Howland Reed
King's Road South of Castle Cerywn
Howland walked through the camp toward the command tent. He had just returned from his latest meeting with the scouts, part of the news was a mix of good and bad.
The camp itself was unlike any he had ever seen. It wasn't just Northmen anymore, not like those who had marched south with Robb Stark. This army was a gathering of many kinds: giants, Freefolk, mountain clans, stormlanders, and even a few mercenaries now sworn to Shireen or Orys after they emerged from the pyre. Despite the fights that flared now and then, this army moved with one purpose: to free the North, to protect the realm from what was coming, and to bring justice for the wrongs done to both the North and to Orys's family.
Yet Howland couldn't help but wonder: what would become of this army when Orys's truth was revealed? And what would happen when they went south to set things right there? They would need all the help they could get against the threat to come. Even now, those blue eyes haunted his dreams.
Yet for now, it wasn't the most imminent problem.
Soon, he reached the tent. Orys's guards stood outside, one hundred picked men from the army. Most were Freefolk, now clad in mail and steel. They resembled mountain clansmen in both manner and appearance, though calling them similar would earn you a growl, or worse. The rest of the Hundred were a mix from all corners of the host.
"Lord Reed," one of the guards greeted, pulling open the tent flap.
Inside, a large table bore a map of the North and the lands just south of the Neck. Gathered around it stood Asher Forrester, Tormund Giantsbane, Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover, Vorrin Flint, Davos Seaworth, and in the center, Shireen and Orys side by side.
"Ah, my Lord Hand. Welcome. We were waiting for you. How did the scouts fare?" Orys asked. It still felt strange being called Lord Hand, but ever since Ironrath, Howland wore an iron hand pin painted Red. He was likely the first Reed, or crannogmen, to ever do so.
"Multiple reports. The scouts I sent toward Karhold returned the warg with them sent his eagle with a letter bearing the seal of House Karstark," Howland reported, handing the letter to Orys.
Orys opened it quickly, scanning its contents. "As we hoped. Lady Alys, together with the Thenns and the Skagosi, has taken Karhold and now marches on the Dreadfort. They seized the castle without losses, word of betrayal reached them, and Alys was able to take command with ease. The second son of Arnolf was captured. Apparently, Arnolf never returned with his other sons from the battle with Stannis, and his eldest son is now sworn to the watch." Orys smiled, and so did the others. Even Tormund, who despised Thenns, gave a nod of approval.
"She's got steel in her, that one, held herself strong when she and Sigmor rallied the Thenn." Tormund cackled softly and scratched his beard. "Not bad for a kneeler."
Orys smiled at the big chieftain but continued and sighed, "In that time, the younger son had proclaimed himself lord. The fool, with Alys and Harrion, still alive, as long as they live, no sons of Arnolf can inherit."
"Indeed, good news, Your Grace," Howland said. "With the Dreadfort under siege, if Roose and Ramsay Bolton escape the coming battle, they'll have nowhere to hide."
"Exactly as we planned," Orys agreed. "Once we retake Winterfell and crush the Boltons and their allies, the Dreadfort will likely surrender, as will Steedridge, the Ryswell seat. Reports say they sent most of their strength to the Dreadfort, as did Lady Barbrey Dustin. Theon gave us that much when he spoke with Stannis, though he betrayed everything my father taught him and stood for, at least he told us that."
Howland saw Shireen glance toward Orys, whose hand rested protectively on her shoulder. Stannis's name still carried weight, even when the man rotted at the Wall.
"Still," Orys continued, "even if their main strength is at Winterfell, we must remain cautious. I won't risk an attack from the rear. The Ryswells and Lady Dustin showed their colors in the War of the Five Kings. Treachery runs in their blood. A shame, really, centuries of loyalty undone by a bitter woman."
"Where is Babbery currently, if she remains in Barrowton or is in Winterfell? You think she'll surrender?" Maege asked. "Or will she die behind those walls?"
"She's no fool," Galbart muttered. "But pride makes people fools all the same."
The Northern lords murmured in agreement. Howland remembered how Eddard had mourned when they had to leave the bones of their fallen friends in foreign soil. Lady Dustin had taken it as an insult that only her husband's horse was returned. There were rumors, too, that she had once loved Brandon Stark and hated Rickard for denying her the match.
Howland shook the memory away and focused on Orys. "I'll make sure we keep watching the southern roads, Your Grace. I shall also maintain contact with the force stationed at Torren's Square. If any movements occur from that force, we should be able to handle them. "
"Good. What else have your scouts reported?" Orys asked.
"There are two forces advancing from the south. One bears the banners of House Manderly, mostly cavalry. Around four hundred men. Scouts say Ser Wylis Manderly commands the host."
"Hmm," Orys frowned. "I'd like to believe they come to join us, but last we heard, Lord Wyman was still in Winterfell with part of White Harbor's strength. Either Wyman has resigned himself to die there, or Wylis rides to attack us from the rear when we clash with the Boltons."
"After this meeting, send a rider to meet Wylis and deliver a letter from me," Orys instructed, as he looked at him. "I hope I have a way that will save Wyman's his head."
"It shall be done, Your Grace." He noted.
"What of the second force from the south?" Orys asked.
