he faded in and out of consciousness, somebody was dragging him but he was too weak to do anything but mumble incoherently and hope he wasn't being dragged off for dinner by some local cannibals. Prince Willam had a bit of an active imagination.
"Rise and shine little prince, we didn't sail all this way for you to die now." He knew that voice, that son of-
"We made it!" Willam cried with joy after tackling his brother to the floor, who quickly pushed him off and proceeded to brush the sand off his cloths. "WE MADE IT!" Willam screamed at the top of his voice at nobody in particular, hoping somehow his family would hear his cry from across the vast ocean. "We did make it right?" He thought suddenly as doubts beset him and he decided to voice his thought rather than standing around like an idiot. "We did make it right, brother?"
"How should I know?" Cregan rolled his eyes, he was such a prick sometimes. "This shoreline stretches for miles, sit down before you hurt yourself."
"Are you not excited brother?" Willam smiled at his dour bastard of a brother, he clasped him on his shoulders and shook the prick. "We made it! We actually made it!"
"I heard you the first hundred times."
"Why did I bring you along again?" Willam signed, taking a swig of water from the flask Cregan offered.
"Your father saw an opportunity to rid himself of the bastard and the trouble maker," Cregan continued to crudely sharpen his sword using a rock he'd found from somewhere, Willam really wasn't paying much attention. "While your celebrating you may want to know that Edwyn is with us."
"Where?" Willam gave his surroundings a quick scan for show, "I don't see him, I fear you've got a case of ocean madness..."
"I'll gut you with this sword." Cregan kept his face blank.
"You wouldn't dare," Willam called his bluff. "Farther would have your head."
"Fathers not here."
"Heh," Willam thought as he paused to think of his next play.
"Well?"
"This." Willam kicked sand in the bastards face, laughing as the crazed bastard shot up from his seat.
"I leave for a few minutes and your already trying to kill each other." Edwyn returned to find the brothers wrestling in the sand, Cregan getting the clear upper hand over the young prince. "You know this could be considered treason Snow, what would your father say if he heard of you murdering your little brother?"
"Thanks for doing me a favor?"
Willam smacked him over the back of the head and ducked under his brothers swing, "If you two are quite done there could be other survivors along the coast, we should start searching before nightfall. Or we could move inland, saw a dirt road not far from the shore that I bet will lead to something eventually."
"We search for awhile," Willam turned serious for a moment after giving his brother another slap across the head. "They came because of me, I wont abandon them."
"I grabbed this before we capsized," Edwyn held out a long sword in it's scabbard and offered it to his prince, the blade was made of strong steel mined on the Sunset Islands, a howling wolf's head of dark stone from the cliffs of home for the pommel with chips of diamond for the wolves eyes, to reflect Willam's own ghostly grey eyes. "Your father would have my head if you lost this."
"My thanks Ed," Willam drew it out far enough to read the inscription of 'Winter Is Coming' that graced the blade. It had been a departing gift from his father, his way of wishing Willam luck and expressing his love, without doing so too publicly. Willam strapped the sword belt to his waist and processed to search the shore, finding nobody, to his sorrow. "They came because I asked it of them," He thought to himself as he looked out at the sea. "They'd keep looking for me Ed, we'll do no different for them. I'll not have it said that we gave up so bloody easily."
"It'll be dark soon," Edwyn replied. "We should camp for the night, search again in the morning."
Cregan agreed as he kept an eye on the nearby dirt path. "I doubt we'll find many others, those in armor are surely lost to us. Others could have washed up anywhere along the coast, dead or alive, we could spend days looking for all we know. I would rather we follow the path and get some understanding of this land."
Willam sighed, defeated. "We camp for the night, in the morning we'll follow the road and see where it takes us."
The night was oddly warmer than they were used to, it seemed the Islands were deeper north than wherever they landed in Westeros. The words of Winter Is Coming were a reminder of the hardships that struck Willam's people, they were not called the Sunset Islands because the sun always shun, the sun would set and the cold would follow. Winter was always coming and it would show no mercy. "We're leaving little prince."
"Five more minutes..." Willam waved his hand to shoo away the annoying voice that would tear him from his dream of home. The sunset sea crashing upon the rocks outside his window, his brothers sparring in the courtyard, the naked women that laid next to-
"Wake up!" Cregan kicked him.
Willam cursed, gods he hated that bastard sometimes.
"We're losing daylight my prince," Edwyn spoke sense. "I think it best we take full advantage."
"Agreed," Willam rubbed his eyes and made sure to grab his sword, having sworn last night never again to be parted with the blade.
The duo walked for awhile before they came across a small village, flying no banner that they knew from the Islands or any of the many books detailing the old Kingdom of Winter. "I think it best that we make no mention of your title, my prince." Edwyn suggested, as if Willam ever demanded he or anyone call him by his titles.
"Now is as good a time as ever for you to stop, Ed." Willam replied with a grin.
"No worries about my titles," Cregan muttered.
"Cregan Snow, Prince of being a prickly bastard." Willam shot a smile at his brother, who in turn looked like he was going to kill him.
"We've got company." Edwyn whispered, moving his hand slowly to his swords hilt.
The villager seemed harmless enough, armed with a small dagger likely used for the skinning of caught game. Hunting was a sparse trade on the Islands but not absent, the largest of the Islands boasted a large forrest with hares and other critters but in truth most of the Islands food came from the sea. "Travelers, eh?" The man spoke with an eyebrow raised and his hand hovered over his dagger. "Don't get many newcomers around here."
"We're sellswords," Edwyn was the first to come up with a story, having stupidly prepared nothing beforehand. "Just passing through."
"Fancy blade for a sellsword." The man motioned at Willams sword, likely noting diamonds in the pommel.
"A gift from a wealthy lord we fought for once, a long time ago." Willam replied with a warm smile.
"That so?" The man asked and would've asked more if not for the warning look Cregan shot his way. "We've little to offer sellswords around these parts but perhaps the lord has work for you. I honestly couldn't say, times are peaceful, little need for sellswords."
"And what lord would that be?" Willam asked, having no solid idea where they actually where.
The villager seemed shocked by Willam's lack of knowledge. "Ryswell rules these parts, not too far down the east road."
"Ryswell." Willam tired to remember the books he'd read about Westeros, mainly concerning the old Kingdom of Winter and it's many vassals. Ryswell was a cadet branch of House Ryder, Ed's house, meaning they were indeed in the Kingdom of Winter. "Ryswell," Willam laughed for effect. "How could I forget, cold must be getting to me."
The man clearly didn't believe that for a second, the cold in truth was nothing compared to the norm on the Islands and it showed on these strangers whom for the most part wore leathers. Whatever furs they had were drenched during the crash so they'd made do with what they had. "Inn's over that way, cant miss it." They gave a nod in response and headed for the inn where they used what coin they had to buy food and dry furs, the innkeep was reluctant to trade.
"What do you mean you wont accept our coin?" Willam was confused and a little insulted.
"These are not stags." The Innkeep shook his head.
Willam narrowed his eyes at the man. "It's still silver, why do you care what's engraved on it?"
"I have never even heard of this currency nor the man on it, could be fake." He continued to turn his nose up at it, smug bastard. "However, those gems on your-"
Cregan pushed Willam aside and addressed the fool. "The only way your getting that sword, old man, is if he drives it through your chest."
A silence watched across the inn before the innkeep decided that "silver was silver" and accepted the payment, quickly sending the three armed men off towards the seat of House Ryswell where Willam hoped they'd be welcomed a lot more warmly. He was wrong, as it seemed he so often found himself being. "Think this is the place?" Cregan asked as he approached some wooden walls, basic but sturdy, no doubt the seat of some lord.
"A black horse's head with a red maine upon a field of bronze," Willam echoed the words he'd read in some book a lifetime ago as he looked at the banners flying above the walls that stood before them. "Similar to House Ryders colors, can hardly tell the difference actually. This is the place."
The gates were open so they walked in without much fuss, until they were stopped at the door to the great hall. "The hall is off limits to all but family and guests." The guard spoke, suspiciously eyeing up the three armed men. "Do you have business with House Ryswell?"
"Sellswords," Edwyn replied, keeping with their previous story. "Here to offer our services to the lord."
The guard seemed hesitant but let them in, following closely behind as they walked towards the high chair at the end of the main room. "M'lord, some sellswords here to speak to you and offer their blades. I thought it best that you deal with them yourself." The guard awaited word from his lord, who quickly signaled his leave, then turned his attention to his uninvited guests.
"I have no use for sellswords," The lord spoke after quickly scanning them for potential, or perhaps threats.
"Forgive the deception, my lord." Edwyn stepped forward and gave a respectful bow. "We are not sellswords."
The guards in the hall became anxious at that as their lord leaned forward on his seat. "I see. Who are you then, to come into my house uninvited under false pretense."
"We mean no harm," Edwyn was quick to explain. "Our ship capsized not long ago, we made our way inshore and-"
"Pirates then." The lord narrowed his eyes at them, giving a signal for his guards to move in closer. "House Ryswell dose not suffer your kind."
