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Chapter 6 - Through the Bogs and Wet Roads
🕑 Added 2023-04-09 18:56:22 +0000 UTCDisclaimer: I don’t own the characters or the world appearing in this story, they are creations and property of the fantastic George R. R. Martin. I’m not sure if I can claim my OCs as my own, so I’ll play it safe and dedicate them to GRRM.
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[Year - 293 AC]
It had been eighteen days since their party left Winterfell.
Sometime along the sixth day, they had entered the Barrowlands; the Northern men trudged on as if it were no different from any other land. Harry himself felt oddly at ease amongst the barrows spread across the plains – looking at the graves of the First Men served as a good reminder of what had come before, and the perils the Starks of old had had to face in order to unite the North under their banners. It also showed him what lay ahead if he were to do the same in the future.
Although, by the end of the second week, he was more than willing to leave the graves behind for a change in scenery.
The new day saw them nearing Moat Cailin, which they would reach by the morrow if they continued journeying at the same pace. The day had gone by quickly, and the plains and hills of the Barrowlands were being slowly replaced by the bogs and wetlands of the moat. At present, night had taken over and they’d set camp to make supper and rest for the day.
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Howland had made it a point to keep an eye on Harry – to make sure that the lad didn’t feel too uncomfortable during the journey. Northern men were generally tough, but he wouldn’t pretend to be aware of the kind of life an heir would have led. He himself had spent half his life exploring the bogs and swamps of Greywater, but he knew that the crannogmen contrasted in their ways even amongst others in the North. However, he might as well have worried in vain, since the harsh journey hadn’t seemed to have had any effect on the lad. However, the boredom definitely had. Leaving Winterfell had also had an effect.
However hard the boy tried to hide his ache, Howland could see that he was downcast over leaving Winterfell. Hence, Howland had laboured to keep talking with the boy, in order to take his mind off things. He could tell that Harry was aware of his efforts, but both of them kept mum about the matter.
Apart from him, Harry had also struck up a friendship with a young lad among the soldiers. A lad named Declan of nine and ten name days. Declan was of the nervous and skittish sort, and Howland felt that Harry had fun teasing him.
“–ou say you broke your nose by tripping and falling?” Harry asked with a scandalised expression.
“Yes, m’lord,” Declan answered, gulping heavily.
Declan had dirty blonde hair which was dark enough to be mistaken as brown, and light blue eyes. He was a plain-faced lad, but at first glance what one would notice of him would be the crooked nose.
“This has to be hidden – buried even, oh the humiliation!” Harry cried out, “You can lie, you know. A fight at the tavern– no, a fight over the tavern wench. How manly would that be?”
“If you say so, m’lord,” Declan replied.
“I do say so, what do you think, Con?” Harry asked, throwing a glance at a soldier nearby. Conner was one of the Stark men that Eddard had sent with their retinue. He had a broad face with a chin that jutted out rather noticeably. He was at least thrice as old as Harry.
“I completely agree, milord,” Con said jovially. Lifting his hand, he showed them his fingers, one of which was severed at the joint. “After all, I lost this finger in a cutthroat battle against filthy bandits and not by playing around with steel.”
“Learn from his heroic fight, Declan. You broke your nose in a bar fight and that’s that,” said Harry in a haughty tone. “We’ve got to show these Southerners how tough we are.”
Howland thought it a little funny, seeing a boy not even half their age, laughing it up with a group of hardened soldiers. Some of these men had fought during the Greyjoy rebellion; they were tested in battle. However, it was nice seeing the boy get to know his men.
Looking down at his bowl, Howland picked at his beef and barley stew. They were fortunate enough to pass by a merchant from White Harbor, who had been on his way to Winterfell with some cattle to sell. Harry had decided to purchase one to treat the men after their weary travel. They had set camp at a decent spot on the edge of the Barrowlands.
“Howland, can I have a moment of your time?” Howland jerked, as he heard Harry’s voice from his side. He had neither seen Harry slip away from the soldiers nor heard him sneak up on him.
“Of course, Harry,” he replied, “is anything the matter?”
“Not at all, I wanted to ask for your leave with a particular matter. There might be a chance of it ensuing in the course of our journey,” Harry replied.
