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The Icefyre Conquest 21
🕑 Added 2023-04-30 18:48:45 +0000 UTC“Never thought I’d see Robb get married before Sansa,” I said as I saw my Uncle come near me out of the corner of my eye, a sword on his belt and his heavy fur cloak gone to reveal the leather jerkin beneath. And even though it was something he wore only when he was in the yard, Ned Stark had spared no expense on its looks. A grey direwolf was sewn on his chest, and white threads were crisscrossing over the leather adn cotton, giving it the appearance of being covered with snow. Tasteful black and white accents were given on the direwolf, detailing it beautifully and making it realistic. I looked at him properly, raising an eyebrow at the sweat that was pouring down his face, “Why are you practicing so much? It isn’t like I or Robb or Visenya will leave much for you to fight, and that is without counting the army.”
“Doesn’t mean I should stop and get lazy,” he shook his head, chuckling a little at my words as he turned and looked down at the blacksmiths working on the steel, hammering and heating it continuously before the sounds of quenching hissed its way through the walls. Uncle sighed the next moment, and suddenly, the smile on his face changed, the Lord of the North gone to reveal the proud yet sad father beneath, “I too never thought I’d have to marry my children so young. But we are going to war, and as much as it pains me to even think of it, Robb needs to secure an heir before we march—a sentiment that is shared by every northern Lord.”
“Hmm,” I drummed my fingers on the railing, my eyes following the glowing red piece of steel as it was lowered into the oil, flames leaping up from the surface and roaring into a softly flowing wind,”and is Catelyn fine with Robb not getting a Southern bride?”
“Be respectful Jon,” he warned, but I knew there was no real heat behind it. Ned Stark had long since left the hope of Catelyn and me ever seeing eye to eye, especially after hearing her talk about me and Visenya and how we had created problems for Robb and Sansa. Humming a little, he continued, “I am pleased by your skills with swords, Jon. And I saw how you have grown accustomed to NIghtfall already.”
“Practising alone isn’t going to yield any results for me,” I shook my head, frustrated beyond belief at the fact that I had broken more than a dozen swords with Nightfall’s magical edge in just two morns. Valyrian steel was built different, the fame of the Freehold’s swords having always been a subject of envy and awe for everyone that had heard about them, but seeing it in action was far different—and it only added to the tales of the various blades scattered throughout Westeros. I grabbed the hilt of Nightfall and pulled it out of its sheath, looking at the golden pommel and the dark patterns on the steel, “I can’t practice with it without breaking swords and cracking shields, and practicing with a castle longsword isn’t going to help me in time, since both of them have the difference of Winterfell and Dragonstone.”
“That’s true,” he inclined his head, his eyes flicking to the sword in my hand before he looked down at the weapons being forged. His fingers drummed upon the railing for a moment just like mine had, his expression contemplative as he turned towards me a moment later, “Why don’t you practice against me? That way we can both get used to our swords. It has been years since I used Ice, and even then, I wasn’t good enough with it. Once again, I am to fight against the Ironborn, and once again, I am to wield the blade of our ancestors—and I will be ashamed if I don’t do the history of House Stark and its sword the justice it deserves.”
“Sounds good to me,” I replied instantly, actually happy at the prospect of crossing blades with my Uncle. While I remembered enough to know that he wasn’t near Westeros's top swordfighters like Barristan the Bold and Jaime Lannister, I had seen enough of his spars in the yard to know that he was amongst the best in the North. And even in the books and the shows, Ned Stark had never wielded a greatsword, or at least, he was never depicted to fight with one. For all I knew, he was better than Jaime with a greatsword in his hands, since even in the yard, all he used was a blunted longsword, “We can go tomorrow…right now Robb is too busy showing off his skills to his betrothed. I don’t think he will like it if the Quiet Wolf and a bastard cross blades and blow off his steam”
Unexpectedly, my Uncle began to chuckle at that, and I watched perplexed as he walked up to me, his eyes alight with laughter. He placed his palm on my shoulder, and a proud smile came over his face as he said the words that were going to echo in my ears for hours to come.