"We're no pirates!" Cregan shouted and prepared for a fight, despite the odds being greatly against them. Say what you want about Cregan the man was no craven, he'd sooner die with the taste of blood on his lips than old and in bed. "You'd do well to learn your guests names before attacking them, my lord."
Ryswell seemed to like the boldness of that, since his guards did not draw steel. "Very well, your names then."
"Who rules the North?" Willam interrupted Ed before he could give their names.
"What?" The lord replied, not expecting such a stupid question.
"Who rules the North?" Willam repeated, this time moving his hand over the hilt of his sword. Ryswell's eyes fell on the wolf pommel for a moment before replying.
"House Stark of Winterfell." He replied to Willam's relief, giving Ed the all clear to reveal their names.
"I am Edwyn Ryder, the chap with the temper is-"
"Ryder?" Lord Ryswell turned wide-eyed at the mention of the name.
"Aye." Edwyn replied, curious as to his reaction.
"Seize the traitor!" Ryswell leap from his seat sword in hand. "Kill the others!"
The guards moved in as Edwyn and Cregan moved to protect their prince, but this was not a fight they would win, so Willam did the first thing that came to mind. "I AM WILLAM STARK!" He shouted at the top of his lungs and drew his sword in defense of his friends. "FORTH BORN SON OF PRINCE BRANDON, SEVENTH OF HIS NAME, PRINCE OF THE SUNSET SEA AND LORD OF WINTER!" Prince Willam's eyes burnt with a fury as he screamed his fathers titles at Ryswell, the guards having stopped in their tracks at the mention of Stark and the other outlandish titles, awaiting their lords word. "STRIKE ME DOWN, AND WINTER SHALL COME FOR YOU ALL!"
Chapter 2: A Thousand Questions "STRIKE ME DOWN, AND WINTER SHALL COME FOR YOU ALL!" Willam's empty threat fell on cautious ears as Lord Ryswell ordered his men to take them alive, sending the alleged Prince and his men to some guest quarters, heavily guarded ones, a glorified cell in truth but at least they were alive. "It could be worse." Willam thought as he stared out the only window in the room, they'd been held here for days now.
"If I have to eat another bit of stale bread..." Cregan was becoming more and more disagreeable.
"At least they are feeding us," Willam countered his brothers complaint as he continued to stare out the window. "It could be far worse."
Edwyn remained sat in his chair. "We should have kept our peace, just gone straight for Winterfell."
"And we'd find it how?" Cregan snarled. "I don't know about you Ryder, but I don't have a clue where Winterfell actually is."
"We would've found it eventually."
"And starved or froze to death long before then!" Cregan looked like a rabit wolf, ready to attack anyone or anything that came too close. "It was your name that got us into this mess Ryder! If we just told him Willam's name or even merely asked for some bloody directions-"
"Enough, both of you." Willam snapped at them. "It dose us no good thinking of what could have been, if you wish to blame anyone for this then blame Me. I asked you to come. I spoke of the glory to be had, the riches and fame. All my promises have brought is the death of our friends and our own imprisonment."
"No argument here brother."
"Don't be so hard on yourself my prince," Edwyn shot a look at the bastard. "We knew what we'd signed up for, all went of their own free will and against your fathers wishes at that. Your not to fault for any of this." Kind words did nothing to sooth Willam's wounds, he was to blame for this and there was no use in denying it.
"Persistent as always Ed," Willam smiled for a moment before returning to his view out the window.
"Persistent or blind." Cregan sighed and sat out on the floor, keeping an eye on the door just encase today was the day. "Willam."
"Aye?"
"What the are you looking at?"
Willam laughed at that, he'd been looking out the window since they were tossed in here and only now did either of them bother asking him the question. "I'm waiting, the Ryswells only stayed their blades at the mention of my name as I hoped they would. It stands to reason they put us in here and not some cell because they don't wish to offend me, or more accurately, the Starks of Winterfell."
"The threat of 'Winter' coming for them no doubt scared them a little too." Cregan smiled for a moment before returning to his normal blank self.
"An empty threat," Willam agreed. "It had an effect however, a cautious man cannot afford to risk angering unknown powers."
"How'd you know he'd be cautious?" Cregan asked.
"I didn't," Willam smiled as he saw banners arriving in the distance.
"He seemed all too happy to jump at the opportunity to seize Rayder here and gut the rest of us."
"Your brother makes a point," Edwyn was still confused by Ryswells actions. "Clearly my family has done ill, to be called traitor at the mere mention of my name."
Willam had thought on that, the Ryswells were a cadet branch of the Ryders and a weak one by all the records he'd read. He doubted they had the strength to rebel on their own, more likely the Ryders somehow died out and the Ryswells simply took their place as the next best option. Such a succession would've no doubt rested entirely on all the Ryders being dead, one way or another, the Ryswells reaction at the reveal of a living Ryder really wasn't that surprising in hindsight. "It seems Lord Ryswell has more visitors."
"Banners?" Edwyn shot out of his seat, ready to do whatever it was Willam would ask of him.
"Aye, a running direwolf on an ice-white field." Willam turned around to pick up his sword. "Hard to mistake ones own colors."
"Think we'll need that my prince?" Edwyn eyed the sword, now on Willams person where it belonged. "I'm sure these Starks of Winterfell wouldn't seek to harm their own kin, if they sought our deaths why would Ryswell keep us alive and go to such lengths to avoid harming us?"
"Sport?" Cregan suggested. "Or perhaps the Kings of Winter see us as a threat and want to kill us themselves?"
Willam agreed with his brother for once, too often a rare thing. "We'll do nothing unless provoked, remember the Islands are technically sworn to the Kings of Winter regardless of if they know it or not. We'll show respect." The grey banners had entered the castle grounds now and would be inside the keep shortly. "Understood?"
"Understood."
"Aye."
"Good." Willam sighed and tried to relax, this was a big moment, the first contact the Sunset Islands would have with their long absent kings. It was not long before they heard footsteps coming towards the door that caused Edwyn and Cregan to flank their prince. The first thing Willam noticed was the lack of any crown on the man that now stood before him, a Stark surely enough, but no crown. "They sent a Prince?" He thought, bending the knee regardless. "Your Grace."
The man looked taken aback by the gesture, looking to the Ryswell at his side as if he'd be able to explain. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North." Silence at that as Edwyn and Cregan traded looks and Willam remained knelt. "Lord Ryswell tells me you claim kinship with House Stark."
"I-" Willam hesitated. "I am Willam Stark, Prince of the Sunset Sea."
"I'm not aware of any such title," Eddard spoke, still seemingly judging the three men.
"You wouldn't be Your Grace," Willam tried to explain.
"I'm no king lad."
"Forgive me," Willam was frantically thinking of any logical explanation for this, he considered the Starks having been usurped as Kings in the North but if that was the case then why had Ryswell claimed Stark ruled the north? "I was given to believe the Lord of Winterfell traditionally wore the crown, has that changed?"
Eddard's men seemed to be in on some joke that Willam was not finding to be funny. "Winterfell has not held a crown for almost three hundred years, ever since Torrhen Stark bent the knee to save his people from dragonfire and ruin. We have lived in relative peace since then, for a time at least."
"Three hundred years." Willam went wide-eyed at the realization, the Isles had fought a bloody civil war not a hundred years ago over the matter, his grandfather had won and they continued the tradition of swearing fealty to the Kings of Winter regardless of their being no news from the distant kingdom. The Starks Remember, as the traditionalists would often say. "It was all for nothing." Willan thought as he continued to stare at the ground, distraught at the news, before rising to his feet. There was no cause to kneel before this man. "Our records speak of how it would have been impossible for the southern kingdoms to conquer the North, so how did the North fall?"
Eddard took a moment to look into Willam's eyes, looking for some sign of a lie. "We'll talk over dinner."
"My lord, this one is a Ryder!"
"And this one is a Stark," Eddard shot an icy stare at his bannerman. "There are many questions, my lord, that will be answered in time."
Ryswell seemed to fall into line at that, the promise of answers and Willam's acceptance of bread and salt going a ways to calm the lord down. Guest rights were still held on the Islands so it was a gesture he gladly accepted as this Lord of Winterfell seemed to be agreeable enough. "So," Eddard sat across the table from him. "Tell us your story."
"With pleasure." Willam took a gulp of his wine before beginning. "You know of King Brandon the Shipwright? An old King of Winter that sailed across the Sunset Sea in search of new lands and glory to the West." It seemed they did as those present all nodded, seeming to recall the tale well enough.
"Aye," Eddard replied. "His son assumed him dead and set fire to all of his father's ships in grief. That was the last time the North had any true strength at sea."
Willam raised an eyebrow at that bit of information. "My family prides ourselves on the strength of our fleet, our flag ship The Shipwright is the envy of all we've encountered over the years. She is quite the sight, as deadly as she is beautiful. Odd that the shipwrights son burnt what ships his father left behind."
"The man had lost his father to a fruitless venture." Ryswell countered, keeping his eyes firmly on Ryder from across the table.
