#ser richard horpe

[inlovewithquotes]

"Risk is part of war," declared Richard Horpe, a lean knight with ravaged face whose quilted doublet showed three death's-head moths on a field of ash and bone. "Every battle is a gamble, Snow. The man who does nothing also takes a risk."

-Ser Richard Horpe

[thewindsofwolves]

Jon Snow & Sansa Stark Book Parallels & Mentions 44/∞ : Winterfell and the Old Gods

When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said . . . but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman's hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods. A Storm Of Swords, Jon XII

The direwolf had no answer, but he licked Jon's face with a tongue like a wet rasp, and his eyes caught the last light and shone like two great red suns. Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre's. He had a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. A Storm Of Swords, Jon XII

"Horpe and Massey aspire to your father's seat. Massey wants the wildling princess too. He once served my brother Robert as squire and acquired his appetite for female flesh. Horpe will take Val to wife if I command it, but it is battle he lusts for. As a squire he dreamed of a white cloak, but Cersei Lannister spoke against him and Robert passed him over. Perhaps rightly. Ser Richard is too fond of killing. Which would you have as Lord of Winterfell, Snow? The smiler or the slayer?" Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." "I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim." A Dance With Dragons, Jon IV

[isefyres-archive]

NEW A SONG ERA MUSES ADDED:

Taena Of Myr, also known as Taena Merryweather, is the Myrish wife of Lord Orton Merryweather, and is the Lady of Longtable. They have one child, Russell. Companion and friend of Queen Cersei Lannister.

Ser Osney Kettleblack is the youngest of the Kettleblack brothers. He is the son of Oswell Kettleblack and he has two brothers, Ser Osmund and Osfryd Kettleblack, a sworn sword of Queen Cersei and sometimes his lover, he was accused of being Queen Margaery's lover and imprisoned in the Keep.

Lady Myranda Royce called Randa, is the daughter of Lord Nestor Royce, the High Steward of the Vale. he is good friends with Mya Stone, one of her father's retainers. In the abscence of her father, Myranda is the acting Lady of the Gates of the Moon in the Vale.

Lady Delena Florent. the mother of Edric Storm and niece to Lord Alester Florent. She is married to Ser Hosman Norcross and has two children by him, Alester and Renly. She was one of Robert Baratheon's lovers During the wedding of Lord Stannis Lady Selyse Florent, King Robert I Baratheon carried Delena, who was one of Selyse's bedmaids, upstairs to the bedroom of Lord Stannis. This coupling eventually led to the birth of Edric Storm. Because Delena had been a maiden of noble birth when Robert slept with her, he had to acknowledge the child as his bastard.

Prince Lysandro Orthys of Lys. One of the ruling princes of Lys and part of House Orthys. They trace their bloodline directly to Old Valyria and they are bankers and masters of coin. Lysandro is a supporter of the Golden Company and was persuaded by Jon Connington to support Young Griff/Aegon in his quest for the Throne. He offered his sister Narcyssa as a lover for Aegon, wanting the prestige of the dragon blood.

Princess Narcyssa Orthys of Lys. Master of Whispers and a Priestess of the Lysani Gods. She was offered by her brother as a bedwarmer for Aegon Targaryen and is part of the emboy travelling to Westeros. She is tasked to find a way to get the dragon blood into her family in order to be able to bond with dragons.

Lady Khorina Rogere. Noblewoman of House Rogere, once a great house of Lys but fallen into grace after years. Khorina owns a pleasure house for the Elite and one of her girls, Doreah was send to Prince Viserys as his lover and handmaiden of Daenerys. Khorina supports Queen Daenerys for the Throne.

Lady Reina Horpe. Daughter of Richard Horpe, Reina is the heir of her father and currently remains at the Stormlands. She is at Griffin's Roost when Jon Connington takes seige of the castle. She is a vocal supporter of her father's choice to back King Stannis and thus, she remains a "guest" under supervision.

Lord Rolland Storm known as the Bastard of Nightsong, is a knight of House Caron. He is the bastard son of the late Lord Bryen Caron of Nightsong and the half-brother of Lord Bryce Caron. He worships the Warrior, an aspect of the Faith of the Seven, with a faith as fierce as he is. After the death of Lord Bryce at the Blackwater, Rolland disputes the title of Lord of Nightsong.

Lady Guinevere Dayne, the younger sister of Ser Gerold Dayne, nicknamed Nightstar is part of the Dayne's of High Hermitage. She travels to pledge to Princess Arianne to forgive her brother, although she does not think he was the one who killed Ser Arys. Guinevere has lilac eyes and like all the Dayne's of High Hermitage, she has two colored hair. Black with white streaks.

Ser Baynard Norcross is a knight of House Norcross at Highgarden. he travels to King's Landing as part of Lady Margaery's emboy and is one of her knights. Bayard is named by Taena of Myr as being among the group of young knights who give their attentions to Queen Margaery Tyrell. He is eventually fred and send to Highgarden.

Lady Seline Florent. Bastard sister of Queen Selyse, she was legitimized by her father and made a Lady of the House. She attends to Lady Melisandre and travels to the North with King Stannis. Seline is known for having a strange hair, naturally shaded a dark violet. Many think it's an omen.

Lady Hestyna Flint of the First Flints. Sister of Donnel Flint, Hestyna is known for her magical greenseer qualities, she self proclaimed herself a priestess of the Old Gods and is known to give magical favors in exchange of coin or favor to those in the North. Hestyna is also a healer.

Cletus Yronwood is a knight of House Yronwood, the son and heir of Lord Anders Yronwood of Yronwood. Cletus is one of Prince Quentyn Martell's closest friends. Cletus is among Prince Quentyn Martell's traveling companions on his mission to meet with Daenerys Targaryen in the Free Cities.

[thelustybraavosimaid]

Here are all of the mentions of Sansa in all of Jon's chapters throughout A Song of Ice and Fire:

GAME:

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. (Jon I)

--

Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall. (Jon I, same paragraph)

--

His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

--

Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together.

"…don't… tell…Sansa!" (Jon II)

--

He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but "my half brother" since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. (Jon III)

--

"My lord, what of my sisters? Arya and Sansa, they were with my father, do you know—" (Jon VII)

--

The rest of the afternoon passed as if in a dream. Jon could not have said where he walked, what he did, who he spoke with. Ghost was with him, he knew that much. The silent presence of the direwolf gave him comfort. The girls do not even have that much, he thought. Their wolves might have kept them safe, but Lady is dead and Nymeria's lost, they're all alone. (Jon VII)

CLASH:

So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he'd dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all. (Jon III)

--

"I don't even know your name."

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?" (Jon III)

STORM:

"I did say it, for I was."

"Then you saw us all. Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella, my brothers Robb and Bran and Rickon, my sisters Arya and Sansa. You saw them walk the center aisle with every eye upon them and take their seats at the table just below the dais where the king and queen were seated."

"I remember." (Jon I)

--

Winterfell would go to Robb and then his sons, or to Bran or Rickon should Robb die childless. And after them came Sansa and Arya. Even to dream otherwise seemed disloyal, as if he were betraying them in his heart, wishing for their deaths. I never wanted this, he thought as he stood before the blue-eyed king and the red woman. I loved Robb, loved all of them...I never wanted any harm to come to any of them, but it did. And now there's only me. (Jon XI)

DANCE:

"By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa."