"Technically, two forces that came through the Neck. It's just received two messages from my men still in the Neck," Howland said. "Before me and Maege, I reach the Wall. Lord Frey had dispatched fifteen hundred men toward Winterfell to reinforce Lord Bolton. As they marched, my men heard them speak of the fall of Riverrun and Raventree Hall."
Everyone in the tent sighed in disappointment.
"But that's not all. A force of the Vale is also marching through the Neck, bearing the falcon of House Arryn, the crescent moon, and the direwolf of House Stark." That got everyone's attention.
"Why would the Vale ride north under Stark banners unless they know of Lord Rickon and march to his aid?" Davos asked, frowning and stroking his beard. "The current Lord of the Vale is his cousin."
"If they've heard the boy lives, they'll want a hand in shaping him," Galbart said grimly. "Lord Eddard was a ward of Jon Arryn for many a year.
"Perhaps," Orys said, "but the Vale sat idle when my brother fought in the south. Until they declare their intent, we treat them as strangers. Still, the plan remains the same." All eyes turned to Orys. "Moat Cailin is the gateway to the North. The Boltons hold it. If I am to be King in the North, I must hold the Moat. Lord Hand, do you know the strength of the garrison there?"
"About two hundred men," Howland replied.
"Good. Tomorrow, you will take a thousand men, mostly archers, and seize the Moat Calin. Garrison it. When the Vale arrive, send a raven. I aim to have Winterfell by then. I'll come to the Moat and parley with the Vale myself."
"Your Grace," Asher interjected, "a thousand men? Don't we need them during the battle for Winterfell?"
"I don't intend to take Winterfell with overwhelming numbers," Orys said. "We can't afford a siege, nor a direct assault, it would cost too much. The Boltons must believe they outnumber us. Only then will they leave their walls to meet us. Lord Bolton has waited too long to act against us, waiting for us to bleed and freeze as we march toward Winterfell. He cannot resist when a smaller army arrives, as it would show weakness to remaining loyal lords. The cunts still need to establish their rule. With surprise and sound tactics, we'll defeat their forces. My brother proved that numbers alone do not win battles."
"A wise plan, Your Grace," Asher acknowledged, and the rest nodded. While Maege gave him and Orys a knowing look, a small smile crept up her lips.
"I shall take Moat Cailin, then," Howland said. "And when the Vale arrive, they will find the North waiting."
"Good," Orys nodded. "Tomorrow, we continue on to Castle Cerwyn. Fortunately, we have two cousins of the late Lord Cerwyn among us; hopefully, they can persuade Lady Jorell to join us. If not, we'll have to encircle the castle. We can't risk a hostile force that close to Winterfell."
He pointed to the map.
"That's all for now. Rest well. We've a hard march ahead come morning."
He paused. "Lord Hand, stay a moment."
After that, everyone left, and soon only he, Orys, and Shireen remained.
"So, on the morrow we depart. There is one thing I need you to do before then: write a written statement of what happened with my mother in Harrenhal, as well as what happened at the Tower of Joy. When the battle is won and all of the North knows of the threat beyond the Wall, I will reveal the truth and my intentions," Orys began.
"I thought as much," Howland replied quietly. "When Silverwing and Nightwing appear in the skies, it will be a sign. A relief to those who know is coming from the North. It's likely some people will piece it together. I'm still surprised that not a single one of the men saw them or spoke about them. You two won them to your side.
Yet with them will come the revelation of truths buried since the rebellion. Some will be angry, knowing they lost friends and kin during that time. Others will see opportunity. And some… will be indifferent. Some may even seek to crown Rickon in your stead."
"Yet it will not matter," he continued. "The North's strength is broken, with wars that were fought, and freefolk, giants, and the lords with the most men follow you. And with dragons at your side, there will be no true challenge."
"I thought the same," Orys said, nodding. "Still… it is needed. Ever since that dream, I've felt the need to proclaim myself. To tell the world about me."
Howland recalled their conversation, a week ago, in Torren's Square. The dream Orys and Shireen had spoken of had not been ordinary. It was vivid, full of smoke and flame, voices in Valyrian and images of dragons flying, and flames that seemed to bound them.
He had told them what he believed: that both of them carried the blood of the dragon, Shireen through her father, Orys, through both Rhaegar and Lyanna, and that Orys also bore the blood of the First Men. That combination could give rise to dreams of power, prophecy, and magic. Dragon dreams and green dreams both. Then the Shireen and Orys both had emerged alive from the pyre… it could not all be a coincidence.
"And with the Blackfyre rising in the south," Howland added softly, "and Daenerys Targaryen hatching dragons in the east… your dream is not one to ignore. Dragons, and flames that seemed to bind you two, and that girl with silver hair."
"As I set before, there was another reason for keeping the dragons quiet. It allowed us to show who our friends are. Without the dragon at our side, the lords didn't truly know who would win or lose. Now we know." Orys added.
"Yes, we know who is true." He agreed.
"Howland," Orys said, "I'll give you the letter for Wylis in the morning. Have a good night. You earned it, with all your work." Orys ended with a small smile.
"I shall look for it in the morning, and have a good night too, Your Graces," Howland said, giving them a small bow.
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