"Not so fruitless it would seem," Eddard gestured for Willam to continue his tale.
"Our records say Brandon lost many ships to the storms and terrors of the deep, making landfall with barely a quarter of the fleets original size. The first thing King Brandon did after building Winterhold was order the construction of a statue in the center of Brandon's Landing to honor those that did not survive the journey." Willam paused to remember the rest and the names engraved on the statue, it had been some time since he'd read the old tale and longer since he'd truly thought on it at length.
"Brandon's Landing?" One of Eddard's men asked.
"A city," Willam replied. "More of a small village at first, built at the site where Brandon's fleet made landfall and as Winterhold grew in strength so did the village, within a few years it became a small city and main trade hub of the Islands. A few hundred years passed, now the city is host to the Winter Fleet and around fifty thousand souls from the Islands and elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?" The same man asked, nobody seemed intent on stopping his curiosity.
Willam was happy to share his peoples history. "Not long after Brandon made landfall and the other nobles settled the smaller islands with holdings of their own, we sent out men in search of potential trade or perhaps more fertile land to settle. We've since opened trade with a people in a forested region that the locals call Mossovy, strange folk, but after they grew accustomed to our sails on their shores we became fast friends and began trading lumber and other such goods. They've also remarkable knowledge of herbs that they were happy to share the secrets of once we gained their trust."
The men across the table seemed to doubt his words. "Mossovy?" Ryswell's maester spoke in a hushed tone. "That is a land to the far east."
Willam was confused at that, the chances of two lands claiming same name seemed unlikely. It was the names the locals gave after all. "West, not east."
"I think I know more about such things than some bo-"
"You will not insult our guests maester." Eddard commanded, in truth Willam was too busy thinking up explanations for the mans claim to be at all insulted. If people from Westeros knew of Mossovy then perhaps that was his road home. "Please continue Prince Willam, it seems you've much to tell us."
"As you say," Willam shook the thought from his mind, he'd return to that later. "The first land our ships came across was barren for the most part, a cold and endless desert. What men we stationed there at first were butchered by raiders, we've avoided the wastes since and sailed further west along the shore until we found the Mossovy. Not a few hundred years ago a son of Lord Fisher sailed deeper west and ventured to what he named the Hundred Islands, or in jest he called them the Hostile Islands."
Another follow up question. "Hostile Islands?"
"The inhabitants are beyond fearful of anything foreign," Willam began. "Fisher landed and found himself beset upon by men and women with green-tinged skin and sharpened teeth, wielding no steel, they were quickly cut down although Fisher lost a handful of men during the initial shock. Hence he cursed the place as the Hostile Islands and returned home after seeing to the teeth marks that one or two of his men had suffered from the locals attack. The natives of Mossovy call them demons."
"You've not tried talking to these people like you did with the Mossovy?"
"No," Willam stated bluntly. "The people of Mossovy were curious, willing to communicate, they never attacked us nor we them. The people of the Hundred Islands attacked Fisher on sight and what words they've spoken are short and likely curses. In the recent years there has been talk of taking the islands by force, using them as a way station with the aim of opening trade even further west. It would be a risky venture however and none of the noble houses have deemed it worthy of their time, yet."
"My lord," The maester was seemingly furious. "This man speaks of the Thousand Islands."
Willam did not like being doubted about the history of his own people, it was an insult he did not take kindly to. "I can assure you there are not a thousand islands, our men reported perhaps two hundred or maybe three at most and besides the point these lands you speak of are in the East while the Sunset Sea is in the West."
"Our own reports claim the Thousand Islands in truth match the numbers you just offered, young lord."
Cregan stared at the old man, wondering if it would cause a war if he killed the old fool. "Your calling the Prince a liar?" He challenged the man. "I could consider it treason to question the honor of a prince old man, removal of the tongue has been done before to silence liars. That would be the kindest punishment."
"There will be none of that," Eddard stated firmly. "I'm sure the maester meant no insult."
"No," The old man was quick to suddenly show some courtesy. "Forgive me, Prince Willam."
Willam sighed at that. "There is nothing to forgive, perhaps there is something to be learnt from this information." He paused as the maester raised an eyebrow in question. "I say these lands are to the West and you claim similar lands have been reported to the East. It is possible we could both be right?"
"How so?" The maester replied, clearly curious now.
"There is a wild claim among my people," He began to explain. "Returning to Westeros has always been a dream of ours you see, hence our love towards the open sea, but sailing East across the sunset has always held certain death for those brave or foolish enough to try it. Over the years many explorers from distant lands have visited us however and more than one has suggest sailing West to reach the East. They claimed the oceans are all connected and one could in theory sail West until he reached Westeros, then sail West even further to reach the Sunset Sea. It was an option I considered when planning my own venture."
"An interesting theory," The maester spoke after a moment of thought. "Not unheard of either, there are some in the citadel over the years that have suggested such, while most were mocked for the thought their works surely enough remain in the archives to this day. The citadel will want to know of these new developments."
"Could I truly sail home by going East?" Willam though to himself for a moment while Edwyn asked a question of Lord Eddard.
"House Ryder rose in rebellion against King Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf." Eddard answered Edwyns question, no doubt the question was about the fate of House Ryder. "History dose not mention why they rose up in any great detail but those times were gripped by war and suffering, he was not called the Hungry Wolf without good reason."
"House Ryswell took their place as Lord of the Rills," Lord Ryswell added his voice with pride. "The Hungry Wolf offered the Ryders no mercy for their treason, removing them to the last man and naming House Ryswell as their successors as the North could not afford such discord with the Andal threat so pressing."
"House Ryder lives," Edwyn countered.
"They rule the New Rills as one of Winterholds most trusted banners." Willam backed up his friends words, making sure that Ryswell knew that Edwyn was not to be harmed. "I trust you understand, my lord, that I will not suffer any harm to befall one of my fathers bannermen. Forgetting that he is my friend, an attack on our banners is an attack on us."
Eddard quickly put the matter to a finish. "I hold no grudge against your friend Prince Willam, although he and his may no longer claim any right to the Rills."
"We're long disconnected from that branch of the family, rest assured House Ryder of New Rills has no interest in causing trouble." Edwyn tried to put Ryswells fear to rest, although in truth Edwyn couldn't speak for his relations as he was after all a mere cousin to the current Lord of New Rills. "You have my word."
"Glad we've settled that then." Ryswell held a cup up to his new friends, although Willam highly doubted that would be the end of matters. The Lord of the Rills did not strike him as a man so easily appeased, most likely he'd nurse this desire for conflict until his target least expected being struck.
"Prince Willam," Lord Eddard addressed him from across the table. "Now that we have addressed why you came, what are your plans for the future?"
"I had hoped to reconnect the Islands with the Kingdom of Winter," He smiled at the notion that now seemed so foolish. "It seems I have come too late for such a thing and I fear that the news will cause much unrest back home, we have fought more than one conflict over the matter of the Isles sovereignty and to learn that it was all wasted breath? Many will curse me, some will praise me and others may simply refuse to hear me. Regardless it is my duty to inform my father."
"I understand," Eddard got up from his seat followed by his men and Willam did the same. "For now may I suggest you visit Winterfell for a time? It would not do for a Stark to have never laid eyes on it, much less a Prince of my own blood. While there we can discuss your future with us."
"It would be an honor, lord stark."
"The honor is mine." Eddard replied, giving the signal for his men to depart. "We'll leave shortly while the day is still young, the road to Winterfell is quite long but I am certain we'll have much to discuss along the way." Willam shook the mans hand and to his parties relief they were soon leaving the Rills and off to see Winterfell, a castle that Willam had only seen in sketches or paintings made many years ago during the reign of King Brandon the Shipwright. To say he was excited would be a great understatement.
Chapter 3: Winterfell Winterhold held a similar cold beauty but Winterfell struck him as more ancient, the old paintings did not do it justice and it was not hard to picture as the home of his ancestors. Willam closed his eyes for a moment and thought of home as the wind brushed through his raven black hair, for a mere second forgetting that he'd ever left. "She is beautiful," Willam could not help but smile at Lord Eddard who rode up beside him. "It reminds me of home, although I do miss the smell of the sea and watching the ships dock in the city outside my window. All the same my lord, I will die happier having seen this."
Eddard returned a smile in response to the kind words about his home. "Come," He said. "My household will be waiting."
Willam was not used to this attention as being the forth born son he'd always been an afterthought of the smallfolk back home, the people of Winterfell however had left their houses to witness the Stark calling himself a Prince as he rode them by, it seemed word had spread rather quickly. "Seems you have an admirer my prince." Edwyn gestured towards a little girl that came running up to Willams horse with a small blue flower in her hands, holding it up for him to take.
"How do I look?" Willam asked, having taken the flower and placed it above his ear.
"Like a smug prick." Cregan jested as he rode past Willam and Ed.
Willam rolled his eyes and turned his head to one of Lord Eddards men that rode beside him. "The bastards jealous of my dashing good looks." Edwyn followed closely as Willam and the Stark guardsman rode ahead to catch up with Cregan. They entered the courtyard to find Lord Eddard greeting his gathered family.
