𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 || Cregan Stark

16 | Duty

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
D U T Y

-

"House Bracken has declared for Aegon. With Stone Hedge and Harrenhal blocking our passage we might have to march south-east instead, past Maidenpool."

Cregan glances up from the maps splayed before him and allows his heavy-set gaze to land on Lord Dustin. The old man holds out his hand against the wooden table and drags a finger along its painted surface.

"That will prolong the journey by a fortnight," he continues. "Maybe more."

"No," Cregan interjects, rising to his feet and stepping forward. "We cannot allow the Lannisters to gain further strength along the Red Fork. If we march east that would leave the Riverlands stranded."

Lord Dustin lowers his chin.

"So what then?"

The young Lord of Winterfell steps around the table, allowing his gaze to wander.

"You will march straight down, to the High Road and to Harrenhal," he answers, lifting his hand and hovering it above the map. "We will meet the greens there."

The man next to him nods slightly, before taking a step back and exhaling with a low hum.

"We'll stand alone against them."

"Not necessarily," Cregan says. "There are the Rivermen."

"Sure," Lord Dustin agrees with a wry chuckle. "If they manage to get along for long enough for our arrival, that is."

"It will take weeks before our men get there. They'll have more than enough time to settle their grievances until then."

Lord Dustin nods absently. Still, a small smirk remains evident along his hoary features.

The room is silent, shrouded in the meagre light of the early, winter morning. Torches flicker along the stone walls of the Lord's Solar, casting an eerie glimmer across the wooden floor and ceiling.

Cregan's eyes linger on the map for a moment longer, his brow furrowed as if each mark and path held the weight of his decisions. His hand rests against the edge of the table, knuckles white with tension.

His gaze flickers towards the window. 

Snow swirls outside, a thick curtain of white engulfing the courtyard below. His thoughts drift, heavy with unspoken rumination.

"The men from Last Hearth and Karhold will arrive tomorrow evening, I'd venture," Lord Dustin says at last. "The other half will come a day later."

Cregan glances over at him. "How many?"

"Some five thousand men."

"Hm."

The old Lord turns to him, lifting his chin and meeting his gaze.

"I'll lead the first host south myself," he says, his voice elated by a newly-found serenity.

Cregan nods, his expression softening somewhat.

"Good."

With a satisfied sigh, Lord Dustin steps away from the table and brings his arms behind his back.

"It's been a long while since I went elsewhere, you know," he muses, tilting his head back and smiling a crooked smile. "Even longer since I had a real fight."

"Perhaps it's befitting."

"Yes, my Lord," he laughs brokenly, his smile revealing a hint of a warrior's pride beneath the lines of age. "I know no better honour."