His interest peaked, Howland asked, “Alright… what do you require my assent with?”
Harry looked a little anxious. “If we are to face bandits on our way, I’d like to participate in capturing them,” he said finally.
Howland frowned. He hadn’t worried too much about encountering any bandit groups during the trip. They had twelve men in their retinue, four of his and eight from Winterfell. No bandit group would risk reaving a group of twelve men armed to the teeth. However, the roads were uncertain and there might come an instance where they walk upon bandits by happenstance and be forced into apprehending them.
“Harry, there really is no need for you to worry. We have a dozen soldiers,” Howland said soothingly, “those numbers are quite enough to take care of any bandit group we might happen upon.”
“It’s not that I think our numbers to be insufficient, Howland,” Harry replied, “I merely want to place myself in the heat of battle – a battle with real stakes – so that I can test my mettle.”
Howland could understand the real meaning behind Harry’s words, and he was impressed. Apprehending bandits was the easiest way to introduce soldiers to death. However, he was here to protect, not teach.
“You’re still young, Harry. You’ll get plenty of opportunities to test your mettle in the future,” Howland remarked.
“Yes, plenty of opportunities, I’m sure. In fact, I might get one this very trip,” Harry said hotly, "I am confident in my strength, Howland, and unlike most heirs, I don’t have the liberty of waiting for my predecessor to pass on the seat in death – my grandfather and father have already ensured that. I’ll have to take responsibility as soon as I come of age.”
Howland sighed.
“Alright, I’ll allow it,” he conceded, “but you must take utmost care. Even with our numbers, anything can happen in the heat of battle – anything at all.”
“That’s all I ask for,” Harry said, “I want a chance to experience battle – not an early grave.”
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They reached Moat Cailin before nightfall the next day. It took nineteen days of travelling from Winterfell.
Maester Luwin had been right. Harry was genuinely impressed with the castle. Even if it was in ruins at the moment; he could nonetheless imagine what it must have looked like at its prime.
Not only was he happy about witnessing the castle, but he was also extremely delighted at leaving behind all the snow and water. Moat Cailin also had a lot of water, sure, but at least he wouldn’t get any on him unless he fell into a bog, like an idiot.
If he didn’t have higher aspirations, Harry would have been very happy with taking Moat Cailin for himself.
The Moat really was the perfect defence North could ask for. Harry had read all about Moat Cailin. Its effectiveness was so inexplicable that it had completely secured the North from the Andal invasion. While the South had fallen, Andals had never conquered the North.
He’d read of how the children and first men had worked dark magic to break North away from Westeros and he had to wonder if it was true. The moat was too perfect to have formed naturally. All of the land to the right of Moat Cailin was blocked by the river Fever and to the left, there were no roads, only swamps and bogs. None other than the crannogmen could hope to navigate the treacherous swamps.
The only road that armies from the south could take was through Moat Cailin. Or they could always take a boat.
When Aegon the Conqueror had come for the North, the Northern lords had urged the then King in the North, Torrhen Stark, to defend themselves at Moat Cailin. However, Torrhen had instead chosen to submit, which had gotten him the moniker ‘King Who Knelt’.
Harry hated that name. He hated that the last Stark king was associated with such an appellation. He had decided that the only way to be rid of that moniker was to overshadow it. That was what Harry’s inference had been from his study of history. The Targaryens were the best example of this. No one called them a minor house from Valyria anymore, after all.
Harry felt that submitting had been the right call in that fight. Torrhen had had thirty thousand men with him during the confrontation, while Aegon had had forty-five thousand men. However, Harry believed that if the battle had rested solely on the hands of men, Torrhen could still have defended against such large numbers at Moat Cailin. Except, the battle wasn’t left in the hands of men. The battle had depended on dragons. Creatures of magic like dragons couldn’t be battled solely through human effort.
Currently, Harry’s party had taken residence in the Gatehouse Tower for the night. It was the largest of the remaining towers, but more importantly, it had the most walls still standing. Even if it wasn’t snowing at the moat, it was still very cold. While Harry didn’t have a problem with the cold, the soldiers were very excited about not sleeping outside.
Harry had spent the evening walking around and taking notes about the remaining structures of the castle. He felt that the Children’s Tower and Gatehouse Tower could be kept as they were and built upon using the current structures as the base. However, the Drunkard’s Tower had to be taken down.