"Prince Willam," Eddard called him over. "Allow me to introduce my lady wife, Catelyn Stark."
Willam planted a kiss on her hand when she held it out. "Lady Stark, my thanks for taking a foolish adventurer into your house. I promise not to be of too much trouble."
One of Starks daughters giggled at that as Catelyn replied. "Welcome to Winterfell, Prince Willam."
Eddard went down the line and introduced the others. "This is my eldest, Robb. And his brothers Brandon and Rickon."
"A pleasure." Willam offered his hand to the young heir to Winterfell took it gladly, younger than Willam by a few years at his guess. The youngest one, Rickon, seemed content to remain hidden behind his eldest brother. Brandon on the other hand stood tall for his age and shook the princes hand as his brother did before him.
"My daughters," Eddard continued. "Sansa and Arya."
Willam kissed the hand of the eldest. "Lady Sansa," Willam took the blue flower from his head. "A beautiful flower for a beautiful women."
"Are you really a prince?" The youngest Stark girl crooked her head to the side to inspect the alleged prince.
"Arya!" Lady Stark shot her a stare.
"It's quite alright Lady Stark." Willam smiled.
"So?" The little wolf asked again. "Are you? Where's your crown?"
"As a Prince I wear no crown little wolf," Willam began to explain. "For years my line of House Stark has ruled as Princes of the Sunset Sea, swearing fealty to the old Kings of Winter in the hope that one day we could return the crown of Brandon the Shipwright to it's rightful owners. Sadly, that will never happen."
"Because we bowed to the dragons?"
Willam nodded. "Aye, my father will likely wear the shipwrights crown once my people learn the fate of the Kingdom of Winter."
"That's quite enough questions for today Arya," Lady Stark ceased her daughters line of questions that Willam thought would've likely continued for hours.
He smiled at the little wolf as she rolled her eyes. "This is my beloved brother," Willam began to introduce his own family. "Cregan Snow, the Bastard of Winterhold."
Cregan reluctantly bowed at the mention of his official title. "My Lady."
Willam continued. "And last but not least is Edwyn Ryder, my brother-in-arms."
Edwyn bowed much easier than Snow did. "My Lady."
"Welcome to Winterfell gentlemen." Catelyn smiled, avoiding Cregan as she did. "I have arranged rooms for you and your men Prince Willam. Robb," She turned to her eldest. "show the Prince and his men to their rooms, they must be tired from their journey."
"Yes mother." Robb replied.
Willam addressed his friends before following the Stark heir. "You two behave yourselves, we are guests here."
Cregan rolled his eyes. "Yes mother."
"How do like Winterfell?" Robb broke the silence as he lead Willam through the halls towards the quarters that had been prepared for him.
"The old paintings don't do it justice." Willam was focused on his surroundings, trying to map out the keep in his head.
"You have paintings of Winterfell?"
"King Brandon grew homesick," Willam turned his attention to Robb, thinking it rude not to face the heir of the castle he was a guest in. "In his later years ruling from Winterhold he ordered his knowledge written down, understanding the importance of history and not wishing his sons and grandsons to forget where they came from."
"He never tried to sail home?"
Willam sighed at that, he knew all too well the dangers of what sailing across the sunset meant. "Many tired," He began. "none returned to tell the tale and eventually the idea became one of madness. To cross the sunset meant death and none tried for a few hundred years before I took it upon myself to risk my own life to prove them all wrong, along with the lives of those that followed me."
"Your father let you leave?" Robb seemed shocked at that. "My father would never allow me to do something so dangerous."
"Your his heir," Cregan laughed at how naive the young Stark was. "Willam is a forth born son, all his brothers besides myself happily wed with little pups of their own. Willam and I however were always the black wolves of the family, expendable, not that he ever complained. We enjoy more freedom to the envy of our brothers, while they have the family legacy to uphold we've no such weight on our shoulders."
"I see." Robb stopped to open a door. "This is yours Prince Willam, mother wished to invite you to dinner later this evening."
"It would be an honor," Willam spoke as he entered the room, larger than he'd expected for a mere guest. Lords had often played host to his family but he tended to get the smallest room out of all his brothers, while being the youngest had it's perks it also had it's downsides. "You have a hearttree I assume?"
"Aye," Robb replied. "In the godswood off from the courtyard, cant miss it."
"My thanks," Willam shook his hand and entered the room, tossing his sword and it's scabbard onto the bed before moving over to inspect the bookshelf that held a sizable selection. He proceeded to read a seemingly old book before being called on for dinner. Dressed in clean cloths for the first time since he'd washed up on that beach, he followed the servant to the main hall where Lord Stark and his family were already seated.
"Prince Willam," Eddard was the first to speak as Willam stood in the doorway, he looked a lot more princely in clean cloths. "Sit, you must be hungry."
He happily took a seat beside Lord Eddard with Robb to his left and Eddards daughters on the opposite side of the table to him. "Thank you for having me again," Willam began before he dared to start eating. "I do hope it wasn't too much trouble, would've sent a raven ahead but alas one rarely plans to capsize."
"It's no trouble Prince Willam," Catelyn replied with her usual courtesy. "We had been expecting guests even before my husband sent word of your arrival."
"Truly?" Willam took a sip of wine.
"You remember what I told you of the south during our ride from the Rills?" Eddard paused and Willam gave a nod in reply. "King Robert is riding North to Winterfell as we speak, we have been expecting him for almost a month now. We should arrive any day now."
Willam slowly drank his wine as he thought on the situation, before finally sharing his thoughts. "It seems Winterfell attracts royalty of all kinds, old and new."
"Quite," Eddard seemed oddly worried.
Willam guessed what he was thinking. "He doesn't know I exist."
"No," He replied simply, the concern obvious on his face.
"Well to be fair none knew of my existence until I washed up on your shores, my lord." Willam smiled to ease the tension. "King Robert could hardly blame you for not informing him, especially with him already on the road. Unless the good people of Westeros have trained birds to deliver messages to moving camps?"
The jest seemed to work, Willam often found making light of things had that effect. It worked for him anyway. "No, that's not my concern."
"This cannot be the first time Westeros has played host to a foreign envoy," Willam countered as he cut a piece of venison. "I am essentially a representative of my royal father and his people so I intend to act as such. You have my word, my Lord and Lady, there will be no trouble if I can help it."
That seemed to calm the lords worries. "I trust you to uphold the Stark name, Prince Willam." The rest of the dinner was rather uneventful as Willam excused himself after finishing his plate and went to discuss matters with Cregan and Edwyn in the godswood under the watched eyes of the Old Gods.
"This King," Edwyn began. "is he likely take take our presence well?"
In truth Willam had his doubts. "Lord Eddard grew up with the man although he's not seen him for years, so only the gods know how a crown has changed the man he once knew. I will not bend to a man that is not my father, who is all for accounts our king even if he's not aware of it yet." The wind blew through the trees as Willam spoke and he took it as a sign that the gods agreed with him.
Edwyn did also, not that Edwyn has ever disagreed with him come to think of it. "Aye, this Iron Throne is of no concern to the islands, especially since it's not even held by those the Kings of Winter bent the knee to three hundred years ago. I am uncertain why these Starks obey now that the dragons you've spoke of are dead."
"To rise up against a unified South would been their downfall. You've not forgotten the rebellion back home Ed, picture it on a greater scale and ultimately more hopeless." Willam paused, realizing they were getting off track. "Regardless we did not come in slight of the gods to speak of matters that do not concern us, I asked you both here to ensure we're on the same page."
"No killing the royals during their visit?" Cregan stated the general idea.
"Yes," Willam eyed his brother. "No killing the royals. They are to be guests here, we don't want to start a war and anger the gods in one foolish swing."
Edwyn nodded in understanding and Cregan did much the same, only with his normal attitude. Willam knew his brother wasn't stupid but shot him a cold stare all the same, this wasn't a joke, things would likely go well but he simply wasn't used to this much responsibility. Usually one of his brothers would deal with this kind of thing.
It was the following morning when the visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver, three hundred strong by Willam's count. Over their heads a dozer golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with what Willam had been told was the crowned stag of House Baratheon. Prince Willam scanned the head of the column for Robert Baratheon, a man that Lord Eddard had described as clean-shaven, clear-eyes, muscular with blue eyes and hair to match his own raven black. In the place as this description stood a huge man with a full beard that processed to crush Lord Eddard in a hug. "Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours." The king looked his old friend over before his eyes darted to Willam, the only person besides his two companions that had not knelt upon his arrival. "Who the bloody hells is that?"
"Allow me to introduce Prince Willam Stark," Eddard motioned him over with a look at said 'lets get this over with'.
"Prince? Ned, what is this?"
"Your Grace," Willam bowed respectfully. "It is a long story, one best had over drinks I think. Suffice to say I am a distant relation to Lord Eddard here, who has been gracious enough to shelter me and my companions until I can return home." Willam paused, offering his hand. "Lord Eddard has spoken quite highly of you."
