cp5

Chapter 5

Jon had gone away to settle up with Wyman Manderly after court had ended, and Ser Davos Seaworth, his stalwart companion as of late, followed after him to offer his expertise on Dragonstone, the island that Stannis Baratheon once warred upon with him as Hand. Sansa and I were walking the courtyard ramparts, Brienne of Tarth at our backs.

"You did good out there." Sansa told me, wiping a stray bit of snow out of her red hair. "Very good. You'll be a fine king, I think. Ruling suits you. Father would be proud."

"Thank you for your kind words." I returned, offering a shallow smile towards a passing guard. I hoped that that was all that would be said.

"But you should not have done that. I was right. Their families committed treason against our own, against the North. Those castles should have been handed over to different peoples. Loyalty need be rewarded."

Hope is little needed when you knew it was to happen regardless.

"Loyalty will be reward, but priorities need to be made, Sansa." I explained. "What I said before; I meant it. We can't be squabbling amongst ourselves. Not now. But I'm no idiot. I know you weren't incorrect."

"It was treason still." She repeated, sounding horribly frustrated.

Annoyed, I glared at her. Must I be blunt for her to understand? "Do you think me stupid? Is this due to my age? Do you think you'd do better?" Did I need to worry about a bid by my own sister to be queen? If necessary and sensible, I would happily abdicate for her. For anybody that would be better. Survival and progress were what the North needed, and were I the wrong man for the job, then I would step down gladly.

But if she were just fighting me for the sake of the fight then I would combat her just as fiercely.

Flustered, she responded. "It has nothing to do with-"

I interrupted her quickly. "What is the punishment for treason in the North, Sansa?"

"Death." Was her prompt answer.

"Then that means I'd need kill not just those two, but also hundreds of others. All the lords and ladies and their families that refused the call. Manderly, Glover, Flint, Cerwyn. All of them. Their refusal to aid us only further aided the Boltons in their treason. It does not matter the severity of it; greater or lesser, treason is treason."

"You know that cannot be done." Sansa said, her disbelief clear. Brienne too was wide eyed.

I scoffed. "Of course that can't be done. They'd sooner kick us out and offer Winterfell to the Frey's than lose their lands. I decided the moment I was made king to grant forgiveness to all of the North. Not because I wanted to, for I do feel they at least earned an increase in taxes, but because there was no other option."

"Then what will you do?" Sansa asked, biting her lip, seeming to understand my point. That did not mean she was happy about it. "What would a king do with the last scions of the families that rose against him?"

"Alys Karstark is sixteen years old, I believe." My tongue was wet with thought. "Unbetrothed."

Her frown turned even more stern. "You mean to marry her off?"

I knew I was testing ground she little liked. Her own experience with marriage was not something to speak on. But then, she'd already tested ground I little liked with talks of treason. "I am not her father; I will not and cannot marry her off. She is the Lady of her house and a woman grown besides. I would ask you to convince and help find her a match, however. Somebody suitable. Tell her that it would help ease our worries if she were to have this done. Tell her that the continuation of her family legacy matters dearly to me."

Sansa hemmed uncertainly. "What sort of man are you thinking for her?"

"A brave one. A loyal one. One that fought Ramsey. One that has earned a reward." I said, eyeing her. Realization dawned over her features, and a small twitch of the lips formed over her pretty face.

Sansa had been right about one thing at the very least; loyalty need be rewarded. But loyalty can only go so far. Family names have power all their own, and the establishment of new noble houses rarely goes fruitfully, especially when these new families preside over the lands of an old one. Local skirmishes and smallfolk loyal to their original overlords would cause problems anew, and when taxes and other matters came into the picture, it often grew worse. This was not the time for such nonsensical matters.

Marriage offered a solution to those worries. New families established over the remains of the old was a strategy well received by the world over. Perhaps the greatest example of this was Orys Baratheon, the first Baratheon to rule the Stormlands. He defeated Argilac the Arrogant on the field of battle and took his daughter for his own, as well as her sigil and house words. What should have been a moment rife with dispute, as it was with the Tyrells when Aegon the Conqueror gave them dominion over the Reach, was instead peaceful and relatively idyllic. A near seamless control over the realm of Durrandan then followed, and the Baratheon's became the undisputed Wardens of the Stormlands for hundreds of years, up until Robert Baratheon ascended the Iron Throne and became king of the rest of the realm.

"And Ned Umber?" Sansa queried, her tone more accepting.