The people of old had thought of the tower’s lean as amusing and named it ‘Drunkard’s Tower’. However, Harry knew that it could fall at any moment and the perfect defence he wanted for the North couldn’t have such blatant weaknesses.
Hence, Harry had spent time making notes on the changes and plans for the castle, with his suggestions added to it. He would send it to his uncle after further consideration.
The soldiers had left him alone for the most part, noticing his utmost focus on the task. Howland had asked him about it and he’d evasively provided some half-truths. He would find out eventually anyways – when the rebuilding started. He could wait till then.
Harry had just finished putting his final ideas to his notes when he was interrupted by one of the guards who’d been on the lookout.
“My lord, we’ve spotted five men making their way towards us. On horseback,” Linel, the soldier said.
Harry immediately left his seat and grabbed his sword. Howland motioned for the others to get ready. Quickly signalling for two soldiers to walk ahead, he followed behind them with Howland.
“Are they bandits?” Howland asked.
“I don’t think so my lord, they were sporting castle-forged armour,” Linel replied.
As they reached outside, he noticed that their lookouts had already confronted the group of horse riders. One of their men had raised a banner.
“House Manderly…” Howland whispered from beside him.
Looking at the very large, blond-moustached, bow-carrying man leading the group – Harry only needed a glance to identify him.
“Ser Wendel Manderly, a pleasure indeed,” Harry said amiably, “however, might I inquire of your presence here? If you and your men are here for a picnic at the moat, then I’m afraid our party has a better claim on account of having arrived earlier.”
Harry maintained a disarming smile throughout. He’d read the man’s mind the moment he’d seen him. There was nothing to worry about.
Ser Wendel looked like he’d been force-fed bugs. Whether it was at being recognised or due to the ten-year-old boy talking casually to a man twice as tall and six times as large, none of the men could say.
“I – I’ve been assigned to Harold Stark’s personal guard following a request from Lord Stark. I believe this is his party. Are – are you Harold?” Ser Wendel asked, trying to compose himself. He couldn’t hide all of the tremors, however.
Howland was smiling a little; surely thinking back to his own encounter with Harry. While Harry himself was positively beaming.
“That would be me, Yes. Not a lot of ten-year-olds in sight after all,” Harry said sarcastically.
Ser Medel looked to regret ever asking.
“I take it that you had predicted our plausible location and decided to start looking from Moat Cailin?” Harry asked, schooling his features. He didn’t want to embarrass the man too much; he was a knight after all.
“Uhh– Yes… Yes, that's what my father instructed me to do. I was to wait at Moat Cailin– didn’t expect you to have reached here already,” Ser Wendel said.
“My direwolf can cover quite some distance,” Harry said, “our estimate for the journey was around five months to reach Oldtown. We decided to keep it at that and not increase it any further.”
“Right… Er – How did you recognise me? We’ve never met, to my knowledge, and I’d like to think that my knowledge is vastly correct,” Ser Wendel asked a little awkwardly.
Harry laughed at the question.
“It was simple ser – your coat of arms and blond moustache told me you were a Manderly. The fact that my men informed me of you riding horseback gave me your name,” Harry answered with a wink.
Ser Wendel just stared incredulously for a moment before he started laughing. A full-bellied laugh.
“Cheeky, my lord,” Ser Wendel said, stepping forward.
Harry smiled at him.
“This is Lord Howland Reed, he’s to be my escort till I reach Oldtown,” Harry said, pointing at Howland, who responded with a nod.
“Aye, we heard of it in the letter from Winterfell,” Ser Wendel explained. “Me and my men had to set out immediately, the letter only arrived a week ago. We’ll have to purchase more supplies along the way,” Ser Wendel said.
“Now – Now, Ser Wendel, let’s head inside before any serious talk. I’m sure your men are freezing out here,” Harry said, turning around.
As they moved back inside, Harry took Ser Wendel and Howland aside, leaving the soldiers to get acquainted amongst themselves.
“So… the supplies. We’ve packed more than enough Ser Wendel, with the addition of your group it should still last us till Oldtown. But we can restock at Riverrun or Casterly Rock just to be safe. What do you say?” Harry asked.