After a brief silence King Robert shook his hand, causing Eddard to sigh in relief. "I'll hear more over those drinks you offered lad!"
"It would be a pleasure, Your Grace." Willam bowed again with a smile.
A golden haired women walked up to them, staring at Willam like he'd just called her a whore. Lord Eddard knelt in the snow to kiss her ring, while the king embraced Lady Catelyn like a long-lost sister. Then the children were brought forward, introduced, and approved of by both sides similar to Willam's first meeting with the Stark family.
"Prince Willam, was it?" The golden haired women stopped ignoring him, holding out her ring for him to kiss.
He did, seeing no reason to anger a queen today. "Queen Cersei I assume? Lord Eddard did not do your beauty justice, Your Grace."
She seemed to like the flattery, hiding the hint of a smile poorly. "I would understand how you claim to be a Prince."
"As would your lord husband, Your Grace." Willam smiled. "No doubt we'll talk more at the feast Lord Eddard has planned." The discussion was done at that as the queen turned her back on the alleged prince, despite her attempt to mask things it was obvious the idea of a Stark calling himself a Prince did not sit well with her.
After she left Willam moved over to Robb. "That went well."
"I think the king likes you Willam." He answered, forgoing the titles as Willam had requested of him earlier in the day.
"I think he likes drink," Willam jested, partly. "He seems a good enough man, although I am not certain about the queen."
"No?" Robb seemed surprised. "She seemed courteous enough."
Theon made himself apart of their conversation, nudging Robb. "Not to mention attractive."
Willam didn't like the queen, he'd decided upon that much simply by the manner the women held herself above everyone else. "Aye, sickening so." The king and Eddard returned from the crypts by the time Willam had finished talking to Robb and the others. They made their way to the great hall for the welcoming feast.
Chapter 4: First Impressions The Great Hall of Winterfell was heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread all on a far greater scale than the modest family dinner Willam had experienced before. The grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson; the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad as Willam sat on the raised platform beside Lord and Lady Stark along with the King and his wife.
It was the forth hour of the welcoming feast and Willam had spent most of his time filling in King Robert of the history of the Sunset Islands and how he came to be in Westeros, to his credit the man seemed more existed by the prospect of these new lands than concerned, the latter being expressed all over his wife's face. "To His Grace," Willam held up his wine. "Here's to future relations between our two peoples!" King Robert drank deep as he'd been doing throughout the feast, while Prince Willam scanned the room. Lord Starks children were seated below the raised platform, all but the bastard Jon Snow whom sat at the far rear of the hall drinking with Cregan.
"Enough stalling Will!" Robert shouted, using the nickname he'd been using for awhile now. "You mentioned a rebellion, I want details!"
Willam smiled at the kings drunkenness, the man had taken a greater interest up when talk of war had first come up. "I fear the my homelands rebellion cannot match that of your own counties struggles, Your Gra-"
"I told you to call me Robert lad," Robert pointed at him for a moment. "Now tell us, be out with it already!" Queen Cersei looked ready to claw Willam's eyes out and in that moment he thought he'd teach her a little lesson, this direwolf had claws of it's own and Willam wished to express that as indirectly as possible. He wasn't his brothers or father but he was no stranger to prideful lords or ladies that needed to be taken down by a head.
"As you wish Robert," Willam drink the remains of his wine before continuing to address the room, that had fallen silent to hear him speak. "I'll start at the beginning. The Islands have sworn to the Kingdom of Winter ever since our arrival, for those of you that don't know, we took the title of Prince rather than King because we never forgot where we came from. There was one, a certain Lord Domeric Frost, that felt it a pointless tradition to bend for absent kings."
"Yes, yes," Robert waved his hand, spilling wine on the table and cursing under his breath. "Get to the battles lad!"
"Lord Frost rose up in rebellion," Willam continued. "The fool underestimated the loyalty of his own people however and quickly found himself outnumbered. My grandfather along with the majority of the noble houses met him in open battle and say what you like about Lord Frost, the man had balls, he stood defiantly on that field under his banner and died fighting to the last man, the singers claim he turned his sword on himself out of shame before the end."
"And that was the end of it?" Robert asked, curious.
"No," Willam shook his head. "The beginning of the end perhaps, with Frosts army shattered all that remained was his castle. His eldest son was barely ten years of age but refused to open the gates and bend the knee, having beheaded any in his fathers household that spoke of surrender. The siege lasted a month before my grandfather ran out his patience. He sent the boy a final warning saying 'Open your gates, or this castle will become your tomb'. The boy was said to have laughed at the notion and spat at my grandfathers warning.
"Ha!" Robert spat, drinking from his newly filled cup.
"House Frosts castle stood along the shoreline and the Winter Fleet had long since had the castle surrounded by sea," Willam paused to shoot a knowing smile at the Queen. "The fleet unleashed death and come the dawn nothing but rubble remained of House Frost. A lesson was taught that day, one that none of the Frosts were alive to learn."
"And what lesson was that," Queen Cersei stared at him. "Prince Willam."
"That too much pride is unhealthy," Willam kept smiling before giving a shrug. "Or perhaps the lesson was as simple as not pissing off the Winter Fleet. In the end Winter comes for us all." The obvious threat hung in the air for a time, King Robert obliviously drinking himself into what would no doubt be an early grave.
Meanwhile on the other side of the hall. "Is this one of the direwolves I've heard so much of?" Cregan heard a man in black say, a Stark by the looks of him and clearly known to Jon Snow whom Cregan had to sitting next to at this feast. When Jon asked him why a Stark Prince was sitting with him Cregan had replied with 'us bastards need to stick together' before taking a seat, he was not asking for an invitation, he'd sit wherever the bloody hell he pleased.
"Yes," Jon said after the man had ruffled his hair. "this is Ghost."
One of the squires at their table interrupted the bawdy story he'd been telling to make room at the table for the new arrival. He straddled the bench with long legs and took the wine cup from Jons hand. "Summerwine," he said after a taste. "Nothing so sweet. How many cups have you had, Jon?"
Jon smiled and Cregan replied for him. "The lads enjoying himself."
"Cregan," Jon jumped to introductions. "This is my uncle, Benjen Stark."
He held up a cup to the man, before taking a swig. "A pleasure."
Benjen took a moment to eye the stranger. "You must be this Prince Willam I've heard about."
Cregan laughed. "No," He pointed in the direction of Willam. "My dear brother is sitting up there with your King."
"Don't you usually eat at the table with your brothers?"
"Most times," Jon answered his uncle. "but tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them."
"I see," Benjen glanced over his shoulder at the raised table at the far end of the hall. "Is that why your seated here, Cregan?"
"My brother would hear none of it, said I was welcome to come sit with him if I wished and threatened to start a war on my behalf." Cregan shook is head, his brother was too cocky, while he had their fathers name he had no way to back up his words. Home likely thought them dead, and how could they come to the aid of a dead man? "I prefer the company here."
Benjen accepted that for what it was, even seemed to respect him for it although that could've been Cregans imagination. "My brother dose not seem very festive tonight."
"The queen is angry too," Jon told his uncle in a low, quiet voice. "Father took the king down to the crypts this afternoon. The queen didn't want him to go."
Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look that reminded Cregan of the look his own father gave him before shipping him off with Willam on his fools errand. "You don't miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall."
Jon swelled with pride at that. "Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullem says I sit a horde as well as anyone in the castle."
"Notable achievements."
"Take me with you when you go back to the Wall," Jon said in a sudden rush. "Father would give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will."
"The wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon."
"I am almost a man grown," Jon protested. "I will turn fifteen on my next nameday, and Maseter Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children."
Cregan could agreed to that much, bastards had to grow up fast given their station in life. "That's true enough," Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon's cup from the table, filling it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow."
"Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne," Jon said. Cregan had no idea who that was but the boy seemed to admire the name.
"A conquest that lasted a summer," his uncle pointed out. "Your Boy King lost ten thousand men tasking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn't a game." He took another sip of wine. "Also," he said, wiping his mouth, "Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?"
"I forget nothing," Jon boasted. Cregan smiled at that, the wine was making the boy bolder. He tried to sit very straight, likely to make himself seem taller. "I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."
"Forgive me," Cregan put down his cup. "The Nights Watch is the sworn brotherhood that mans the Wall to the far north correct? Hard to beivle she still stands after all these sits even after the Kingdom of Winter fell to those dragons Lord Stark told us about."
"Aye," Benjen replied. "She still stands."
"I am ready to swear your oath Uncle."
"Your a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a women, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."
"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.
"You might lad, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."
Jon burst out in anger. "I'm not your son!"
Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."
Jon seemed to tremble. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom. The table had fallen silent at his outburst, even Cregan remained silently staring at the boy. "I must be excused," he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted before they could see him cry.
The following day Willam found himself watching a young Brandon Stark sparring with Tommen Baratheon, both of the young lads padded as though they had belted on feather beds. They were muffing and puffing and hitting at each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of Winterfells master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel, a great stout keg of a man with white cheek wiskers. A dozer spectators, man and boy, were calling out encouragement, Robb's voice the loudest among them.