"Lady Lannister, you mean? Are you so eager to see the Imp perched on your father's seat? I promise you, that will not happen whilst I live, Lord Snow." (Jon I)

--

All of you did not seem to include Lady Melisandre. The king's red shadow. Stannis called to Devan for more lemon water. When his cup was filled the king drank, and said, "Horpe and Massey aspire to your father's seat. Massey wants the wildling princess too. He once served my brother Robert as squire and acquired his appetite for female flesh. Horpe will take Val to wife if I command it, but it is battle he lusts for. As a squire he dreamed of a white cloak, but Cersei Lannister spoke against him and Robert passed him over. Perhaps rightly. Ser Richard is too fond of killing. Which would you have as Lord of Winterfell, Snow? The smiler or the slayer?"

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa."

"I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim." The king set the cup aside. "You could bring the north to me. Your father's bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend your folly, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North." (Jon IV)

--

Jon flexed the fingers of his sword hand. The Night's Watch takes no part. He closed his fist and opened it again. What you propose is nothing less than treason. He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon's breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell…I want my bride back…I want my bride back…I want my bride back… (Jon XIII)

An unsurprising amount of these instances have Sansa paired with Arya, while one is a secret, inside joke before Jon and Arya.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AGOT: Eddard XV (Chapter 58)

The king eats, Robert had said, and the Hand takes the shit. How he had laughed. Yet he had gotten it wrong. The king dies, Ned Stark thought, and the Hand is buried.

Interesting theory, Ned. Let’s explore further.

Robert Baratheon💀: Jon Arryn💀, Eddard Stark💀

Joffrey Baratheon💀: Tywin Lannister💀

Tommen Baratheon❓: Tywin Lannister💀, Harys Swyft❓, Orten Merryweather❓, Mace Tyrell❓

But wait, there’s more!

Renly Baratheon💀 : Mace Tyrell❓

Stannis Baratheon❓: Alester Florent💀, Davos Seaworth❓

Daenerys Targaryen❓: Barristan Selmy❓

Aegon VI Targaryen❓: Jon Connington❓

I have to agree, all of these people are doomed, with the exception of Davos Seaworth, who could easily die and it wouldn’t shock me in the least.

Anyway, let’s add Tyrion to the list, yeah?

+.+

Cersei Lannister's face seemed to float before him in the darkness. Her hair was full of sunlight, but there was mockery in her smile.

THE NEXT CHAPTER? What kind of witchcraft is this? @agentrouka-blog

+.+

When he thought of his daughters, he would have wept gladly, but the tears would not come. Even now, he was a Stark of Winterfell, and his grief and his rage froze hard inside him.    

You and Catelyn should work on that, it can’t be healthy.

+.+

He made plans to keep himself sane, built castles of hope in the dark.

Father and daughter building castles of hope!! 😭🥺

+.+

I failed you, Robert, Ned thought. He could not say the words. I lied to you, hid the truth. I let them kill you.    

I mean yeah, you kind of did. Really fucked over your kids too.

+.+

Cracks ran down his face, fissures opening in the flesh, and he reached up and ripped the mask away. It was not Robert at all; it was Littlefinger, grinning, mocking him. When he opened his mouth to speak, his lies turned to pale grey moths and took wing.    

Littlefinger with a mouth full of moths! How fun. Let’s look at some other passages featuring moths:

A moth had gotten into the lantern Ser Boros was holding; she could hear it buzzing and see the shadow of its wings as it beat against the glass. 

(...)

Her heels scraped against the stone as she climbed, and she could still hear the moth fluttering wildly inside Ser Osmund's lantern. Die, the queen thought at it, in irritation, fly into the flame and be done with it. - Cersei I, AFFC

x

He did not remember if they'd been warm or not. As the strength went out of her, her blows became moths fluttering about his face. Each time he gave the chain another twist the golden hands dug deeper. - Tyrion II, ADWD

x

Clutching the bars of his cage with bound hands, Mance sobbed and begged. When the fire reached him he did a little dance. His screams became one long, wordless shriek of fear and pain. Within his cage, he fluttered like a burning leaf, a moth caught in a candle flame. - Jon III, ADWD

x

"Risk is part of war," declared Ser Richard Horpe, a lean knight with a ravaged face whose quilted doublet showed three death's-head moths on a field of ash and bone. - Jon IV, ADWD

You’re dead, bitch.

+.+

The memory came creeping upon him in the darkness, as vivid as a dream. It was the year of false spring, and he was eighteen again, down from the Eyrie to the tourney at Harrenhal. He could see the deep green of the grass, and smell the pollen on the wind. Warm days and cool nights and the sweet taste of wine. He remembered Brandon's laughter, and Robert's berserk valor in the melee, the way he laughed as he unhorsed men left and right. He remembered Jaime Lannister, a golden youth in scaled white armor, kneeling on the grass in front of the king's pavilion and making his vows to protect and defend King Aerys. Afterward, Ser Os well Whent helped Jaime to his feet, and the White Bull himself, Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower, fastened the snowy cloak of the Kingsguard about his shoulders. All six White Swords were there to welcome their newest brother.                 

Yet when the jousting began, the day belonged to Rhaegar Targaryen. The crown prince wore the armor he would die in: gleaming black plate with the three-headed dragon of his House wrought in rubies on the breast. A plume of scarlet silk streamed behind him when he rode, and it seemed no lance could touch him. Brandon fell to him, and Bronze Yohn Royce, and even the splendid Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.

Robert had been jesting with Jon and old Lord Hunter as the prince circled the field after unhorsing Ser Barristan in the final tilt to claim the champion's crown. Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty's laurel in Lyanna's lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost.    

Such vivid memories of the whole affair.

Wait, no Ashara Dayne?

+.+

Ned Stark reached out his hand to grasp the flowery crown, but beneath the pale blue petals the thorns lay hidden. He felt them clawing at his skin, sharp and cruel, saw the slow trickle of blood run down his fingers, and woke, trembling, in the dark.    

That’s the thing about blue roses, they may represent daughters of House Stark, but they’re also synonymous with death.

I’m just saying if a blue flower surrounded by ice showed up in one of my prophetic dreams, I might be worried. Especially if I’ve been warned about the colour blue, and sweet smells.

+.+

"Can you free me from this pit?"         

"I could … but will I? No. Questions would be asked, and the answers would lead back to me."    

✨ foreshadowing ✨

+.+

"Your own ends. What ends are those, Lord Varys?"                 

"Peace," Varys replied without hesitation. "If there was one soul in King's Landing who was truly desperate to keep Robert Baratheon alive, it was me."

There’s a popular theory that Varys never outright lies, he only omits truth.

That theory is bad.

+.+

Ned Stark laid his head back against the damp stone wall and closed his eyes. His leg was throbbing. "The king's wine … did you question Lancel?"                 