“That’ll do, my lord,” Ser Wendel said boisterously.
“Now that that’s settled… what exactly did my uncle say in that letter,” Harry asked.
“He wrote of your decision to visit the Citadel and earn links– although the letter didn’t stray into much detail on how long the journey will last,” Ser Wendel replied, “He only requested my father to set aside a knight as your protector for the duration of the journey.”
“Let me first thank your father, for his generosity and also for acting so quickly on such short notice, I’ll have to thank him properly at a later occasion,” said Harry. “Secondly, I expect to be away for the better part of the next five years. I’m not your lord in anything but name, Ser Wendel, I can’t order you to serve me. Do you want to serve in my personal guard – by your own leave?” Harry asked sincerely.
“I am but a second son of the keep, my lord. I love my home and I would die for it – but there isn’t much left for me at White Harbor. However, more importantly, we Manderly are loyal to the Starks. When called for, we will answer. I swear on my honour to serve you to the best of my ability,” Ser Wendel said, taking a knee. Still kneeling, he looked up at Harry with a grin. “Although, after meeting you, I daresay I would never face a dull day for the next five years.”
Harry chuckled, “I aim to please my good ser.”
The rest of the night was spent discussing the journey and talking through other decisions about the same.
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It took them nine more days to reach Greywater Watch. The number of bogs increased significantly as they left behind Moat Cailin. The roads were wet and slippery, which slowed them down remarkably. On the whole, the only one who seemed at home was Howland. But only because it was his home.
Harry used the time to get acquainted with the new group they’d picked up at Most Cailin. Ser Wendel was of the simple sort – quite jolly and so very boisterous. The kind of man even small folk wouldn’t feel out of place around; hence, Harry didn’t find it terribly difficult in getting to know him. While Howland was the silent and contemplative type, Ser Wendel was always ready to talk about anything. In their conversations, the man had persisted in questioning Harry about his childhood. Honestly, Harry was quite irritated with the constant poking around – but it was also refreshing to be around someone who was genuinely interested in him, and not collecting information for scheming. He was a little amused; the man was so unlike him. Unfortunately for the man, however, Harry relied on the mystery.
Greywater Watch was a nice enough keep. With Howland at the lead, they were able to make it to the castle without issue. However, Harry wondered how he might have fared without help. The entire castle was built entirely on water, which gave it a unique look. However, that also limited the area around the keep. The castle was very small.
They had already been spotted a while back by some castle guards, hence they had a small party waiting to welcome them at the castle gates.
Howland took a knee as he joined his family. “Greywater Watch is yours, my lord,” he said as he kept his head inclined.
“Rise, Howland, let’s save this for when I actually sit on the seat,” Harry said, urging him. “Won’t you introduce me to your family?”
“Of course… this is my wife Jyana, and these are my children – Jojen and Meera, my lord,” Howland said pointing at whoever he was naming.
“Hello Lady Jyana, I’m Harold Stark. It’s a pleasure,” Harry said to the short woman and turned towards the kids. “Meera, Jojen, I’ve heard a lot of you. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you by taking your father away.”
“Not at all my lord,” Meera said a little awkwardly, at ten name days, she was yet to grow into the confident woman she would become.
“We are the same age Meera, and I’m no lord– not yet. You can speak your mind,” Harry said, trying to put them at ease.
“We weren’t expecting you today, my lord,” Jojen said with very little inflection in his voice. “I didn’t see you.”
The cryptic words confused the people around, but Harry had dealt with the three-eyed raven himself; he knew exactly what Jojen meant.
“Even if the bogs did hold us back, we were still able to keep ahead of schedule, Jojen,” Harry replied, not exactly answering what Jojen had meant by his statement.
“I see,” Jojen replied. No one understood what he saw.
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The next few hours went by quickly. Howland arranged for a banquet for their group. Everyone was happy to finally put some proper food in them. Harry spent the time talking with Howland’s family, as was proper. He was a guest at the vassal house, after all.
Howland’s wife, Jyana, was a silent woman. A good fit for the man, Harry thought. Harry wasn’t really afraid of intimidating people with his position; he believed himself to be very good at putting people at ease. He hoped that he was right in his measure of himself – It would affect him greatly if Lady Jyana was extremely talkative in other company. Meera was the only one with any cheer in the house, and Harry wondered if Jojen could’ve turned out differently if not for the greensight.