"You can do it Bran!" Robb shouted while Willam stood beside Edwyn, watching with amusement as young Brandon delivered a good strong whack at Prince Tommen who soon found himself rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All the padding made him look like a turtule on it's back.
"Enough!" Ser Rodrik called out. He gave the young prince a hand and yanked him to his feet. "Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor." He looked around. "Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?"
Robb, already sweaty from a previous bout, moved forward eagerly. "Gladly."
Joffrey moved out of his corner in response to Rodrik's summons. His hair shone like gold. He looked bored. "This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik."
Theon Greyjoy gave a sudden bark of laughter. "You are children," he said derisively. Willam was included to agree.
"Robb may be a child," Joffrey said. "I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."
Willam took that as a challenge, moving to draw steel before Robb put a hand on his shoulder as if to say 'I can handle this'. "You took more swats than you gave, Joff," Robb said. "Are you afraid?"
Prince Joffrey looked at him. "Oh, terrified," he said. "You're so much older." Some of the Lannister men laughed.
Ser Rodrik tugged thoughtfully at his white whiskers. "What are you suggesting?" he asked the young prince.
"Live steel."
"Done," Robb shot back. "You'll be sorry!"
The master-at-arms put a hand on Robb's shoulder to quiet him. "Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges."
Joffrey said nothing as a large man with black hair and burn scars on his face pushed forward in front of the prince. "This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?"
"Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it."
"Are you training women here?" the burned man wanted to know.
"I am training knights," Ser Rodrik said pointedly. "They will have steel when they are ready. When they are of an age."
The burned man looked at Robb. "How old are you, boy?"
"I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it wasn't with a blunt sword."
Robb bristled. His pride was wounded as he turned to Rodrik. "Let me do it. I can beat him."
"Beat him with a tourney blade, then," Ser Rodrik said.
Joffrey shrugged. "Come and see me when you're older, Stark. If you're not too old." There was laughter from the Lannister men. Robb's curses rang through the yard as Theon Greyjoy seized his arm to keep him away from the prince. Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers in dismay.
Joffrey feigned a yawn and turned to his younger brother. "Come, Tommen," he said. "The hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolics." That brought more laughter from the Lannisters, and more curses from Robb. Ser Rodrik's face was beet-red with fury as Theon kept Robb in his iron grip. Willam had reached the end of his limited patience, for somebody to speak to a Stark in such a way was treason where he came from, it had to be answered.
"Joffrey Baratheon!" Willam shouted, bringing silence to the Lannister laughter as he pointed his blade at the young boy whom had just now seemingly browned himself at the wolves furious cry. "Where I come from you would already be dead for insulting a Stark, do so again in my presence and I will teach you to respect your betters."
"Y- You dare!" Joffrey stuttered, pointing at Willam whom now stood with his blade hovering at his side.
"Walk away," Willam stared at the boy with cold eyes. Edwyn and Cregan had since moved beside their prince, swords at the ready, along with the Stark men that had flocked to his side of the yard and now stood behind him like a small army. The Lannisters had done much the same, although they were outnumbered.
Joffrey turned scarlet red as he turned around and stormed from the courtyard to the music of all the Stark men in the yard laughing and cheering "Prince Willam" and "Stark". It was only after the little prince left that Willam noticed all the Stark men had flocked behind with, many with their blades drawn. "You shouldn't have done that," Cregan shook his head. "He'll go to his father."
"Let him," Willam smiled at his brother.
"Cregan is right." Edwyn seemed to agree, shooting a worried look as the crimson of the Lannisters vanished from the yard.
"He is royalty," Robb sighed.
"As am I." Willam growled. "Care to spar with a real prince, Robb?"
Robb smiled, shaking his head slightly. "Aye."
Willam was good with a sword although far from the most skilled of his brothers, defeated the boy Joffrey would've been beyond an easy task, defeating Robb would require he pay attention. "You rely on brute strength," Willam commented on Robb's style. "I prefer speed myself." Willam kept parrying Robb's blows and giving him the same tips his own brothers had once given him. Until a knight with a white cloak entered the yard.
"Willam Stark." The knight spoke, gaining Willam's attention.
He took a step closer and brought his sword up, warped it around Robb's then slid down the outside of his blade, jerking his own sword inward causing Robb's sword to fly out of his hand. "Feel free to use that one, courtesy of my brother." Willam left Robb is a daze, shocked and slightly impressed by the turn of events. "You called?" Willam addressed the knight.
"His Grace demands your presence." The knight spoke with grin. He was a Lannister, the golden hair was a dead giveaway.
"Lead the way, Ser-"
"Jaime," He replied. "Who taught you how to fight? You were playing with the Stark boy back there, I could tell."
"You give me too much credit, my brothers were always the swordsmen in the family."
"You've many brothers?" The knight asked, digging for information.
Willam was happy to share, within reason. "I'm the forth born, fifth if you count Cregan."
"The grumpy looking one?"
He laughed at that. "Aye, that's the one."
It was a short walk to the great hall where King Robert had taken his seat. "Your Grace," Jaime bowed to his king. "Willam Stark, as you requested."
Jaime left as the King waved him off, leaving Willam alone standing before King Robert of the House Baratheon, and his furious looking Queen. "Willam," The king nodded at his drinking buddy from the previous night. "My son tells me you threatened his life, what's all this about?"
"Your boy insulted the Heir to Winterfell," Willam began, this was clearly news to Robert. "Your son challenge him to a spar with live steel, Ser Rodrik forbade live steel and offered up tourney blades, only for the young prince to back down from his own challenge. He processed to leave the yard, but not before insulting House Stark once more."
"Are you going to sit there and listen to these lies?" Cersei demanded of her husband.
"My son claimed you called him a craven." Robert was angry at the suggestion, although it seemed a hollow anger.
"I never called the boy such," Willam turned his gaze to the queen. "Although, what do you call someone that challenges another to a fight only to flee at the first chance? Where I come from Your Grace, such an action would indeed be considered cowardly. Where I come from Your Grace, guests also know better than to insult their hosts."
"He insults our son with every breath!" Cersei fumed, pointing an accusing finger.
"He speaks his mind!" Robert bellowed, his voice like a thunder clap. "Leave us women, I will speak to him alone."
Cersei left, an act that Willam was grateful for as the women vexed him to no end. "I apologies for causing family strife, Your Grace. I however could not take an insult to my blood without answering it in kind. Prince Joffrey overstepped, he's welcome to challenge me to a duel on the matter if he wishes. I'll not flee."
Robert laughed at the notion. "You'd kill the boy and my wife would call for your head, no, there will be no duel."
"So," Willam paused. "What now?"
"I'll be leaving tomorrow after a hunt." Robert sighed, he didn't seem to eager to return to the capital. "I had hoped to invite you with me to see the capital but-"
"The queen wouldn't have it."
"No," Robert agreed. "She'd likely have you killed."
"Lord Eddard will be riding with you I assume?" Willam had since picked up a pitcher of wine and poured himself and the king a glass.
"Aye," Robert drank deeply.
"To your journey south then," Willam refilled the kings glass and held his own up for a toast.
Robert drank the wine, slamming it down on the table. "What will you do then? Planning on heading for home?"
Willam thought on it for a moment, deciding quickly. "I heard Lord Tyrion speak of traveling to the Wall. I've heard only tales of the place, would like to see if before I attempt to travel home and the dwarf seems a good traveling companion. Afterwards we'll see if I can get home at all."
"You've doubts?"
"I've a theory, if I was to sail east long enough." Willam drank his wine as he thought on the matter, it was a risk, but sailing West was just as big a risk. "At least if I sail east I'll know where I am going, while sailing west would rely entirely on an amount of luck that I don't think the gods would see fit to grant me a second time."
"If you should choose to stay," Robert suggested. "I'm certain Ned would grant you some land in this barren wasteland of his."
"I'll drink to that." Willam smiled, pouring more wine for him and the king.
Somewhere in the great stone maze of Winterfell, a wolf howled. The sound hung heavy over the castle like a flag of mourning. "He'll pull through my lady," Willam spoke to a distraught Catelyn Stark whom was sat beside her son. "He may never walk again, but a man can live a full life without the use of his leg."
"He always wanted to be a knight."
"Life is cruel," Willam sighed. "He'll not be a knight but he can grow to be a great lord some day. There is an ancestor of mine, by the name of Theon the Boneless, he was born with bones in his legs so brittle that the act of walking was practically impossible. And yet he is remembered as one of the greatest Princes the Islands ever had, not for his sword arm, but for his brain. The man was a genius and ruled his people well."
Catelyn smiled as she stroked Brandons hair, the smile died when he entered the room. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see Bran," Jon said. "To say good-bye."
"You've said it. Now go away."
Jon looked at Willam for a moment before taking a nervous step into the room. "Please," he said.
Something cold moved in her eyes. "I told you to leave," she said. "We don't want you here."