"Oh, indeed. Cersei gave him the wineskins, and told him it was Robert's favorite vintage." The eunuch shrugged. "A hunter lives a perilous life. If the boar had not done for Robert, it would have been a fall from a horse, the bite of a wood adder, an arrow gone astray … the forest is the abbatoir of the gods. It was not wine that killed the king. It was your mercy."

It’s me, the village idiot.

+.+

If you will give her the peace she needs and the time to deal with Stannis, and pledge to carry her secret to your grave, I believe she will allow you to take the black and live out the rest of your days on the Wall, with your brother and that baseborn son of yours.

“Pledge to carry her secret to your grave” followed by a mention of that baseborn son.

I don’t believe Varys knows about Jon, but sometimes I do wonder.

+.+

And spare a thought for this as well: The next visitor who calls on you could bring you bread and cheese and the milk of the poppy for your pain … or he could bring you Sansa's head.                 

"The choice, my dear lord Hand, is entirely yours."

Up next, an honourable lie actually worth telling.

Final thoughts:

Thus concludes the last Eddard Stark chapter in the series. Not sad to see them end, to be honest.

-> return to menu <-

[stormborns]

CHAPTERS OF A SONG OF ICE & FIRE - A DANCE WITH DRAGONS - THE KING'S PRIZE Then Ser Richard Horpe, the knight with the ravaged face and the death's-head moths on his surcoat, turned to Stannis and said, "Your Grace, your brother-" The king cut him off. "We all know what my brother would do. Robert would gallop up to the gates of Winterfell, alone, break them with his warhammer, and ride through the rubble to slay Roose Bolton with his left hand and the Bastard with his right." Stannis rose to his feet. "I am not Robert. But we will march, and we will free Winterfell...or die in the attempt."

[hawkeyescoffee]

A woman

Ship: Brienne of Tarth & Richard Horpe

Prompt: Bloodshed

Daily Randomized Prompts: 9/?

Summary: Losing was not an option. He was a knight and she just a woman.

Word Count: 374

Warning: none

Note: Posting these on my main blog until tumblr decides to show the fanfic one in the tags again. 

Requests are open! Sent me a asoiaf/got ship and prompt!

_______________________________________

Their swords sung a fast and deadly tune as they met again and again. Attack followed attack as the other parried.

Ser Richard beheld the woman in front of him with a condescending sneer. Not only was Brienne of Tarth an insult to every noble woman should be representing, but she had the audacity to pursue duties reserved for men. On top of being a traitor to his King.

The woman had backed Renly the usurper and for that she should burn.

He could make her death a sacrifice for R’hllor, after showing her how miniscule her skill was against a real knight, if his King and Priestess agreed. He had been good enough to serve the King’s Guard after all and Lady Brienne was a woman who needed a husband to keep her in check and inherit her father’s lands.

(Maybe after humiliating her, he could marry her if she lived or could be given Tarth by the King if she lived. He would prefer Winterfell for his serves, but he feared the Snow boy had dissuaded Stannis of that notion.)

For a moment he was pleased with himself and his hypothetical Lordship. His breath came in white vapor and curled away from his sly smile. Tarth was a beautiful isle. His Lord brother would be going green with envy if Richards serves to the King brought him such honor…

He almost missed the quick steel aiming for his side and he just barley dodged it.

The woman was watching him, circling him, her pretty blue eyes sharp.

Right. Brienne of Tarth was maybe marly a woman, but she was not a half as bad as he pretended, she was. He knew boys who called themselves knights doing a way worse job. Still, she was in the wrong to be here.

Saving Arya Stark? She could queue right behind Jon Snow…

Playing as knight in shining armor when her father probably sat at home worrying for his heir?

Their swords met each other once more as the woman managed to push him back. One ill-advised step and suddenly steel buried itself into his shoulder and hot blood steamed in the cold northern air, while he grunted in pain.

He had lost to her.

[duchess-of-oldtown]

If you were Robert and would pick anyone who’s still alive to be in your kingsgaurd after the rebellion, who’d you pick?

Ser Barristan Selmy

Ser Jaime Lannister

Richard Horpe (Robert actually did consider him but Cersei said no)

Brynden Tully, The Blackfish

Ser Vardis Egen

Silveraxe Fell

Hother "Whoresbane" Umber

[racefortheironthrone]

Regarding the following quote from Jon IV, ADWD: “As a squire he dreamed of a white cloak, but Cersei Lannister spoke against him and Robert passed him over. Perhaps rightly. Ser Richard is too fond of killing” - do you think the Knight chosen instead of Richard Horpe was Arys Oakheart, following the Greyjoy Rebellion?

If Oakheart distinguished himself during the Rebellion, it's certainly possible.

[eschercaine]

My (2) fav ASOIAF OTPs:

Jonsa (Jon Snow/Sansa Stark)

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

- Jon I, A Game of Thrones

All of you did not seem to include Lady Melisandre. The king's red shadow. Stannis called to Devan for more lemon water. When his cup was filled the king drank, and said, “Horpe and Massey aspire to your father's seat. Massey wants the wildling princess too. He once served my brother Robert as squire and acquired his appetite for female flesh. Horpe will take Val to wife if I command it, but it is battle he lusts for. As a squire he dreamed of a white cloak, but Cersei Lannister spoke against him and Robert passed him over. Perhaps rightly. Ser Richard is too fond of killing. Which would you have as Lord of Winterfell, Snow? The smiler or the slayer?” 

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.” 

- Jon IV, A Dance with Dragons

Myranda gave her a shrewd little smile. “Yes, she was the very soul of wisdom, that good lady.” She shifted her seat. “Why must mules be so bony and ill-tempered? Mya does not feed them enough. A nice fat mule would be more comfortable to ride. There's a new High Septon, did you know? Oh, and the Night's Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark's.” 

“Jon Snow?” she blurted out, surprised. 

“Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.”

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise.

- Alayne II, A Feast for Crows

Robbaery (Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell)

If you had to fall into a woman’s arms, my son, why couldn’t they have been Margaery Tyrell’s? The wealth and power of Highgarden could have made all the difference in the fighting yet to come. And perhaps Grey Wind would have liked the smell of her as well.

- Catelyn II, A Storm of Swords

Forget Robb Stark/Jeyne Westerling (Talisa Maegyr)! This one rumination from Catelyn’s POV creates a more reasonable ship and changed the lives of the whole fandom forever.

I just realized that Catelyn Stark is the true captain of this ship.

[dwellordream]

Regarding the following quote from Jon IV, ADWD: “As a squire he dreamed of a white cloak, but Cersei Lannister spoke against him and Robert passed him over. Perhaps rightly. Ser Richard is too fond of killing” - do you think the Knight chosen instead of Richard Horpe was Arys Oakheart, following the Greyjoy Rebellion?

Potentially

[goodqueenaly]

House Words Wednesdays: House Horpe

Welcome to House Words Wednesdays! Each week, I take a House without known canon or semi-canon words and present what I think could make sense as that House’s motto. You’re free to suggest more as well, if your favored House has not yet been suggested; take a look at this link to see what has already been suggested, and shoot me an ask if you have another House you’d like to see done. 