"I am uncertain." I admitted. "Unlike Alys, I knew Ned. We trained together at Last Hearth, and he was my friend. I also know no girls save for Lyanna Mormont that would keep his house in line with ours, but she cannot take him. She has her own lands to govern and the Mormont name to continue."

"Might I make a suggestion, then?"

"Please do." She was my sister, and clever besides. Sometimes too clever, but all the same she knew these matters better than I did. Certainly better than the Rickon of the past did.

"Lord Glover is the bannerman that is likely to be the most outspoken against us, even though he has pledged his sword to House Stark." Sansa said. "He does not want his granddaughter fighting, remember? I believe she's twelve, only a little older than Ned. We could begin talks to help set up a match between them."

I rolled the thought through my mind. It didn't sound horrible, but… "That doesn't help us though, does it? If Lord Glover is going to be difficult, wouldn't betrothing her to me be better?"

Rickon had not given much thought to marriage, save for he knew that he wanted a woman sweet like his sister and praising like his mother. That was all he cared about. I cared even less. All I wanted was cordiality with my future spouse. To maintain the alliances thrust upon my shoulders as King in the North, I would have to marry in the North. So long as that marriage brought about good for House Stark, I cared not who I was with, her standing, or anything else.

Though I would prefer her to not be insipid, at the very least.

Sansa shook her head. "The Houses Umber and Karstark were about to lose their lands until you made them swear anew. Though I still think it sets a poor precedence with your other bannerman, it does keep them loyal. Ned Umber will do as you say, because he'll be too worried to not do so."

I turned to face her, ready to further receive her insight, only to pause as I took in an approaching man. Maester Wolkan was scuttling towards us, his various chain links chinking against his chest, a worried gleam in his eye.

"My king," he said upon arrival. He held a small letter in his hand, offering it my way. "A raven. From King's Landing."

I broke the seal as Wolkan left us and read the letter aloud for both Sansa and Brienne to hear. "Cersei of House Lannister, First of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the of the Seven Kingdoms."

"What does she want?" Sansa asked in a single, worried breath.

I huffed a breath out and read the rest. "Come to King's Landing. Bend the knee or suffer the fate of all traitors." The letter crumpled in my grip. "Pleasant woman."

"Horrible woman." Sansa growled. "Trust me, Rickon. Cersei Lannister is dangerous. We've been so occupied by the fanciful enemies to the north that we ignored our enemies in the south. We should adjust our resources to combat her."

Fanciful? "Jon and the wildlings say that the dead are coming, and I believe them." And how could I not? I'd not seen them in the same way that they had, but I knew the truth in my own manner. I could not specify exactly how I knew, the life before Rickon was jumbled and becoming less and less clear with every moment. Still, I knew that the army of the dead was real without dispute. "I wouldn't send for miners to go to a barren rock like Dragonstone had I not. They need all of our efforts. All of them."

"There's still the Wall between us and the dead!" Sansa exclaimed. "There's nothing between us and Cersei."

"There's a thousand miles between us and Cersei." I said. She gave me a hard look, and I turned away from her, still walking. Her boots clacked against the wooden floorboards, telling tale that she was following along. "Winter is here. The Lannister's are a southern army. They won't range this far north, not when the cold comes true. Lord Howland Reed remains at Greywater Watch, guarding the Neck for us. No army has ever gotten past the sentry of the Crannogmen."

"You're the king, but I know her." Sansa said, grabbing me by the shoulder. I paused as she spoke. "If you're her enemy she'll never stop until she's destroyed you. Everyone that's ever crossed her she's found a way to murder. Rickon, what happened to father? To Robb?"

A snarl leapt up from my throat. "They died."

"You have to be smarter than father. Smarter than Robb." She said, twisting around so that we were face to face. Her words were hard, but her face gave away the anxiety she felt. She only wanted to emphasize them to me, to not be ignored. "I loved them, I miss them, but they made stupid mistakes and they both lost their heads for it. I don't want to see the same of you or of Jon."

Breathing audibly, I closed my eyes and nodded shortly. Sansa's words were not meant to be patronizing, but instead were born of worry and good intention. I was eleven, soon to be twelve. Joffrey had been fifteen when he took the throne. He was a terrible king, but still a man in the eyes of the law. I was still a boy. There was little doubt that the noble class thought me malleable. Likely some even would make to place a regent before me.

I had little intention of showing that one would be needed. Or allow any sort of event to lead to one to occur at all.

"Then we'll need to occupy the south in some manner." I considered, thoughtful. "I cannot send troops, though. Our bannermen would see me as Robb come again and they are tired of wars of his like."

