Raventree Hall, Seat of House Blackwood

A troupe of riders arrived in furs and mail, carrying the banner of a sunburst on a black field. Though armoured for war, their leisurely pace belies any hostile intentions. They are apparently totally oblivious to the nearby conflict, and the Lord Karstark leads them to the gates of Raventree and asks for entry to Blackwood’s halls.

Karstark dismounted in one fluid motion and handed the reins of his grey dappled courser to one of Blackwood’s men-at-arms. The Northman was grey eyed and clean shaven, long pointed face framed by a groomed mane of thick earthy hair. Though he had a few years on Blackwood the younger man towered over him.

”We are riding home, and figured that four stout walls were warmer than the nearest roadside.” Karstark pulled his sunburst cloak about his shoulders. Winter had come, and the Northmen were all bedecked in thick furs and black iron mail. An end to the war had not yet brought peace to the Trident, which was still plagued with deserters and brigands looking for easy targets. Karstark and his men were all wearing steel for this very reason.

”We would take your bread and salt, if you would have us.” It was a custom he seemed eager to claim, and there was a sense of urgency about his tone that suggested he wished to continue the conversation by the hearth with a mug of ale in hand.

Karstark eagerly followed his host inside to be greeted by a hot bath and a horn of ale, swapping iron and steel for wool and velvet as he rejoined the Blackwoods in their hall. He seemed somewhat relieved once the ancient rite of host and guest was paid lip service; the treachery of the Freys was still raw to the Northmen, even those such as Karstark who were not there. Some whispered that Karstark men took part in the killing, but Harrion paid such hearsay no mind. He had been captive in Maidenpool for the entirety of the war, a guest in a gilded cage, and he was eager to silence those who would slander the name of his house.

”I fought for King Robb at the Green Fork, where I was taken captive. I was freed to fight at Duskendale only for the same to happen again. Bad luck, I guess.” Harrion took a hunk of bread and recalled his time at Harrenhal under the Mountain. Back then he had preferred not to squint too hard at the contents of his meal. Vargo Hoat’s screaming had kept them all up at night. ”I was freed by Lord Snow when Stannis came south, and bloodied my sword against the sellsword King. Took a few arrows at the Lion’s Gate, and when I woke we had won.”

He didn’t seem to recall the details with any fondness. War was war, and he’d seen enough of it for ten lifetimes. Ale washed down his words before he continued; the Lord of Karhold was remarkably more talkative after a few drinks.

”It was a pretty thing, but it was a sword like any other. Pay no mind to that crap about their Red God and Azor Ahai, our king bleeds like the rest of us.”
Karstark gave a throaty chuckle.
”Though he ploughs that Red Woman well enough. I wager she sets his other sword on fire.”
A few of the Northmen joined in the laughter, though they were a little unused to see their Lord be so ribald with his humour. Harrion cleared his throat.

”Where’s your Lord father, lad? Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but I thought to find him in his own halls.”

”I did not have the honour.” Karstark admitted between mouthfuls, ”I never even fought under the Young Wolf, though that is just as well. My father did and ended up a head shorter.” Harrion flashed a grim smile, though his eyes had gone hard as stone. ”My brothers, too. Died to the Kingslayer, Others take his bones.”

Karstark waved a servant over to refill his horn of ale before moving on from the subject. ”Now I can drink to that. Old Weasel got what was coming. A man with no honour is no man at all.” The Northman paused to listen to the rest of Brynden’s tale. ”Like us and the Wildlings. My sister took one to her bed, can you believe that? Gods, what has the world come to. The Greatjon still living is no surprise, though. It would take an army to kill that man.”

Tough and fierce as winter, the Umbers were not men to be trifled with. Any man with sense knew that.

”I will ride and find him on the morrow then, if he still finds himself at Bracken’s walls. Truth be told, lad, I came for more than just shelter, so I will put it plain. I am the last of my house, save for my sister and her wild husband, and every man needs a wife. You have a sister, no?”

”As you say, lad. It wouldn’t do to meet her now when we’re all piss drunk.” Harrion grinned as he sank another ale, the Northmen having drank enough between them to fell a mammoth. It would certainly hurt in the morn.

”Our trees still bloom, but I have not seen them for some time.” Karstark answered almost mournfully, his soft grey eyes staring up at the stark white tree, withered and rotten. Even dead, the Weirwood was a sight to behold, and he felt a little unsettled by the beady gaze of the thousand ravens that roosted in the branches. Lord Bloodraven was born here, he remembered, an ancient recollection from one of the stories his father told to scare him at night. ”I prayed every day when I was captive at Harrenhal, but the Gods seldom gave an answer. Nothing but whispers.” Harrion had wanted justice for his father and brothers, revenge against the Young Wolf and the Kingslayer. Those prayers had been granted, after a fashion, but in a way that had left the words bitter in his mouth. So much for the Gods’ justice.

”I return to Karhold soon for the winter, my Lord.” Continued Karstark, clearing his throat to mark the changing of the subject. ”I had hoped to return with a bride, so that I may see my father’s line survive until the spring.” Harrion suspected Tytos’ son had informed him of their previous discussion over dinner.

”I will tell you true. Winter will be hard and long. But we’ll survive behind Karhold’s walls, as the Karstarks always have. Your daughter will be my lady wife, to bear sons and daughters of our shared blood. When winter is over, I will honour our shared kindred, and I shall come south with sword and axe should Bracken ever threaten Raventree.” Karstark answered as honest and forthright was he could, and saw no point in mincing words and flatteries. Winter was here, and cold hard truths were what kept honest men alive when the wolves howled and the snows came south.