House Horpe is a noble House of the Stormlands, presumably sworn to the Baratheons of Storm’s End. I say “presumably” because truthfully little is known of House Horpe. Neither its seat nor its ruling lord has been named, and indeed the House went unrepresented in person until ADWD and the introduction of Ser Richard Horpe. The sigil of House Horpe is known, at least: per chevron engrailed gray and bone, three death’s head moths counterchanged.

The only known - which makes him perforce the most important - member of House Horpe is Ser Richard Horpe, a knight in Stannis’ service. Horpe has probably been with Stannis for some time; Stannis mentions that Horpe was hopeful for a white cloak until Cersei talked Robert out of the idea, and given that the Kingsguard at the beginning of AGOT seems to have been more or less the same for the past decade, I think it’s probable Horpe was serving Stannis as Lord of Dragonstone in some capacity from early in Robert’s reign. As Stannis himself notes, though, Horpe’s taste always ran to the bloodshed and killing of battle. Though “high in the king’s councils” in ADWD, second in command on Stannis’ march to Winterfell, Horpe is distinguished mostly by his harsh attitude. He accepts risk and death as a natural part of war, and encourages aggressive moves against the Dreadfort and Winterfell. What’s more, though he censures Justin for referring to more gods than the one Lord of Light, Stannis makes clear that Horpe “loves the Lord of Light only when it suits his purposes” - meaning, presumably, when he gets to kill in the name of R’hllor. 

It’s fitting, therefore, that the sigil of House Horpe features three death’s head moths. These insects are perhaps most familiar to modern eyes through the poster of The Silence of the Lambs, but their legacy goes much farther back than that; indeed, the death’s head moth has long been associated (due to the skull-like marking which gives the creature its English name) with evil. English entomologist Moses Harris wrote that the moth was “the device of evil spirits -spirits enemies to man - conceived and fabricated in the dark, and the very shining of its eyes is thought to represent the fiery element whence it is supposed to have proceeded”, while his fellow entomologist Edward Newman wrote that the moth’s squeaking “produce[s] the most superstitious feelings among the uneducated, by whom it is always regarded with feelings of awe and terror”. Legend even claimed that the death’s head moth only came to England after the execution of Charles I - a grievous, almost unnatural act in an age where the literal body of the king was considered sacred - though this seems very unlikely.

Given this background, I decided to make the Horpe words All Become Equal. Death is the great equalizer: whatever fortune or status any man could make in his own lifetime, he is destined eventually to die, to be reduced to mere bones and eventually ash and dust. This is the message of the Horpe sigil, with its death’s head moths so prominent: as great and proud as any enemy is in life, death will come for him, and no less so than on the blades of the sons of House Horpe. Certainly, Ser Richard himself is more than equal to make his enemies equal in death, relishing in his role as “the slayer” whose true place is battle. Lannister men, Bolton men, wildlings, even those in Stannis’ own train too weak to continue the march to Winterfell - Ser Richard, like death itself, makes no distinction, only seeking to make them equal by the edge of his sword. 

[istumpysk]

When his cup was filled the king drank, and said, "Horpe and Massey aspire to your father's seat. Massey wants the wildling princess too. He once served my brother Robert as squire and acquired his appetite for female flesh. Horpe will take Val to wife if I command it, but it is battle he lusts for. As a squire he dreamed of a white cloak, but Cersei Lannister spoke against him and Robert passed him over. Perhaps rightly. Ser Richard is too fond of killing. Which would you have as Lord of Winterfell, Snow? The smiler or the slayer?"

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa."

— Jon IV, ADWD

The “smiler” who lusts for women and the (kin)“slayer” who is “too fond of killing”, both want to rule Winterfell and to marry the princess (one wants to, the other doesn’t mind), but there’s no way that’s happening on Jon’s watch. Nice 🥲

Wait, anon!

Help, I'm slow.

Is this referencing Tyrion and Baelish? The Hound?

Who is this referencing?

Come back and explain!

I love it, I just don't know what I love yet!

I'm ruining everything, I'm sorry.

Edit: Ramsay!

[lupotterdraws]

Ser Richard “the Slayer” Horpe and Ser Justin “the Smiler” Massey.

(... Stannis gives the best nicknames.)

[jitolibido]

Asha I Battle of Ice (entire chapter)

For convenience, I just post the whole thing here so it’s easier to read.

The following is a speculative fan fiction based on the facts established by The King’s Prize chapter in A Dance with Dragons, the Sacrifice chapter in A Dance with Dragons, and Theon I preview chapter in The Winds of Winter. The Night Lamp theory was initially created by BryndenBFish on reddit I believe. Also there’s Asha fragment, a paragraph decoded from an enhanced image of GRRM’s computer. I wrote this fan fic, and ahhhh... follow me on instagram @truestannis

The day was cold, and the white winds bit harder as Asha inhaled. Ser Justin Massey, the freckled knight of summer, had left with the banker Nestoris and Ned Stark’s daughter. She did not desire him, a southron knight who wore a pretty blonde beard could hardly be her Lord husband in the days to come, were she to live. And yet, she thought of him. The other queen’s men, Farring and Suggs, thirsted for her blood like a pack of jackals. The knights of the greenlands would pray to their queer god of fire, but the North was of the old, and the old gods were more punishing and severe than R’hllor could ever be. Doomed, she thought, doomed men on a death march.

         The ice lakes at the crofters’ village were caked with snow. When Asha walked outside along the camps, the snow seeped into her boots. The hill tribes, the southron knights, and the Glovers had been working day and night felling the trees. Catapults, she thought. Why would Stannis want siege weapons when the enemy were to meet him in an open field?

         The king walked out of the tower. She had last seen him when she was pleading for her brother’s life, or a quick death, rather. “Your Grace. My brother—“

         “He will live, for now. I have better use for him, because he knows the layout of Winterfell. Which walls are the strongest, and which gates the weakest. It’s not me you need to worry about, Lady kraken, it’s these northmen. Norrey and Wull would not hesitate for an instant to bloody their axes with Theon’s head.”

         The queen’s men escorted their prisoner outside. Arnolf Karstark was accused of conspiring with Lord Bolton to turn on Stannis’s rearguard once the battle began. The queen’s men prepared a pyre for Lord Karstark on the weirwood island. Next to the pyre was a chopping block. The Wulls, the Flints, and the Norreys gathered around the king and his men.

         “Lord Arnolf Karstark, you have been charged with treason and the conspiring with the enemy. I, Stannis Baratheon, the one true King of Westeros, sentence you to die. You are a northman. I do not wish to tamper with your old gods or your tradition in front of the brave men who stand beside me. Confess, and I shall grant you the swift death with my sword. Lie, and you will meet a warmer end. Choose wisely, Ser Clayton Suggs has much and less patience than I.”

         “Aye, I confess. What of it! Lord Bolton has seven thousand strong. You will starve, and freeze, pretender. The Frey host alone is like to shatter what’s left of you and yours without breaking a sweat!” The old man spat onto the snow. He turned to the Wull, “Hugo fucking Wull. You support some southron fool now? Much is the pity! You are dead men! Do you hear me? Dead! Dead will be your false king, and dead your sons. Be cursed!” The old man coughed and grinned.

         “Very well then,” the king pulled his magical sword from the scabbard. It was bright, and red, and orange. The light was as blinding as the sun.