"A distraction then." Brienne said, speaking for the first time. I had honestly forgotten she was there and startled minutely at her words. "Find something to hold their attention away from the North. Or something that will take their attention beyond the Wall, like your brother has with your men."

I blinked, and the blinked again. Were I alone, I would have palmed my forehead. The answer was obvious. Rushing, I hugged Sansa tightly and sprinted away. She called after me, asking for clarification, but I could not explain. They might be gone should I waste further time.

Daenerys Targaryen would be landing soon if she hadn't already. I knew that well enough. With her would be an army of Dothraki and Unsullied as well as three fully grown dragons. It was easily the most dominant force in Westeros, if not the world. Cersei's attention would be held fully by the enemy closer to King's Landing. The North would honestly have nothing to fear should we choose to do nothing. The letter I had received could be ignored, if I so chose.

But we still needed their help. The North could not fight the dead alone. We needed the south, their militaries and their resources and their foodstuffs. We needed Daenerys Stormborn. And as annoying and stupid as it was, what the Jon Snow that had become King in the North did was not entirely wrong.

We needed proof.

My running had brought me towards the hunter's gate, facing further north. Hundreds of men dressed in thickly insulated furs were idling around a wagon toting horse, adding foodstuffs and weaponry to its hull. At the head of them was Tormund Giantsbane, the man I had intended for.

"Tormund!" I called, catching his eye. Curious, he hobbled over to me, standing a fair foot and a half taller than I was.

"Little king," he rumbled, mockingly. His voice was always filled with humor, I felt.

"I have a request." I said, ignoring his crinkling eye. "I've just been told that the south intends to march against us, knowing only that I've become king. They don't know about the dead. Or, at least, they don't believe it. We've warned them for years; Lord Commander Mormont tried to tell them and Jon did too when he was on the Wall. Nothing came of it."

"And?" He asked, both bored and interested. I would need to learn how to emulate such a manner of speaking. It could only serve me.

"The free folk are the toughest sons of whores out there," I started with flattery. He nodded along in clear agreement. "And they know more about the dead and the lands beyond the Wall than anyone else could ever claim. If we're to get the aid of the south, or if we're just to tell them to ignore us at the very least, they need proof of our words. We need a wight."

"Har!" He bellowed, squatting down so that we were level to one another. His eyes were a kind blue, narrowed in a feral way. "You want me to send my men back beyond the Wall? They'd sooner skin me than do so."

"They'd sooner die, then. I don't want to deal with the south any more than you do, but we don't have near enough men. There's at least a hundred thousand dead marching on us, right?"

"Aye…"

"Including the free folk, the northerners and the knights of the Vale who came to our aid, we have thirty-two thousand fighters. The numbers aren't in our favor. But if we had proof, just one wight still moving, to show to the south, we could have another hundred thousand soldiers at our call. Might be even more."

"Might be more feed for the dead." He drawled.

"I'd rather risk a maybe than definitely become feed." I countered.

He hummed loudly, licking his lips in thought. Then his shoulders began to roll, his belly jumping up and down, and the bellow of a laugh was quick to be heard all around. "Ahahaha! You're Snow's brother all right! Har! Fine! I'll tell the boys. There'll be some daft fools willing to do it. They'll be wanting rewards though, I know it."

"They'll have them." I promised.

"I want one too." Tormund hedged.

My eyebrows rose slowly. "What do you want?"

He grinned, and twisted me around, placing his left arm onto my shoulders. His right was pointed back towards the castle. "Do you see her? By your fire kissed sister?"

"Her?" I asked, looking. Sansa was walking over the ramparts huffily, an annoyed frown marring her beauty, eyeing me distastefully. Likely, she had not been pleased when I ran from her. Brienne was at her side, her right hand palming the gold-wrought hilt of her sword. "Brienne?"

"Aye. Brienne. The big woman. Think about it. What would happen if we got together? Babies bigger than giants, I say. They'd take over the world!"

I struggled not to laugh right in his face. He was just so exuberant about such an inane matter. Were it not coming from a mouth stinking of ale and old fish, I would have thought it almost cute. "You want me to arrange a match with her?"

"No!" He denied. Quickly. "No, that isn't how it's done. Loosen her for me, though. Tell her my stories. Ask Snow about them, he knows them, he'll tell you. She'll be willing then. They always are."

"I will happily do that." Not only because it would make Tormund more willing to help, but also because it would be hilarious.

I had plans for Brienne, anyway. This wasn't one of them, and likely wouldn't lead to anything. But it would help built the bridge to begin those plans regardless.