"He's my brother," Jon said.
"Shall I call the guards?"
"Call them," Jon said, defiant. "You cant stop me from seeing him." He crossed the room, keeping the bed between them, and looked down on Bran where he lay. Catelyn was holding onto his hands. It looked like a claw. The flesh had all but gone from the poor boy, having been fed on honey and water since he wouldn't keep down anything else. "Bran," He said, "I'm sorry I didn't come before. I was afraid." Tears began to roll down Jons cheeks. "Don't die, Bran. Please. We're all waiting for you to wake up. Me and Robb and the girls, everyone..."
Lady Stark was watching him in silence and outside the window, the direwolf howled again. The wolf that Bran had not had time to name. "We need to go now lad." Willam broke the silence, walking to the door after offering Catelyn his final condolences. "Bran will be fine, he's a Stark."
"I have to go now," Jon said to his brother. "Uncle Benjen is waiting. I'm to go north to the Wall. We have to leave today, before the snows come." Jon brushed away his tears, leaned over, and kissed his brother lightly on the forehead.
"I wanted him to stay here with me," Lady Stark said softly. Jon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. "I prayed for it," she said dully. "He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of the gods that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered."
"It wasn't your fault," Jon managed after an awkward silence.
Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. "I need none of your absolution, bastard."
Jon lowered his eyes. Catelyn was cradling one of Bran's hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like bones of birds. "Good-bye." He said.
He was at the when she called out to him. "Jon," she said.
"Yes?" He turned to meet her stare.
"It should have been you," she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her hole body shaking with the sobs.
"That was unkind." Willam stated coldly to her before leaving the room, giving her no time to reply.
It was a long walk down to the yard. Outside, everything was noise and confusion. Wagons were being loaded, men were shouting, horses were being harnessed and saddled and led from the stables. A light snow had begun to fall, and everyone was in an uproar to be off. "Uncle Benjen is looking for you two," Robb came walking up to them with his direwolf at his side. "He wanted to be gone an hour ago."
"I know," Jon said. "Leaving is harder than I thought."
"For me too," Rodd said. He had snow in his hair, melting from the heat of his body.
Willam laughed. "Try sailing away into unknown seas, everyone telling you that your going to die."
They all shared a laugh at that before Robb's face turned serious. "Did you see him?"
"He's not going to die," Willam said.
"You Starks are hard to kill," Jon agreed. His voice was flat and tired. The visit to Bran had taken all the strength from him.
Robb seemed to know something was wrong. "My mother..."
"She was... very kind," Jon told him.
Robb seemed to buy it. "Good." He smiled. "The next time I see you, you'll be all in black."
Jon smiled back. "It always was my color. How long do you think it will be?"
"Soon enough," Robb promised. He pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely. "Farewell, Snow."
Jon hugged him back. "And you, Stark. Take care of Bran."
"I will." They broke apart and looked at each other awkwardly. "Uncle Benjen said to send you to the stables if I saw you." Robb finally said.
"I have one more farewell to make," Jon told him.
"Then I haven't seen you," Robb replied. Jon left him standing in the snow alone, surrounded by wagons and wolves and horses. Willam left to seek out Benjen in the stables and saddle himself a horse for the road to the Wall. He looked forward to it, going to the fabled Wall was just another thing he never thought he'd get to do in his lifetime.
"Stark," Willam addressed Benjen when he found him, securing the saddle on his horse.
"Stark," Benjen replied in kind.
"Jon will be with us shortly," Willam continued to walk forward, picking a fine black destrier from the stable.
"He's a good lad."
"He'll do well on the Wall no doubt." Willam smiled for a moment as he thought how strange it all was. Here he was in Winterfell, about to ride to the Wall.
"Planning on joining yourself?" Benjen asked rather seriously, the thought was frankly hilarious to Willam the Wandering Wolf.
"Gods no," He burst out laughing and quickly realized he was being rude. "My apologies Benjen I meant no offence, but there is far too much of the world I have yet to see and I've no plans to tie myself down to a single castle. Not for many years yet if I have anything to say about it."
"I understand." Is all the black brother said as he mounted up and left the stables ahead of Willam. The ride to the Wall would be a long one and Willam prayed that Tyrion Lannister would be a more entertaining companion that of Benjen Stark, not that he had anything against the man but he reminded him too much of one of his brothers.
Chapter 5: Watcher on the Wall The North seemed to go on forever, a far cry from home where the longest one could ride without sighting the shore was mere hours. They had left Winterfell on the same day as the king, amidst all the commotion of the royal departure, riding out to the sound of men shouting and horses snorting, to the rattle of wagons and groaning of the queen's huge wheelhouse, as the light snow flurried about them. The kings banners had turned south while Willam turned North with Benjen Stark and company. Three days ride from Winterfell and the farmland gave way to dense wood, and the kingsroad grew lonely. With mountains a wall to the west the road veered north by northeast through the wood, a forest of oak and evergreen and black brier that seemed older and darker than the forests back home, not to mention larger. "The wolfswood," Benjen Stark named it, and indeed their nights came alive with the howls of distant packs, and some not so distant. There were thirteen in their party, counting Jon Snows wolf. Lord Tyrion traveled with two of his own men. Benjen Stark had only his nephew and Lord Stark had sent two honor guards to escort Willam but at the edge of the wolfswood they stayed a night behind the wooden walls of a forest holdfast and there joined up with another of the black brothers, one Yoren. Nine men, three boys counting the two recruits that arrived with Yoren, a direwolf, twenty horses, and a cage of ravens given over to Benjen by Maester Luwin. Willam thought they made for a curious fellowship.
"I warn you, Lannister, you'll find no Inns at the Wall," Benjen said, looking down at the dwarf.
"No doubt you'll find some place to put me," Tyrion had replied. "As you might have noticed, I'm small."
"By the gods he's right, how could I have missed it?" Willam feigned shock, gaining a few laughs from their party.
"You will not like the ride, I promise you that." Benjen said curtly, ignoring Willam's jest.
By the end of the first week, it was clear that Tyrion was indeed not enjoying the ride, although to his credit not once did he give Benjen the satisfaction of complaining. "Why do you read so much?" Willam looked up at the sound of the voice as he'd been seated next to the dwarf for some time, having borrowed one of his books.
Tyrion answered the boy. "Look at me and tell me what you see."
Jon looked at him suspiciously, looking to Willam for some correction and finding none. "Is this some kind of trick? I see you. Tyrion Lannister."
Tyrion sighed. "You are remarkably polite for a bastard, Snow. What you see is a dwarf. You are what, twelve?"
"Fourteen," Jon said.
"Fourteen, and you're taller than I will ever be. My legs are short and twisted, and I walk with difficulty. I require a special saddle to keep me fallling from my horse. A saddle of my own design, you may be interested to know. It was either that or ride a pony. My arms are strong enough, but again, too short. I will never make a swordsmen. Had I been born a peasant, they might have left me out to die, or sold me to some slavers grotesquerie. Alas, I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock." Tyrion paused as if thinking on if he'd bother saying more. "My brother has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind... and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep it's edge." Tyrion tapped the leather cover of the book. "That's why I read so much, Jon Snow."
Jon absorbed that in silence. "Willam reads a lot too."
Tyrion looked to his side. "That he dose."
Willam shrugged. "Why have one weapon sharp when you can have two?"
"What are you reading about?" Jon asked.
"Dragons," Tyrion told him.
"What good is that? There are no more dragons," Jon said with the easy certainty of youth.
"History is important, Jon." Willam began as he closed his book. "Back home we are taught that knowledge of the world is as important as knowing how to swing a sword. History teaches us the wisdom of people long dead, and warns us about their many mistakes. The dragons may be dead but I can tell you the history of the Targaryens was one of the first times I read from Winterfells library."
"Why dragons?"
"They brought the Kings of Winter to their knees," Willam said with a touch of sorrow.
"I used to dream of having a dragon of my own."
"You did?" Jon asked suspiciously. Perhaps he thought Tyrion was making fun of him.
"Oh, yes." Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he's seated on a dragon's back." Tyrion pushed his bearskin aside and climbed to his feet. "I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare into the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I'd imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister." Jon was staring at him, a look equal parts horror and fascination. Tyrion guffawed. "Don't look at me that way, bastard. I know your secret. You've dreamt the same kind of dreams."
"No," Jon said, horrified. "I wouldn't..."
"No? Never?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Well, no doubt the Starks have been terribly good to you. I'm certain Lady Stark treats you as if you were one of her own. And your brother Robb, he's always been kind, and why not? He gets Winterfell and you get the Wall. And your father-"
"Enough," Willam interrupted. "That is quite enough Lord Tyrion." Willam was one of the last to retire that night, as tended to happen, he paused and looked over his shoulder as he lifted up the flap to his tent. Jon Snow stood near the fire, his face still and hard, looking deep into the flames. Willam smiled sadly and went to bed.