         The old man quivered before the sword and squinted his eyes. His cracked lips nonetheless widened into a hideous grin, “All hail King Tomm—” The old man’s head came falling before he could finish his words. Thirty yards away, amidst the cold winds, Asha could still hear the king’s teeth grinding as the name Tommen was mentioned. Baseborn abominations, he’d liked to call the children of Cersei Lannister. The king would not risk the allegiance of the northmen, so even a treasonous schemer such as Arnolf met his end in the ways of the weirwood. Arnolf’s sons, Cregan and Arthor, as well as Arnolf’s grandsons were still kept in the cells, except the one who’d lost his arm. Stannis had need for Karstark’s strength, four hundred spears, two score archers, and a dozen mounted lances.

         “Eddard Karstark, step forward,” the king commanded. A boy, no more than twelve, walked forth to Stannis. The clansmen and the knights made way for the boy who bore the wolf’s name. The lad was of neither Rickard’s nor Arnolf’s line. The Tallhart next to Asha told her that the boy was kin to the Hornwoods and the Manderlys. Harrion, the rightful heir to Karhold, was Lord Walder’s prisoner still. Stannis needed not an heir to Karhold, but a man who could command the Karstark forces in the battles to come. Boys have been conquerors before. Mayhaps little Ned will surprise us yet.

         The boy knelt before the king dutifully as he swore his allegiance. The queen’s men, once again, began singing the only song they knew, “One realm! One god! One king! One realm! One god! One king!” The clansmen sneered at that.

         Morgan Liddle rode back to the islet with a group of scouts. He climbed off his palfrey and walked towards the king. Ser Godry soon followed.

         “Your Grace, the Freys will be upon us soon. Mostly mounted knights, followed by the baggage train,” the Middle Liddle brushed the snow from his warhelm. “The Manderlys are yet to be seen.”

         “The turncloak told the truth, it would seem.” Stannis smiled at that. “Lord Wull, give the order, we will march forth to give them battle. Get the men in formation now. It’s time.”

         “Men!” The Big Bucket Wull walked forth to his men. The clans gathered and began forming the van. He brushed the ice off his long, thick beard with one hand, and raised his huge battle axe with another. “We’ve been through many battles, aye, and this is like to be our last. I remember the days when I dreamt of glory, listening to the songs and tales of great heroes and their greater deeds. The first battle is like fucking for the first time. You are afraid, so afraid that you may foul your breeches. We all shit ourselves. There’s hardly shame in that. We are marching towards almost certain death. We may never return again to embrace our wives, or cradle our babes as they draw breath for the first time. And yet we must fight, and we must die, for the Ned, his house, and all he’s done for us. Let the Freys know the wroth of the old gods. Let them scream as our axes bite deep into their skulls. Let them know that winter is here, and the North remembers!”

         “The North remembers!” The clansmen chanted in unison. The king’s knights joined as well. “The North remembers! The North remembers! The North remembers!”

         The king gathered his knights, as Ser Richard Horpe, his second-in-command, gathered whatever horses they hadn’t eaten.

         “Fifty horses we have left, sire. Adding to the dozen from the Karstarks, two and sixty.” The knight said grimly.

         “The mountain clans will ride forth with whatever few garrons they have. The snows will halter even the finest breeds. It’s spears and shields we need to face Ser Stupid. The night falls early this time of year. Use it to your advantage. Attack their train and gather whatever loot you can gain. Ride back when you see the men from White Harbor or the Bastard. You are far too few to engage them as yet.”

         “Your Grace,” Asha walked towards the king. “Free me from these chains and put an axe in my hand.”

         “You are in no position to make demands.” Ser Richard intejected

         “The kraken’s daughter has no lack for courage, it would seem. The banker ransomed your lot from Lady Glover, it would seem only fit that I put you under her men’s command. Ser Richard, bring Lady Asha to Ned Woods and unchain her. Give her a bow and an axe. Keep her close to the Liddles as well. The Liddles know their lands. Let them guide the sixty horses you have. Tristifer Botley and his men, we need more bows. Go, now.”

         Asha climbed onto Ser Richard’s horse and they rode to gather the queen’s men, the ironmen, the Liddles, and a dozen Glovers. I am the daughter of the Lord Reaper of Pyke, and yet here I have no ships, no seas. Only an axe and bow. I am fighting alongside the men who want me dead. I am sure to die here, but I’m no craven. I will die with a war cry and blood on my face and hands. Asha thought as she looked on the lay of the land.

         Asha squinted her eyes as she turned her head to the north. The enemy emerged from the snows. The leader of the enemy wore silvered plate and mail, inlaid with details of lapis lazuli. The crest of his warhelm was tall, fashioned in the shape of the Twin Towers of House Frey.

         Before him rode three banner bearers, One bore the stag and lion standard of King Tommen, another the Twin Towers of House Frey. The third brandished a bloody head impaled upon the point of a tall spear. An old man’s head, white-bearded and one eyed. The spear was made from a pale wood, almost white. Its upper shaft was dark and red with blood. Crowfood Umber, Asha knew. The old northman had fought to his death, it seemed. Perhaps the foe had thought the sight of severed head would strike fear into Stannis’s men. They rushed together as Hugo Wull raised his shield wall. The Karstark men remained at the longhall. The Karstarks are meant to defend against Manderly’s knights, Asha thought. The twin lakes provided the king with some advantage, it would seem. One narrow passage. Stannis does not wish to be ambushed again as he was at the Blackwater. He has no lack for caution. Robert was always the bold one. Ser Justin once told her that Tyrion Lannister’s mountain clans from the Vale had attacked Stannis’s forces at the kingswood, thus preventing him from knowing the Lannister-Tyrell relief force in advance. No trick will work against him twice. Good.

         “Will they hold?” Asha asked.

         “The clans are not meant to hold,” Ser Richard replied, “they’re meant to retreat.”

         “Where do they retreat to? The longhall? The weirwood islet?”

         “Stop asking questions and mind the surroundings. If a dozen Frey knights are to follow us, or if the fat lord appears, I want to know. You’re wanted for your axe and your eyes, not for those prattling lips that irk me so.” Ser Richard was less harsh a man than the likes of Godry the Giantslayer and Clayton Suggs, nonetheless his patience wore thin as ice in such conditions. The winds came slashing against Asha’s face, each cut harsher and more ruthless than the one before. She felt her lips crack, but refrained from licking them, as she knew it would soon turn to ice. She pressed her cheek against Ser Richard’s cloak. The cold winds and the snow are foreign to these southron knights, and yet they fight for their king as they always did. Does the faith in R’hllor warm their hearts, or the faith in Stannis? The promise of a northern castle, or the glory in the battle itself?