“You're Not a bastard Jon…You are my son, the Bane of the Harlaw, none shall think of you as anything else.”
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“So you really break fast with the bastard?”
Robb stilled instantly, his friendly smile gone in an eyeblink even as the guards of Winterfell snapped into attention at the words that seemed to echo in the corridor. He turned around slowly, his face carved from stone for all the emotions it showed as his Tully blue eyes met the completely unaware ones of the Tyrell Son accompnaying him. Although, it seemed that everyone was not unaware of the pile of shit that Loras Tyrell had just stepped into, as both Harrold Hardyng and Lucas Blackwood stepped back, well aware of how close the eldest sons of Lord Stark were.
“Ser,” the voice that came forth from the auburn-haired man’s lips was definitely not of the Robb Stark they had come to know in the last few days. It was frosty, it was positively wrathful beneath that even tone, and as insulting and full of loathing as it could be as the Heir of Winterfell and the North continued, “That bastard as you put, is my brother, and has burned Harlaw Island to ashes with nothing but his sword and his wits. In response to your questions, yes he breaks his fast with me, the Heir to a Great House, and then practices in the yard, winning against fighters that had fought in battles and wars instead of play fighting in yards. Is there anything else you want to know about my brother, Ser Loras?”
“No, He-Heir Stark,” Loras mumbled out, his face pale and his eyes lowered with embarrassment as he clutched his fists by his side. His ears positively burned with embarrassment as he heard a small sound escape the Blackwood boy behind him, and he felt the urge to snatch the sword from the guard beside him bef…before showing the illiterate savage before him what he could do. But he knew that it was a foolish notion because of a number of factors. The first and foremost one being that he was in Winterfell itself….if it had been the Reach however…
“Heir Stark,” a guard came upto them, the shield on his arm proudly displaying the Stark direwolf for all to see as he lowered his head slightly, his spearhead gleaming in the perpetual Winter Sun as he raised his head and his eyes flicked over the three guests of Winterfell, “Lord Stark and the King have summoned everyone to the yard, righ’ now.”
“For what?”
“I dunno mi’lord,” the man shook his head, his eyes once again glancing towards the three boys behind Robb, and he raised an eyebrow at that. Understanding dawned upon him the next moment, and he nodded slowly, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned around and nodded in the direction of the yard, his hands behind his back.
“We have heard the King’s command, let us follow it Heir Hardyng, Heir Blackwood, Ser Loras.”
He took satisfaction in the way Tyrell’s face flushed with shame once more, knowing that it hurt his pride more than anything to be called nothing but a knight amidst three Heirs, especially when one was a more celebrated knight, and one was the eldest son of a Great Lord. But then again, Loras Tyrell should have thought of that before insulting Jon, and Robb was nothing if not protective of his brother. Sure, they might have had their differences in the past, and they still did now, Jon was his brother, a part of his pack, and the little jumped-up steward had no right to speak of his brother like that.
Especially when Jon had already drenched his sword in the enemy’s blood, and all Loras had done was prance in Tourneys. A good swordsman he may be according to the Tyrell guards’ word of mouth, but Loras was a knight of summer, not a warrior bloodied and tried. And that was without thinking of the fact that the women his brother had saved were from the Reach too, a kingdom whose welfare and safety fell under the purview of the Tyrells.
Mentally snorting as he imagined his father giving a lecture to Mace Tyrell on how to raise his sons and govern his kingdom, Robb smiled as he caught sight of Bran standing beside Arya, both of them laughing and pointing at Sansa’s muddy hair. However, he was well aware of what was going to happen next, and he had just opened his mouth to call the mischievous duo to him when Sansa turned and saw them.
