Fire And Blood

Garin The Great's Curse

Jon XIII

He had been dozing. His ears flicked at the top of his head when he heard voices from a ways away; familiar voices and voices he hadn't heard in a long time. He moved slowly and gingerly to stand up and stretch, a yawn escaping him, his tongue moving to his muzzle, lazily licking away the sleep. His eyes fell onto his snow-white fur, then to the opened door of this strange and unfamiliar room he found himself in. There was a desk and an old, uncomfortable-looking bed but nothing else. It was clear that this room was not meant to be used frequently.

Quietly and on velvet paws, he trotted out of the room and followed the talking voices through a narrow, circular appearing hallway. He was large enough, by now, to comfortably look out of the windows. It gave him a view of broken-down walls, ruined buildings and stubborn, still-standing towers, countless tents, banners and men, creating a sea of colours upon colours. The biting stench of the swamp's distinct odour of rotten eggs and the scent of ale, bread and stew reached his sensitive nose while laughter and music reached his ears. He recognized the song; it was a ballad of the Northern mountains and the mountain clans and the countless men sent there to settle feuds for their liege lords, the Starks. They were singing "Wolves in the Hills".

He concentrated on the voices coming from inside again, following them with sure, silent steps. The familiar scent of one of the voices helped as well. He reached a closed door, sat down on his haunches and listened.

"...host of a good thirty thousand men." Robb.

"Aye, my Lord, but ties will still need to be made. Incentives are needed, they are always needed."

"I understand, Lord Karstark," Robb replied after a pause and a grunt, "though I wished someone would have a better idea."

"Is it a Stark habit to refuse good marriages when offered?" Another voice cut in, drenched in bitterness and old grudges.

A hush stifled the chatter and silence took over for a moment. Then, Robb spoke again, though his cold, hard and sharp voice could have been mistaken for that of an older, more seasoned man. "I have invited you here as a sign of goodwill, Lord Ryswell. Whatever it is which has transpired between Lady Dustin, my late uncle Brandon and my late lord father, it has nothing to do with me and you would do well to understand as much." A moment passed before Robb continued. "In days like these, it is high time that old resentments remain buried and we look onward. We are at war and I respect the Ryswells as loyal and steadfast bannermen." Another pause. "I sincerely do hope that I am not mistaken."

"What are you implying, boy?" Lord Rodrik Ryswell growled out, though his growl was quickly suppressed by that of Grey Wind.

"I am no boy but your liege lord and I am not implying anything. We are at war, Lord Ryswell. Put away your animosity and remember your responsibility. Accept my gesture of goodwill and do not test my patience. It runs rather thin as of late."

Then, a boisterous, deep and rumbling voice chuckled. "Heh. You got balls, Lord Robb!" Greatjon Umber, no mistake. "I ought to tell you, however, that I concur with Lord Rickard. Marry that Frey girl and cut off the Lannisters from the Trident."

"A refusal might be taken as an insult by Walder Frey," another deep, dull voice offered further advice. "He might offer you one hand and take coin from the Lannisters with the other to betray you."

"Lord Bolton's got the right of it," Lord Karstark said, even when sounding reluctant of that admission. "You have to be very careful around Lord Walder Frey. If you refuse, he will not hesitate to accept any Lannister offer and harass our columns should we choose to ford the Green Fork ourselves."