         It was not long before Asha saw the baggage train. Ahead of the train were twenty riders, all clad in heavy armor and the surcoats of House Frey. Ser Richard drew his longsword from the scabbard. “Men! With me!” Asha raised her axe as the enemy rode forth to them. Richard gestured the men to spread out the flanks to envelope the enemy. He raised his sword and charged against the enemy leader. The foe was no craven, and his sword nearly cut off Asha’s head. Her battle axe had shorter reach than the long sword, but there were more than one way to engage a mounted enemy. As the Frey’s sword clashed once again with Ser Richard, Asha cut off the palfrey’s leg with one firm swing of her axe. The loss of balance had Ser Richard’s horse founder into the snow. Asha was tossed some ten feet away. As she pushed herself up from the damp and cold ground with her axe, she saw the unhorsed Frey knight walking towards her. His helm was gone. Asha readied herself, as the man put both hands on his the hilt of his longsword and lunged forward. Before he could reach her, Tristofer charged forward and lopped his head off with his axe. The Liddles finished off the rest of the enemies soon enough, and seven Frey horses remained alive. The majority of palfreys and destriers in Stannis’s army hadn’t survive long in the march, but more horses were better than no horses.

         Ser Richard lead a captured Frey destrier towards Asha, “Now you have your own horse, my lady.”

         “I’m not a lady.” Asha took her gift gratefully.

          Richard pointed at a few Glover men, “take these Frey armors and bring the train back to the king from the south side of the lakes. Rest of you, with me. It’s getting dark, we must return and give them battle.” Ser Richard commanded.

         Asha looked towards the village, the snow was blinding, and the darkness was soon to come, and all she could see was the faint lamp light from the watchtower.

         The night fell as the king had promised, as the sky shifted to grey, to a dark blue, and then black, in contrast to the white of the never ending snow. Asha could scarce make out the sound of cold steel clashing amidst the punishing winds. Her back ached from the fall, as she could hardly keep the lance straight. I’m more fit for an axe, she thought. The Frey soldiers were more like to use long swords, spears, and crossbows. Asha had slung the dead Frey’s crossbow onto her back. She thought of her uncle Victarion who would cut through scores of foes with his battle axe. Had I not pressed my claim, would he have won the kingsmoot then? Anyone in Westeros would be fitter to sit the Seastone Chair than Euron Greyjoy.

         She could almost make the Frey banners as she rode forth towards the light. The Frey rear marched slowly whilst the van was engaged with the clansmen. The two flanks of the Frey army attempted to envelop the clans but arrows flew from the king’s position, halting their formation. The fire arrows provided little or less light as they were extinguished as soon as they hit the snow.

         “We’ll lure out their rear,” Ser Richard commanded, “separate them from the main force. Ready the men!”

         Asha and the rest of the ironborn loosed the crossbow bolts onto the Frey rear. A few Frey horses fell into the snow. The rearguard turned, and they outnumbered Ser Richard’s men two to one by sight. However, by the time that their luxurious and yet impractical southron breeds managed to turn around, Richard’s cavalry already jammed their lances into a row of Frey knights. The rest of the foes remained ferocious, however, and they retaliated. The right wing, commanded by Liddle, began to retreat, and the freshly aggravated Freys ate the bait and then some. As the left wing of the rearguard rode forth towards the Liddles, Asha, Tristifer Botley, and the men under Ned Woods’s command went to engage them. We have the element of surprise, and their numbers matter but little so long as they can’t maintain the formation.

         Asha drove her spear into the back of a Frey’s neck. The man wore chainmail under his warhelm, but the sheer impact broke his neck. In a matter of moments, the left wing of the rearguard was all but annihilated. There were many left still, Asha realized that as a man cut her spear in half with a sword. She drew her axe and engaged, but her arm was growing weak. The initial blood rush from a battle would make one forget the very concept of exhaustion, but soon or late, fatigue always set in. In that instant, she grew thankful of Ser Justin Massey, who had urged her to devour more horse meat despite her lack of appetite. She gave all the strength she had and swung the axe upward, and the blade almost touched the enemy’s warhelm. Her body was left defenseless, and the foe lowered his sword to his chest level for a killing strike. Oh, fuck me.

         The foe’s head came flying towards Asha before his sword could land a killing strike. Tris? she thought for an instant. As the headless body rolled off the horse, the man who appeared was Qarl the Maid. Asha remembered the night she had spent with Qarl in Deepwood Motte, when he’d sucked her breasts whilst driving his firm cock into her wet cunt to release his seeds. Asha had loved the rough play. Quiet, mind, she reminded herself. She gave a nod to Qarl. It may be that I shall never bed you again.

         The Freys were no meek foes, the rest of the rearguard were not to submit without a fight. Thirty men or so they had left, perhaps fewer, got in formation, and charged forward with a chilling war cry, as the Liddles turned around. Ser Richard’s men engaged them, and Tris was on the left wing, attempting to surround the Freys once again.

         Qarl rode close to Asha. He sees that I’m weak, Asha thought begrudgingly, I’m not some princess who needs a flowery knight to shield me from danger. And yet she seemed to be surrounded by men who’d die for her, and a precious few who’d love to see her burnt alive. Almost forgot that.

         “Thank you.” It took a deal of reluctance for Asha to express her gratitude. She had affection for the pink-cheeked boy once in a while. Asha rubbed on her right shoulder to make sure that she could still swing. When she turned her head it was too late.

         A spear went through Qarl’s back and protruded out of his chest. Qarl had worn only jerkin, fur, and light armor, and the blood rendered the back of his white horse crimson. He held onto the tip of the spear with his right hand, and coughed out blood. The enemy tried to pull the spear but Qarl would not let go.

         No time to grieve, Asha turned her horse towards the Frey. The man loosened his grip on the spear to draw his sword, but Asha killed him with a single swing before his sword could clear the scabbard.

         “Don’t forget me.” Qarl smiled with blood around his lips. It was the sweetest smile he ever gave. Asha fought her tears, and she fought them hard. A few managed to drop, however, and they froze onto her cheeks. she pressed her hand against her cheek to break it. Qarl almost fell from his horse, and she held him.

         “Go.” He planted one last kiss upon Asha’s lips before he fell into the snow.

         “What of our losses?” Ser Richard cut down a Frey and rode forward to Middle Liddle.

         “A dozen or more,” the Liddle replied.

         Richard ordered the men to ride towards the light of the watchtower. When they rode close to the lakes, Asha realized that the light was not from the tower at all.

         The tower was all in darkness. Instead, the light that they saw was on the weirwood islet. Asha remember the tales of the night lamp of Sisterton, where the sistermen lure ships with false beacons.

         The mountain clans fought the Freys on the surface of the ice lake. Already Asha saw a few horses sinking their limbs into the ice as the knights fell off their backs. When the Frey knights got on their feet, the clansmen cut their throats.

         Asha heard one blast from a horn, coming from the longhall. The mountain clans began to spread out and retreat. The Freys either chose to dismount, or struggling to hold still. One Frey who was larger than most, dismounted and cut down two clansmen. He was freakishly huge, althought not as big as Gregor Clegane. The big bellied chief Hugo Wull raised his axe to engage him. The old man struggled, as the Frey was much stronger. The old man blocked the Frey’s blow with the hilt of his axe, but the knight kicked him in the belly. The old man rose and lunged forward, raising his battle axe. The knight got on his feet and parried the attack and drove his sword into the old man’s throat. Two of the queen’s men began fighting the ferocious Frey. And then came the second blast. Stannis’s men moved farther from the islet, and the Freys struggled. The holes were not only for fishing, Asha thought. Ned Woods had made a remark about Stannis’s men drilling holes into the ice.