“Arya!” she screamed, pulling her hand away from her crimson hair, her eyes wide and aghast as she stared at the mud on her fingers, and for a moment, Robb genuinely worried that she was going to hyperventilate as her face paled greatly. Of course, for Sansa, who prided herself on being as perfect of a lady as one could be and following the Seven-Pointed Star’s every rule and custom, having mud on your hair and face while there were guests and men in the household was probably the most shameful thing she could suffer. Her eyes snapped towards Arya, and Robb cursed mentally as he saw the tears already gathering in them.
However, the next moment, the most horrible thing which could happen in that situation, happened.
Loras Tyrell couldn’t control his mirth.
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I blinked as something slammed into me with all the power of a rushing horse, making me stumble and fall back into the wall. The feel of tears dripping on my neck and something scrambling for purchase upon my cloak made me reconsider my thought. It was someone….a familiar someone, who was sobbing on my chest as she instantly tried to straighten up and run away again.
“Sansa?” I muttered, my hand instinctively turning her face towards me as I stood up properly, my other hand going to her shoulder to support her. Now, Sansa may have been a bit of a bitch to me and Visenya over the years, but she was still my sister—and to be honest, that was just Catelyn and her thrice-damned Septa speaking through the girl. I tightened my hold on her slightly as I saw her try to move away, and I remembered the time when the redhead had been a toddler, unaffected and unknowing of the prejudices and her mother’s views. Sighing softly as I felt my heart melt just a little, I cupped her chin and turned her eyes upwards, looking into her crying eyes, “What happened, dear sister? Why are you crying? Did Arya do something to you again?”
“I didn’t,” the said girl’s weak voice came from my left, and I turned to my youngest sister, an eyebrow already raised at what I had expected to be a completely unrepentant girl. However, her face was completely downcast, regret on her features that was entirely at odds with the usually bright, cheerful miscreant. She walked towards us and stopped a foot away from me, her lip wobbling as she continued, “I just threw some mud at her because she and Jeyne called me Horseface…but then that Tyrell boy laughed at her in front of everyon-”
Sansa just sobbed harder at that, her eyes clenching shut as she pushed against me even more, while Arya winced at the state the redhead was in. Pulling Sansa into a hug, I nodded in the opposite direction as I looked at the girl by my elbows, and the dark-haired girl took the hint instantly, nodding at me before she ran away from us.
“Sansa, sweet sister,” I began, wiping her tears away and removing the mud on her shoulders as I walked a little away from the corner, my ears peeled for even the slightest of noises as I pulled us into a small room, the door shutting behind us before I sat her on an old piece of furniture I kneeled before her, taking her hands in0 my own before I cupped her face, turning her eyes towards mine, “Sansa…don’t cry, dear sister. You are far too beautiful and smart to consider him worth your tears. Besides, no one will think anything of this. They will forget it by tomorrow morn, and Robb is definitely going to make sure that no one speaks of it.”
“Bu-But I thought he was so charming and sweet! And still, he laughed at me in front of everyone!” she cried, and I sighed as I cursed that bitch of a Septa once again—and it went without saying that I blamed Catelyn too. I sighed quietly, and stood up to hug the girl that had once looked up at me with her wide blue eyes and a small button nose, calling me ‘Jon’ and smacking her rattle in my face. And after what was probably a decade, Sansa hugged me back, her arms instinctively winding around my waist as she pressed her tear-streaked face into my shirt, hiccuping once as she continued, “He is a Knight, and Septa Mordane said that he is a chivalrous man who is not like commoners and bas-”
She stopped instantly, her words stilling midway as Sansa realized what she had just been about to say, but I paid that no mind. An insignificant crone like her had no effect on me or my sister’s lives, not after our deeds were being told by the fires in probably every part of the North by now. But right now, Mordane’s tongue that needed to be cut off wasn’t my concern…it was my little sister. “I understand what you are saying Sansa, and that you liked Loras Tyrell,” I began again, patting her head softly and cleaning away the filth that had stuck to her crimson locks, half of my mind busy suppressing the anger that had begun to roar within me, “And that Arya was wrong to throw mud at you like that, especially when there are guests about the castle. But at least now you know Loras isn’t as chivalrous and ‘shining’ as that Septa made him out to be.”
