CHAPTER 32: Mothers Mercy

CHAPTER 32: Mother’s Mercy

He nodded to Ethan Forrester, who stopped at the entrance to the godswood. Robb continued on with Grey Wind following after him. Ethan hardly gave a second glance to Grey Wind, something most of the other men who guarded Robb did. He’d grown used to the enormous beast by now, Robb supposed.

Grey Wind bounded off further into the godswood of Raventree Hall, but Robb continued on his straightforward path. The moon had only just risen, and the godswood was still. He could breathe easier here, away from all the people. I never get a moment alone. There was always some lord requesting an audience, or another guard following after him.

He didn’t mind his guards, and he knew they gave Alysanne peace of mind. A fair compromise, she’d said, in exchange for her agreeing to increase her own. Not quite a Kingsguard, but close enough. Robb wasn’t a southron king, and he wouldn’t bind men to him in such a way. And besides, with Alysanne gone, the extra company wasn’t unwelcome. Dacey Mormont was always in good humour and always willing to jape at the expense of other lords. Torrhen Karstark was far less boorish than his elder brother Harrion, even if he was more Bran’s friend than Robb’s. And Ethan Forrester, though soft-spoken, was affable and fast becoming a friend as well.

Though Robb had already visited the heart tree at Raventree Hall several times, he still found himself disappointed. He’d found himself disappointed in this godswood from the start, as awful as he felt for feeling that way. It hadn’t been what he expected at all, when he heard there was a true godswood so far south.

When Robb pictured a godswood, he pictured the godswood from home. A dense canopy of trees; ironwood and oak, sentinels and pines, a thick layer of dead leaves and moss on the forest floor. He pictured the small pools warmed by the hot springs that he and his siblings used to swim in, and the black pool at the base of Winterfell’s heart tree; an ancient tree, towering with a weeping face and leaves of blood. There were hardly any other trees aside from the heart tree in this godswood. Not as many as in Winterfell, anyway. The heart tree itself was long dead, with only its bone-white bark remaining. Poisoned by the Bracken’s, to hear Lord Blackwood tell it. It was a colossal beast, far larger than the heart tree in Winterfell. Yet it still paled compared to the tree he’d stood before with Alysanne.

Thinking of the godswood from home always reminded him of Alysanne and the night they married. He could still see the candles that lit the path to the heart tree, and her soft smile and flushed cheeks as she made her way to him. The godswood at Raventree Hall brought to mind none of those things.

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CHAPTER 31: Burning Bright

The Smalljon’s booming laugh carried through the wind, and she smiled at the sound. Alysanne peered over her shoulder to see Jon chuckling at something the Smalljon said. Jon caught her eyes and gave her a friendly wave, which she returned.

A small group of guards rode ahead, but aside from them, it was Alysanne leading the host. Wylla rode to her left, and Jorelle to her right. Were Alysanne to look over her shoulder, she knew she would find Ser Addam just behind. It was a welcome change to have her friends beside her that day. The previous day had been Ser Stevron, and the day before that Maege Mormont. Not entirely unpleasant company, she supposed.

Jorelle turned around as well. The wind whipped her dark hair into her face and she batted it away. “What’s so funny, Umber?” she called back teasingly. Another gust of wind snapped Jon Umber’s cloak behind him. The wind grew more biting as the days went on; a sign that winter would soon be upon them, according to Alysanne’s men.

The Smalljon waved a dismissive hand. “A jape, not fit for the ears of a lady,” he insisted. Wylla and Alys snickered. They doubted that anything the Smalljon said was any bawdier than what they’d heard out of Jorelle’s mouth that day alone.  

Jorelle scoffed. She wheeled her horse about back towards where the Smalljon rode. “Try me,” she challenged. Alysanne continued to glance over her shoulder as Jorelle approached Jon Umber. She pulled her horse to a stop beside his and matched his pace. Jorelle leaned her head closer to his, his lips moving as he relayed the joke. Alys turned back to face forwards once more as Jorelle’s sharp laughter rang through the air. She could just make out the Smalljon’s light chuckles at Jorelle’s teasing barbs.

A fine match, they would be. Jon Umber did not seem the type to mind a wife’s preference for maces and mail. They got along well enough, he and Jorelle. They shared the same wretched sense of humour. Alys had watched the past few days as they worked together to get a rise out of Jon and Wylla. Or, gods help her, Harrion Karstark. A match made in the seven hells, more like.

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“Then the storm broke, and  the dragons danced.” ― George R.R. Martin, Fire & Blood

— All the houses that married into House Targaryen

Porcelain, Ivory, Steel (Sansa Stark) by Tatyafinwe