         When Asha heard the third blast of the horn, large rocks were flung into the lakes from the north and the south. Catapults, Asha noticed. large portions of the ice began to crumble and crack. two dozen Frey knights sunk into the water as the rest attempted to retreat. The king’s knights and the mountain clans lined up along the east side of the lake and held a shield wall. Another hail of rocks were launched with the next blast of the horn. Dozens, or hundreds of horses fell. Asha could barely tell as the snows were blinding. The heavy cavalry were mostly sunk as the barding on the destriers added more weight. The king’s archers got into position as well, two dozens at the north side of the lake, and another two dozesn at the south side.

         “Nock! Draw! Loose!” A hail of arrows were loosed onto what remained of the Frey van. Some arrows found their way onto the clansmen’s shields as well. Most of the Freys dismounted and drew their swords to engage in melee with the mountain clans. The horses were spooked and began running in all directions. The Freys’ castle-forged steel were still an advantage. The Frey men got into formation in an attempt to fight their way out of the mountain clans’ envelopment. They concentrated their forces on the right wing. Stannis’s archers were lightly armored and the Freys cut through them with ease. The Freys began pushing south as they were no longer surrounded. The large Frey fought in the frontlines and cut down half a dozen of the tribesmen. Asha had seldom seen such ferocity. The man reminded her of her uncle Victarion. Stannis’s knights went towards the Freys. Asha could hardly see faces, but she saw the winged pig and the purple knight sigils. Suggs and Farring, she thought. For a split moment Asha wished that the bloodthirsty queen’s men would fall. She hoped that the fearless Frey knight would cut them in half. She soon regretted that thought. She wondered why she grew to hate the queen’s men a little less. Perhaps it was Ser Richard, she thought, nothing in this world turns foes into friends faster than comraderie born amidst a bloodbath.

         The fire-crazed knights were indeed a fearsome lot, as their steel clashed against the Frey armors. The knight of the winged pig, Ser Clayton Suggs, stroke the helm off the tall Frey. A husky man with a jut-jawed face thick with beard and full of rage. He blocked the blows from both Suggs and Farring, and pushed forth with his freakish strength. Godry the Giantslayer lowered his sword and cut the Frey’s leg, and as the Frey went onto his knee, Clayton drove a dagger into the brawny man’s throat.

         Asha heard a horn blast from the north, but a deal farther than the one before. More men? She thought. By the sound, Asha judged them to be a few hundred horses at least. Asha looked towards the north and could almost make out the banners. Green, she thought, a white figure on a blue-green field, a merman. The knights wielded tridents instead of spears. The Manderlys. The Karstarks came out of the long hall to engage the White Harbor knights. She could almost hear the laugh of relief of the Freys. Their saviors finally came for them, and we are fucked.

         Except, the tridents went through the necks of the Frey knights, not Stannis’s men. The clans soon understood the situation and surrounded the Frey knights completely. More cavalry came pouring through the woods onto the helpless Freys. The trumpets were blowing, as the knights continued to charge and trample through the deserting Freys, and the words they cried were “the North remembers! The North remembers! The North remembers!”

[jitolibido]

Asha I The Winds of Winter (Part i)

Asha I The Winds of Winter (fan fiction based on the real decoded Asha fragment from a high definition image of GRRM’s computer and the facts established in A Dance of Dragons as well as Theon I The Winds of Winter)

True Stannis @ instagram

The day was cold, and the white winds bit harder as Asha inhaled. Ser Justin Massey, the freckled knight of summer, had left with the banker Nestoris and Ned Stark’s daughter. She did not desire him, a southron knight who wore a pretty blonde beard could hardly be her Lord husband in the days to come, were she to live. And yet, she thought of him. The other queen’s men, Farring and Suggs, thirsted for her blood like a pack of jackals. The knights of the greenlands would pray to their queer god of fire, but the North was of the old, and the old gods were more punishing and severe than R’hllor could ever be. Doomed, she thought, doomed men on a death march.

         The ice lakes at the crofters’ village were caked with snow. When Asha walked outside along the camps, the snow seeped into her boots. The hill tribes, the southron knights, and the Glovers had been working day and night felling the trees. Catapults, she thought. Why would Stannis want siege weapons when the enemy were to meet him in an open field?

         The king walked out of the tower. She had last seen him when she was pleading for her brother’s life, or a quick death, rather. “Your Grace. My brother—“

         “He will live, for now. I have better use for him, because he knows the layout of Winterfell. Which walls are the strongest, and which gates the weakest. It’s not me you need to worry about, Lady kraken, it’s these northmen. Norrey and Wull would not hesitate for an instant to bloody their axes with Theon’s head.”

         The queen’s men escorted their prisoner outside. Arnolf Karstark was accused of conspiring with Lord Bolton to turn on Stannis’s rearguard once the battle began. The queen’s men prepared a pyre for Lord Karstark on the weirwood island. Next to the pyre was a chopping block. The Wulls, the Flints, and the Norreys gathered around the king and his men.

         “Lord Arnolf Karstark, you have been charged with treason and the conspiring with the enemy. I, Stannis Baratheon, the one true King of Westeros, sentence you to die. You are a northman. I do not wish to tamper with your old gods or your tradition in front of the brave men who stand beside me. Confess, and I shall grant you the swift death with my sword. Lie, and you will meet a warmer end. Choose wisely, Ser Clayton Suggs has much and less patience than I.”

         “Aye, I confess. What of it! Lord Bolton has seven thousand strong. You will starve, and freeze, pretender. The Frey host alone is like to shatter what’s left of you and yours without breaking a sweat!” The old man spat onto the snow. He turned to the Wull, “Hugo fucking Wull. You support some southron fool now? Much is the pity! You are dead men! Do you hear me? Dead! Dead will be your false king, and dead your sons. Be cursed!” The old man coughed and grinned.

         “Very well then,” the king pulled his magical sword from the scabbard. It was bright, and red, and orange. The light was as blinding as the sun.

         The old man quivered before the sword and squinted his eyes. His cracked lips nonetheless widened into a hideous grin, “All hail King Tomm—” The old man’s head came falling before he could finish his words. Thirty yards away, amidst the cold winds, Asha could still hear the king’s teeth grinding as the name Tommen was mentioned. Baseborn abominations, he’d liked to call the children of Cersei Lannister. The king would not risk the allegiance of the northmen, so even a treasonous schemer such as Arnolf met his end in the ways of the weirwood. Arnolf’s sons, Cregan and Arthor, as well as Arnolf’s grandsons were still kept in the cells, except the one who’d lost his arm. Stannis had need for Karstark’s strength, four hundred spears, two score archers, and a dozen mounted lances.

         “Eddard Karstark, step forward,” the king commanded. A boy, no more than twelve, walked forth to Stannis. The clansmen and the knights made way for the boy who bore the wolf’s name. The lad was of neither Rickard’s nor Arnolf’s line. The Tallhart next to Asha told her that the boy was kin to the Hornwoods and the Manderlys. Harrion, the rightful heir to Karhold, was Lord Walder’s prisoner still. Stannis needed not an heir to Karhold, but a man who could command the Karstark forces in the battles to come. Boys have been conquerors before. Mayhaps little Ned will surprise us yet.