“Jon is right Sansa,” my uncle's voice came from the door, and I looked back over my shoulder, seeing him walk inside with Catelyn right on his heels. He looked at me softly, and shook his head as I made to move away, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder, “I understand why you are so distraught, my dear. But your brother is right. It was a slip of a moment for Ser Loras, and this doesn’t mean he thinks any less of you. Loras himself has a younger sister, so he understands what it is like to live with younger siblings, and the pranks they pull.”
“Ar-Are you sure Father?” Sansa asked, moving her face away from me, and I stepped back as she removed her arms to wipe away at her eyes and nose. Uncle took my place instantly, his hand cupping her face as he nodded quietly, and I quickly walked out of the room. Catelyn was already giving me a stink eye, and I didn’t need to be a part of the family therapy session any more than I had already been. As the door closed behind me, I cracked my fingers and looked in the direction from where Sansa had come.
I needed to talk to Robb.
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“Why is the girl coming on the hunt?” one of the knights from the King’s party—a Valeman based on the sigil of the falcon on his plate armor—jeered to his friends as he strapped a quiver on his horse, and everyone stilled as they turned around to see her walk down the steps with Daeron on the right of her. Everyone stopped their work instantly, and a few feet away, she saw her Uncle and Robert too pause their conversation, both of them turning towards the Knight with anger clear on their faces. However, it seemed the Valeman wasn’t done with his taunts, as he turned around and crossed his vambrace-covered arms over his chest, “Hunting isn’t meant for girls and women bastard. It is already a big insult to the Seven that we are supposed to ride around this sin your father has begotten, but he should at least know that a girl’s place isn’t in a hunting party. And that too a bastard like you.”
“Say that after you can defeat me in a fight,” Visenya replied back boredly, her hand coming down to rest on her bastard sword as she raised an eyebrow,” I think I remember you. You were the one my brother defeated the day before yesterday after you ran your mouth. And it wasn’t even moments before you were kissing the dirt like the pig you obviously are beneath that star you paint on your armor.”
“The little cunt could never hope to defeat me,” the man blustered, his hand dropping to his sword as he took a threatening step forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brother raise a hand at the Northern soldiers that had begun to move forwards, and he shook his head at her Uncle. Grinning in her mind as she decided to kiss him senseless later on, Visenya sighed and shook her head, making a disapproving noise in the back of her throat as the stupid man continued, “I am a Knight anointed by the Seven to protect the world from shitstains like you and your brother! You both are lucky you are born in this land full of heathens and pagans, otherwise you would have never dared to raise your eyes towards a trueborn like me!”
“SILENCE!” a loud roar made everyone jump in their place, and even Visenya shivered the sheer anger in the voice as they all turned around to Robert storm forward in a blaze of fury. His face was twisted in a furious snarl, and the sheer anger in his eyes made her remember the Baratheon words. He stopped in front of the trembling Knight, dwarfing the man completely with his presence alone as pointed at her and Daeron,” They have killed more Ironborn and fought more battles in the last year than you have done in your entire life, you fucking pillow biting cunt. How dare you say anything about Ned’s children when all you can do is swing your sword like a babe fresh out of womb…get a block KIngslayer, I have had enough with shits like him!”
“Robert!” Jon Arryn and Uncle Ned both shouted as they came to stop behind him, and Visenya blinked as what seemed ot be a simple hunting party trip devolved into an argument between the King and his Hand regarding why they couldn’t kill one of their bannermen just for some insult. Looking out of her eyes at Jon, she grinned as he walked away from the commotion, slinking through the shadows and slipping through the people that were rushing to watch the argument, drawn by the loud shouts of the King.
Smiling wickedly as she saw Tywin and his two shadows, Amory Lorch and the Mountain too move forwards to watch the show, Visenya turned around and walked away towards the kitchens.
With her work here done, she could now enjoy an apple tart.
And watch the fun begin.