The courtyard rang to the song of swords. Edwyn and Cregan stood watching Jon Snow spar with some other watch recruits, he went under one swing and countered with a sweeping blow that crunched against the back of the other boy's leg and sent him staggering. Another lads uppercut was answered by an overhand that dented his helm. When he tired a side swing, Jon swept aside his blade and slammed a mailed forearm into his chest, causing his opponent to lose his footing and fall down hard in the snow. Jon knocked his sword from his fingers with a slash to his wrist that brought a cry of pain.
"Enough" Ser Alliser Thorne had a voice with an edge of valyrian steel.
The boy on his arse cradled his hand. "The bastard broke my wrist!"
"The bastard hamstrung you, opened your empty skull, and cut off your hand. Or would have, if these blades had an edge. It's fortunate for you that the Watch needs stableboys as well as rangers." Ser Alliser gestured at the two other recruits besides Jon. "Get the Aurochs on his feet, he has funeral arrangements to make."
Jon took off his helm as the other boys were pulling their friend to his feet. He leaned on his sword, drew a deep breath, and allowed himself a moment to savor his victory.
"That is a longsword, not an old man's cane," Ser Alliser said sharply. "Are your legs hurting, Lord Snow?"
"No," he replied.
Thorne strode towards him, crisp black leathers whispering faintly as he moved. He was a man of some fifty years by Cregan's guess, spare and hard, with grey in his black hair and eyes like ships of onyx. "The truth now," he commanded of Jon.
"I'm tired," Jon admitted.
"What you are is weak."
"I won."
"No. The Aurochs lost."
One of the others boys sniggered and Cregan shook his head at their show, the Watch had been one very large disappointment thus far and showed no signs of improvement. "That will be all," Thorne told him. "I can only stomach so much ineptitude in any one day. If the Others ever come for us, I pray they have archers, because you lot are fit for nothing more than arrow fodder." Jon followed the other recruits back to the armory while Cregan and Edwyn found themselves approached by Thorne of all people.
"Harsh methods," Edwyn said as he watched the bruised recruits leave the courtyard.
"Walls a harsh place," Ser Alliser countered with a grunt. "I'm to make men out of these boys if they are to last more than a week."
"I meant it with the utmost respect Ser." Edwyn meant it too, much like the Wall, the Islands back home were harsh at the best of times.
"Aye," Cregan agreed in so many words, keeping his thoughts to himself for now.
They soon found themselves in the main hall where the brothers of Castle Black had gathered for food and drink, neither being plentiful or practically good. Stale bread and stiff ale for the most part. Cregan found himself across the table from the Lord Commander who was asking him a number of questions. "I'm curious," The old bear said. "How is it that the shipwright colonized the Islands? You claim your capital alone holds fifty thousand souls, but where did they come from?"
Willam answered, having returned from atop the Wall. "Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much-"
That had a few laughs from the table, although the Lord Commander merely shook his head. "The shipwright brought with him around a thousand fighting men," Cregan rolled his eyes at his brothers jest and answered the question seriously. "Along with those men came their families, lowborn and high, any citizen of the North willing to risk it all for the promise of opportunity in a new land. In the years that followed Brandon's Landing become the trade center of the islands, home to more than just the descendants of those that sailed with the shipwright."
"Such a risk seems foolish." One of the black brothers at the table spoke, before returning to his drink.
"The North is large, many of the common folk having nothing to their name."
"And the nobles?" The old bear asked.
"Youngest sons of noble houses, out to seek their fortune and make a life for themselves." Cregan paused to take a swing of his drink. "Frost, Ryder, Fisher, Stark and Flint to name a few. Those that made the crossing were given leave by the shipwright to spread across the archipelago and claim what they found under the condition that they found it first and shed no blood in the doing."
"There are Mormont's too," Willam added. "I thought you'd like to know that Lord Commander."
"Truly?" He asked, eyebrow raised. Willam was used to the reaction by now, one of curiosity mixed with mistrust.
"Aye," Willam assured the bear. "House Mormont of Long Island. Named after your families sword if I am not mistaken, the island is modest but the Mormonts have pride of place in the fleet. Bloody fine sailors." The commander seemed content with the knowledge, proud even.
"And the others in the city?" Another asked.
"The foreigners?" Cregan asked, gaining a nod in return. "The first people we made contact with had a small trade outpost on the islands, apart of a vast empire to the far south-east. It's largely thanks to them that we grew so quickly, trade with the distant realm brought wealth, bodies and most importantly security in the knowledge that we'd found a powerful friend. Their outpost stands today as a large harbor with House Fisher's castle watching over it."
Mormont become more curious as Cregan went on. "How many swords can your people raise? If it's not too much to ask..."
He hesitated for a second, looking to Willam who shot him to cautious look. "Why do you ask?"
The old bear was quick to defend the question. "I meant nothing by it, simply curious. The Watch could use more men."
Cregan almost laughed at the notion. "I doubt anyone could submit themselves to going celibate to defend a Wall on the other side of the world."
"I was thinking more of an agreement, should travel between our two realms become... more freely available."
"You want our criminals?" Cregan actually laughed this time, or at least what passed as laughter with him.
"The Wall needs every man it can get."
"I'm uncertain if even I can return yet alone if others could follow us here," He paused to think.
"I plan to sail East." Willam blurted out, snapping his brother out of his thought.
"East?" The old bear asked, confused.
"Aye," Willam nodded. "An old tale claims if one sails east long enough he'll reach the west, a fair bit safer than risking death by going directly west through the storms. Should I ever return home I have no doubt others will wish to retrace my footprints, so to speak, they will be curious. I can promise to talk your offer to my father but cannot do more than that."
"That is all I ask." The old bear said, accepting the empty promise for what it was.
"I have a question for you," Willam asked.
"We've asked more than our share of you, ask away Prince Willam."
"Why did the Kings of Winter never annex the Wall?" Willam's naturally relaxed expression turned serious, his question taking the brothers of the watch off guard. "Winterhold has it's own standing army, well trained, paid and housed. I hope you take no offence when I say this but the Wall seems in a sorry state with it's restrictions and self governance. I'd give you a standing force of a thousand men and hire additional swords from the locals when the need arises."
The table was silent for awhile as the crows thought on all that, until Alliser answered for them. "The Watch takes no part in the goings on of the realms, if we were to be under any single lordling we'd be subject to their conflicts. It would be the end of us."
"Forgive me, I grew up on tales of the Watch being far stronger than it stands now." Willam sighed, thinking it best to keep his suggestions to himself.
"Times are hard," The old bear agreed. It was no secret that the Night's Watch was at an all time low, forgotten by most of Westeros.
"The Wall will endure," Another spoke. "It always has."
"There is a first time for everything and most of you can barely swing a sword, you rely almost entirely on Winterfell's banners." Willam thought, keeping his vast disappointment to himself. He remained at the table for a time, drinking and talking of home, before leaving the hall to prepare the horses for the ride back south.
"Prince Willam." Jon Snow addressed Willam has he stood beside his horse, Cregan and Edwyn were waiting on him.
"Snow," He said. "Come to wish me farewell?"
"Your leaving." The boy stated the obvious to which Willam gave a nod. "Take me with you."
"Sick of the Wall already?" Cregan asked from atop his horse.
"No one told me the Night's Watch would be like this; no one except Lord Tyrion."
"Aye," Willam smiled sadly. "The watch is in a sorry state. That doesn't mean you couldn't make it better lad, they need men that know how to swing a sword."
"Ser Alliser doesn't seem to think so," Jon spat with more anger than he'd intended. "I'm sorry... I-"
Willam waved off the apology. "Thorne is a puppy compared to the instructors I had growing up. If he dislikes you, it's because your a bully."
"A bully?" Jon almost choked on the word. "They hate me because I'm better than them!"
"You humiliated those lads in the yard, doubtless they have never even held a sword before Thorne handed them one." Willam paused to judge his reactions, he'd calmed somewhat and seemed to be taking the words to heart. "They are likely afraid of you. Cregan told me of your fight in the yard, it's not training with you. Put a good edge on your sword, and they'd be dead meat; you know it, I know it, they know it. You leave them nothing. You shame them. Tell me, dose that make you proud?"
Jon hesitated. "They're all older than me," he said defensively.
"Older and bigger and stronger, that's the truth. But none had the great Ser Rodrik Cassel to teach them. Their fathers were farmers and wagonmen and poachers, smiths and miners and oars on a trading galley, none ever being rich enough to buy a sword." Willam's look was grim. "So how do you like the taste of your great victories now, Lord Snow?"
"Don't call me that!" Jon said sharply.
Willam looked to Cregan, who shook his head before speaking in a rather serious tone. "Let people see that their words can hurt you lad, and you'll never be free of the mockery. If they want to give you a name, take it, make it your own and wear it like armor. Then they cant hurt you with it anymore."
"Your welcome to come with us Jon Snow, but you've a lot to learn." Willam mounted his horse and gestured Jon to his own that was still in the stable. A prince, two bastards and two Stark guardsmen left the wall, leaving a small Tyrion Lannister behind to enjoy the Watch's hospitality some more. It would be a long ride back to Winterfell.