         The boy knelt before the king dutifully as he swore his allegiance. The queen’s men, once again, began singing the only song they knew, “One realm! One god! One king! One realm! One god! One king!” The clansmen sneered at that.

         Morgan Liddle rode back to the islet with a group of scouts. He climbed off his palfrey and walked towards the king. Ser Godry soon followed.

         “Your Grace, the Freys will be upon us soon. Mostly mounted knights, followed by the baggage train,” the Middle Liddle brushed the snow from his warhelm. “The Manderlys are yet to be seen.”

         “The turncloak told the truth, it would seem.” Stannis smiled at that. “Lord Wull, give the order, we will march forth to give them battle. Get the men in formation now. It’s time.”

         “Men!” The Big Bucket Wull walked forth to his men. The clans gathered and began forming the van. He brushed the ice off his long, thick beard with one hand, and raised his huge battle axe with another. “We’ve been through many battles, aye, and this is like to be our last. I remember the days when I dreamt of glory, listening to the songs and tales of great heroes and their greater deeds. The first battle is like fucking for the first time. You are afraid, so afraid that you may foul your breeches. We all shit ourselves. There’s hardly shame in that. We are marching towards almost certain death. We may never return again to embrace our wives, or cradle our babes as they draw breath for the first time. And yet we must fight, and we must die, for the Ned, his house, and all he’s done for us. Let the Freys know the wroth of the old gods. Let them scream as our axes bite deep into their skulls. Let them know that winter is here, and the North remembers!”

         “The North remembers!” The clansmen chanted in unison. The king’s knights joined as well. “The North remembers! The North remembers! The North remembers!”

         The king gathered his knights, as Ser Richard Horpe, his second-in-command, gathered whatever horses they hadn’t eaten.

         “Fifty horses we have left, sire. Adding to the dozen from the Karstarks, two and sixty.” The knight said grimly.

         “The mountain clans will ride forth with whatever few garrons they have. The snows will halter even the finest breeds. It’s spears and shields we need to face Ser Stupid. The night falls early this time of year. Use it to your advantage. Attack their train and gather whatever loot you can gain. Ride back when you see the men from White Harbor or the Bastard. You are far too few to engage them as yet.”

         “Your Grace,” Asha walked towards the king. “Free me from these chains and put an axe in my hand.”

         “You are in no position to make demands.” Ser Richard intejected

         “The kraken’s daughter has no lack for courage, it would seem. The banker ransomed your lot from Lady Glover, it would seem only fit that I put you under her men’s command. Ser Richard, bring Lady Asha to Ned Woods and unchain her. Give her a bow and an axe. Keep her close to the Liddles as well. The Liddles know their lands. Let them guide the sixty horses you have. Tristofer Botley and his men, we need more bows. Go, now.”

         Asha climbed onto Ser Richard’s horse and they rode to gather the queen’s men, the ironmen, the Liddles, and a dozen Glovers. I am the daughter of the Lord Reaper of Pyke, and yet here I have no ships, no seas. Only an axe and bow. I am fighting alongside the men who want me dead. I am sure to die here, but I’m no craven. I will die with a war cry and blood on my face and hands. Asha thought as she looked on the lay of the land.

         Asha squinted her eyes as she turned her head to the north. The enemy emerged from the snows. The leader of the enemy wore silvered plate and mail, inlaid with details of lapis lazuli. The crest of his warhelm was tall, fashioned in the shape of the Twin Towers of House Frey.

         Before him rode three banner bearers, One bore the stag and lion standard of King Tommen, another the Twin Towers of House Frey. The third brandished a bloody head impaled upon the point of a tall spear. An old man’s head, white-bearded and one eyed. The spear was made from a pale wood, almost white. Its upper shaft was dark and red with blood. Crowfood Umber, Asha knew. The old northman had fought to his death, it seemed. Perhaps the foe had thought the sight of severed head would strike fear into Stannis’s men. They rushed together as Hugo Wull raised his shield wall. The Karstark men remained at the longhall. The Karstarks are meant to defend against Manderly’s knights, Asha thought. The twin lakes provided the king with some advantage, it would seem. One narrow passage. Stannis does not wish to be ambushed again as he was at the Blackwater. He has no lack for caution. Robert was always the bold one. Ser Justin once told her that Tyrion Lannister’s mountain clans from the Vale had attacked Stannis’s forces at the kingswood, thus preventing him from knowing the Lannister-Tyrell relief force in advance. No trick will work against him twice. Good.

         “Will they hold?” Asha asked.

         “The clans are not meant to hold,” Ser Richard replied, “they’re meant to retreat.”

         “Where do they retreat to? The longhall? The weirwood islet?”

         “Stop asking questions and mind the surroundings. If a dozen Frey knights are to follow us, or if the fat lord appears, I want to know. You’re wanted for your axe and your eyes, not for those prattling lips that irk me so.” Ser Richard was less harsh a man than the likes of Godry the Giantslayer and Clayton Suggs, nonetheless his patience wore thin as ice in such conditions. The winds came slashing against Asha’s face, each cut harsher and more ruthless than the one before. She felt her lips crack, but refrained from licking them, as she knew it would soon turn to ice. She pressed her cheek against Ser Richard’s cloak. The cold winds and the snow are foreign to these southron knights, and yet they fight for their king as they always did. Does the faith in R’hllor warm their hearts, or the faith in Stannis? The promise of a northern castle, or the glory in the battle itself?

         It was not long before Asha saw the baggage train. Ahead of the train were twenty riders, all clad in heavy armor and the surcoats of House Frey. Ser Richard drew his longsword from the scabbard. “Men! With me!” Asha raised her axe as the enemy rode forth to them. Richard gestured the men to spread out the flanks to envelope the enemy. He raised his sword and charged against the enemy leader. The foe was no craven, and his sword nearly cut off Asha’s head. Her battle axe had shorter reach than the long sword, but there were more than one way to engage a mounted enemy. As the Frey’s sword clashed once again with Ser Richard, Asha cut off the palfrey’s leg with one firm swing of her axe. The loss of balance had Ser Richard’s horse founder into the snow. Asha was tossed some ten feet away. As she pushed herself up from the damp and cold ground with her axe, she saw the unhorsed Frey knight walking towards her. His helm was gone. Asha readied herself, as the man put both hands on his the hilt of his longsword and lunged forward. Before he could reach her, Tristofer charged forward and lopped his head off with his axe. The Liddles finished off the rest of the enemies soon enough, and seven Frey horses remained alive. The majority of palfreys and destriers in Stannis’s army hadn’t survive long in the march, but more horses were better than no horses.

         Ser Richard lead a captured Frey destrier towards Asha, “Now you have your own horse, my lady.”

         “I’m not a lady.” Asha took her gift gratefully.

         “Botley, Maid, Woods, take these Frey armors and bring the train back to the king from the south side of the lakes. Rest of you, with me. It’s getting dark, we must return and give them battle.” Ser Richard commanded.

         Asha looked towards the village, the snow was blinding, and the darkness was soon to come, and all she could see was the faint lamp light from the watchtower.

(To be continued)