“Have you been to the mountains, Harry?” Meera asked eagerly.
“I’m a Stark of Winterfell, Meera, of course I’ve been to the mountains,” Harry replied, “Although it’s mostly just ice in the North. You should visit the Vale if you are looking for an enjoyable time.”
“Will you be going to the Vale?” Meera asked instantly.
“Not on the way to the Citadel, no. However, I might take a look on the way back,” Harry said, a little amused. “I’d like to visit my aunt – the Lady Arryn.”
Howland seemed happy with their interactions, while Ser Wendel seemed amused. Jojen was sullen for almost the entire meal, however, he glanced at Harry a few times throughout.
The feast ended quickly after and Howland showed Harry to a reasonably furnished room and left him to his devices. Leaving his accessories in the room, Harry immediately left to find Jojen. Two conversations and a few minutes later he’d determined the location.
He knocked on the door, only to find Meera inside the room as well. Seeing her not meet his eyes, it wasn’t hard to figure out the topic of their conversation.
“Meera, I’m sorry to interrupt, but may I talk with Jojen for a moment,” Harry asked. She quickly left without any fuss.
“I’ve wanted to talk with you, Jojen,” Harry said once they were alone.
“I wonder what about, my lord,” Jojen replied.
“I know of your dreams, Jojen, and also that you don’t dream of me,” Harry said as he gauged Jojen carefully.
Jojen showed his first emotion of the day. Shock.
“Come now, Jojen – you told me as much at the gates,” Harry smiled at his expression.
“But how do you know of the dreams? I’ve only ever shared them with my sister,” Jojen asked, a little anticipation colouring his tone.
“It has to do with the reason you can’t dream of me. I have somewhat similar abilities,” Harry said.
“I have never met someone else like me,” Jojen said disbelievingly.
“But you have. The three-eyed raven,” Harry said, his voice soft.
“The three-eyed raven is real?” Jojen asked with wide eyes.
“He is – indeed,” Harry replied as he nodded.
“Then you – you must know! What do these dreams mean, why am I getting them?” Jojen asked frantically.
“I think you know what they mean already, Jojen. As for why you’re getting them, the three-eyed raven gifted you the ability – when he cured you,” Harry said.
“Gifted? I didn’t want this. I’ve seen things, my lord, unpleasant things. And I can do nothing! I never wanted it!” Jojen yelled, infuriated.
“You were not in a position to do anything, Jojen. There’s a difference between not doing anything, and not being able to,” Harry said as he placed a hand on Jojen’s shoulder. “However, you won’t be in the same situation forever, not for long.”
“You can help me?” Jojen asked with hope clear in his tone.
“I can help you help yourself, Jojen.”
“What do I do?”
“When your father returns from Oldtown, ask him to write to my uncle – requesting to foster you. My uncle will accept,” Harry instructed him. “The North is headed for a great change, your dreams will guide us in avoiding downfall.”
“I dreamt of a direwolf falling into a pit of gold… does the dream point to this great change?” Jojen asked.
“That’s quite a literal dream you’ll find,” Harry said chuckling. Jojen looked at him questioningly and Harry shook his head. “You’ll understand once you reach Winterfell.”
Having said his piece, Harry waited to see if Jojen had anything to share. Jojen, however, seemed to be deep in thought.
Just as Harry moved to leave, Jojen stopped him.
“Can’t I just give up the gift, Harry? I don’t want to see my own death,” Jojen said with the most inflection his voice had held in this conversation. His tone was pleading.
Harry turned back to meet his eyes. “The gift is what’s holding you together, Jojen. I’m afraid taking it away is not the answer.”
Jojen wilted and Harry continued. “Not all is lost, seeing is avoiding, is it not?” Harry told him, “And I’ll promise you this, Jojen. You will not die away from home if that’s what you want.”
Jojen was shocked yet again. “You know…” he said, more as a statement rather than a question.
“I know some things,” Harry answered.
“Why can’t I dream of you?” Jojen asked suddenly.
Harry only smiled.
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Before closing, I’d like to thank LictorMagnus for taking me on as a patron. Thank you for your support.
