Orys Targaryen
Countryside outside Castle Cerywn
Orys rode beside Galbert Glover upon the snow-covered King's Road. As Castle Cerywn came into sight, he saw how it overlooked the large tributary of the White Knife and its stone bridge. He had been to the castle once before with Robb and his uncle, yet then he had come from the other side. He hoped the Cerwyns would fall into line, and together they could make the final march.
In summer, Castle Cerywn was a day's ride, yet with the snows and the army that followed in his wake, it was a day, perhaps half a day more. Still, its grey walls hugged the river, and a small river port lay beside it. He knew merchants shipped goods on riverboats down the White Knife toward White Harbor, where larger ships would carry the goods to other regions.
Castle Cerywn itself was not a large fortress. Its walls were ten meters high, with three stone towers rising fifteen meters, and within stood a great wooden keep. There was also a godswood, if he remembered correctly.
"Let's hope Lady Jonnele joins our march. We have something in common. Both of us lost a brother to the Boltons. I wonder if she knows the truth, or if she believes the tales the Boltons spread," he said as they crossed the cobblestone bridge.
"One of many things that led to our current state," Galbert replied, shaking his head.
"Indeed, one of many," Orys muttered, thinking of all the mistakes Robb had made in the South.
Soon enough, he halted and watched as his army crossed the freezing river, then looked on as they began to make camp a mile away from the castle.
"Make sure scouts are sent ahead. I will not be taken unawares by the Boltons," he ordered Alysanne Mormont, who had taken command of the scouts after Howland's departure. He wondered if his Hand had taken the Moat yet. Still, he would not truly know until a rider arrived or a raven after Winterfell had been taken.
Just as the last of the baggage train crossed the bridge, the gates of Castle Cerywn opened. Out rode three riders, carrying the black double-bladed axe on grey. He also noticed another banner, the direwolf of House Stark.
He smiled. "Come, Galbert, let's meet them," he said with a grin.
"Indeed, Your Grace," Galbert replied, grinning in return. With their guards following, they rode to meet the three riders.
As they drew closer, he recognized Lady Jonnele.
"Lady Jonnele, it's a pleasure to meet you again," he said.
"Indeed it is, although under different circumstances, Your Grace," Lady Jonnele replied as she dismounted and bent the knee. "I, Jonnele Cerwyn, Lady of Castle Creywn, renew my fealty to House Stark and to you, King Jon Stark, the King in the North. I swear this by the Old Gods."
Orys regarded her with steady eyes. "I accept your fealty. I swear, by the Old Gods and the new, to ask no service of you that will bring dishonor, to protect you in your hour of need, and to bring you justice if I am called upon to do so. When the war with the Boltons is over, your oaths will be reaffirmed so that all the North may rise as one."
"I shall, Your Grace. Welcome to Castle Cerywn," she said with pride.
"Thank you, my lady. Please rise. It's you who are, as your cousin said, what you would be." He stated as he dismounted.
As she did, her gaze turned to the camp. "I hope they will be alive. It warms my heart that they march beside you. I take it you march on the Boltons tomorrow?" Jonnele asked with a smile on her face.
"I shall, and I hope the Cerywn banners will stand beside the direwolf on the field of battle," he said.
"They shall. Although some of my men now stand with the Boltons. My castellan took a hundred men with him to Winterfell. He hoped the Boltons would grant a marriage between us, so he could claim my title and lands, as Ramsay did with Lady Hornwood," Jonnele stated with a snarl.
"Well, my lady, if the man lives after the battle, I shall give to you for Northern justice. The Boltons have cost us and the North much, and shall see justice done. How many men do you currently still command?" He asked.
"My lands have lost much, Your Grace. I can send maybe two hundred men with you who can fight. House Cerwyn isn't as strong as it once was. The men that I will send with you will be a majority of old men and young folk. Most able men died with your brother and my father in the South, and then again with my brother at Winterfell, when Rodrick Cassel called for men to retake Winterfell." Jonnele replied.
"I know, many good lives were lost for the greed of men. Yet the wars aren't over, and something is coming that will destroy us all if we do not stand united when it comes." He stated. Jonnele gave him a concerned look.
"My lady, shall we return to your castle so we can discuss more. I wish now as much of my enemy as before we march tomorrow." Orys asked. "Of course, Your Grace, I shall make sure chambers will be prepared for you."
"Galbert, return to camp and gather the rest of the high command. Have them meet in Lady Jonnele's great hall if that's possible, my lady." He asked.
"It's Your Garce," Jonnele replied. At that, Galbert rode off toward the camp.
He smiled, and they remounted their horse and rode to Creywn Castle.
Cerywn Greathall
"Please follow me, Your Grace," Jonnele asked, and with a nod, he followed her out of the courtyard, his boots crunching in the thin frost that clung to the stones of the yard.
He remembered this place well enough. The memories came sharp and sudden, as if they had been waiting for his return. He had once walked this very ground as a boy, trailing after Robb, both of them laughing in their youth as they explored the keep with wide eyes. It had been one of the few times his father had brought him along when visiting one of his lords.
He remembered his own awe at seeing another keep besides Winterfell, at the stone towers and the oaken hall.
Now all of it felt strange. Now men called him "Your Grace," and it was not his father they addressed.
When he stepped inside, warmth and the thick smell of burning wood washed over him. The high oaken roof of the Greathall rose high above, timbered beams dark with smoke. Behind the great table, two banners hung side by side, the grey direwolf of Stark and the black double-bladed axe of Cerywn. They swayed faintly in the drafts from the doors. Orys found himself smiling despite the grimness of war. For a heartbeat, he wondered how his own banner might look beside the direwolf, his three-headed dragon stitched red on black, flying proudly as proof of his blood and his right.
Lady Jonnele turned to him then, her voice carrying with surprising strength for so lean a woman. "Your Grace, I welcome you into my halls, and I offer you salt and bread. Do you accept?" She gestured, and her servants stepped forward with bowls of coarse salt and small loaves of dark bread.
It was not as formal as he had expected, no flourished speech, no stiff ceremony, but after what had happened at the Red Wedding, perhaps that was no ill thing. A little plainness, a little forwardness, was needed in these dark times.
"Of course, my lady," he said warmly, giving her a small smile as he reached for the bread. He tore off a piece, dipped it in the salt, and ate, showing all present that he accepted her guest right. One by one, the other lords who had ridden with him did the same. Soon they took their seats at the long tables while Lady Jonnele's staff moved swiftly among them, setting down trenchers of food and jugs of ale. The hall filled with the clatter of cups, the scrape of chairs, and the low hum of men's voices.
When the meal was set before him, roast hare with onions, thick bread, and a dark mead brewed from honey of the White Knife's banks, Orys leaned forward and spoke. "Tell me, my lady, do you have any knowledge of the forces inside Winterfell? We have some idea from what we have heard of the Baratheon men, as well as scattered reports. They say five thousand men, perhaps more."
Lady Jonnele's eyes darkened, her jaw tightening as though she bit back bile. "Similar, aye. I was made to swear vows before the Boltons, during the wedding to your supposed sister." Her lips curled in scorn at the memory. "I must say, even then, I remembered how you looked, and Lady Arya was said to look much like you. Yet the girl they set beside Ramsay... she did not look like you. Except for the red eyes, I don't remember those."
At that, he smiled. "Side effect of dying, I'm afraid," he said. Lady Jonnele frowned. As she looked at the other lords.
"Another time," he added. "It has to do with why I could leave the Watch, as I am no deserter, and why the Freefolk fight with me."
"Very well, Your Grace. As for the girl, my suspicions were confirmed after your letter. I knew the truth of her then. Still, I feel sorry for what happened to her. The rumors I heard were not pleasant." Her hands trembled on the table as she spoke, and Orys could feel the weight of her shame. "I regret having to swear those vows before them. Yet I never broke faith, not truly. Even then, I told myself, when the chance came, I would stand with the true Warden of the North. Now that I speak to you, I know it was no false hope. I stood before the weirwood in Winterfell, before gods and men, and I swore aloud my allegiance to the true Warden of the North. Yet it's to you, Your Grace, and to Lord Rickon, Your Grace."
"Well, I shall expect new oaths when Winterfell and the Boltons have fallen, my lady. One to me and one to my brother, the Lord of Winterfell. I may be King in the North, but my little brother is Lord of Winterfell as is his right, as Robb would have been had he lived." He smiled as he looked toward his brother, who sat beside Osha and Lord Vorrin.
"I shall, Your Grace," Jonnele said with a smile.
"So, my lady, as you were present during the wedding, do you know who else stood beside the Boltons? I know the Ryswells and Lady Dustin did not send all their strength, and that some of their men survived the Red Wedding. Either they were spared by the Boltons, or they were in league with them. I know some of the Karstarks stood with them, as well as some of the Umbers, though I know now the Umbers hold true to me."
"Well, their principal bannermen joined their cause. Lord Ryswell's sister was married to Lord Roose. The Whitehills, yet seeing the Forresters here, I suspect they are gone or beaten." She glanced at Asher.
"Gone, my lady, save for Gwyn, whom I married. I shall be the new Lord of Highpoint," Asher stated.
"Well, I saw the Overtons, the Flints of Flint's Finger, and the vassals of the Ryswells and Dustins. The vassals of the Stony Shore, too, though they spoke more of asking for aid to turn back some of the Ironborn still remaining in their holdfasts. Small pockets still roam there, by their account." Jonnele continued, after giving Asher a nod.
"That's all I recall, Your Grace," Jonnele concluded.
"Hmm. I must say it's a shame that Overtons and Flints have joined the Boltons. The others are expected, yet Overton's and Flint's, they may turn their banners true; we might see Raven arrive from western forces, telling of them joining their strength with them." He stated hopefully. As for the vassals of the Stony Shore, who could blame them for joining with the Boltons? The Ironborn had reaved those shores for thousands of years, and the lands along with the Glover holdings were the ones hammered most by the raiders.
"Your Grace, I hope you are right in that. I will call no Flint my kin who stands with Bolton," Lord Vorrin spat.
"I understand it all too well. I remember what my own kin once did. House Manderly now holds their keep instead," he added with a laugh.
"Indeed, and now the Greystarks are no more," Vorrin grinned. "To the wolves, and may they soon howl once more in the halls of Winterfell."
At that, the rest laughed, and cups were raised into the air. "To the Starks, and to the Kings of Winter!"
Notes: This was the final chapter before the Battle of Winterfell, a small calm before the storm, so to speak. I hope you enjoyed seeing Creywn Castle. As for Jon/Orys visiting it before, I can see it happening. It's very close to Winterfell, and I imagine Eddard Stark bringing him there on one of his visits.