Scraped from here.
From the fic Idea thread.
I once read somewhere on SB about an idea with...
From the fic Idea thread.
I once read somewhere on SB about an idea with...
To go a Viking...(Asoiaf AU)
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Scraped from here.
Before Robert could do more then start up a bluster, a brash female voice called out, "I'm here Uncle Ned! Eddy is still at home at Uncle Stannis' Storms End" Mya Baratheon looked every inch her fathers daughter, though she favored "Uncle Ned" in clothing choice including a small winged spearhead icon of silver on a necklace, the symbol of the Valkyrie Cults.
That's when they heard the howling, Robert turned to Ned and asked slowly "Dratted Beast of yours still living?" Ned raised an eyebrow "He's a Direwolf, Robert, they live as long as the wargs they bond with do." Robert swiftly called out to the soldiers of his escort, "For fucks sake, draw no weapons!" just before a Direwolf as large as a horse came loping out of the templewoods gates, Robert laughs and embraces the giant creature like he would an old friend, the wolf in turn dragged a huge tongue across Roberts face, before abandoning him completely and walking over to Mya.
The young woman smiled softly, reaching out to hug the monstrous wolf, greeting him with a soft "hey, Horsywolf...long time no see."
Ned smiled the stern lines smoothing out abit, behind the braided beard. "Dear Girl, Fenrír, his name is Fenrír." Mya looked at him seriously for a moment, before breaking out in a wide teasing smile, "Uncle Ned! He's my horsywolf, yes he is!" for the royal guards and the rest of the royal party watching a young woman make googly eyes and cutesy noises with a wolf far larger then herself was a very odd image.
"Catelyn, please see to it that our guests are settled in." With that the Lord of Winterfell led the King of The Iron Throne into the Feasthall, followed by several members of the Kingsguard and Winterguards.
The Feasthall of Winterfell, was a very large room, capable of easily seating near to three thousand men, though it only saw that many on the great religious feastdays a great forest of onehundred and twenty carved pillars bore up the roof. Pillars carved with the symbol of the ravens and the wolves, aswell as many scenes out of history and gods myths. All of these pillars were decorated most handsomely in gold, silver and semiprecious stones mined in the northern mountains, the walls were paneled in rich dark woods from Ulthos and Sothorys, the hall was designed as a statement of power and might.
Nothing in it however spoke of power more then the Wolfseat, the great Throne of Winter, in itself a relic from the old days before the Iron Throne, a Valyrian style throne of ancient Ironwood upon it's back was carved the image of Yggdrasil, the armrests were carved with runes of justice, victory, and might. On the headrest was carved the twin Ravens of Odin but what stunned those who had not seen it before, were the Wolves. Smallfolk who spoke of the wolves of Winterfell, could speak of the packs of Direwolves that made the templewoods their roving grounds, Southern Lords who had never visited the place spoke of the Starks as these wolves. But in Essos and the Ghiscar Remnant the Wolves of Winterfell were the two lifesized statues of juvenile direwolves, each massing some sixty kilograms that stood on either side of the Wolfseat, for they were a gift from the Ruling Dragonlord of the Valyrian Freehold, and forged of Valyrian Steel and Silver. It was widely held by the Priests and smallfolk that the Throne of Winter was blessed by Odin, Tyr and Thor.
Robert Baratheon and his guards, who had never before seen these wolves, stood as many do, stunned into silence.
"Goodfather? Is the hall prepared to your liking?" came the voice of Rhaenys Targaryen, from the entrance to the kitchens. Ned smiled "Perfectly, my dear."
Robert Baratheon, turned slowly and looked at the very pregnant Rhaenys Stark, née Targaryen. Closing his eyes once and counting to ten very quickly he spoke through gritted teeth "Ned, I thought you said you were going to send her to be a septa..or templewoman here in the North, not marry her to your Eldest son!?"
Eddard Stark, Warlord of the Northmen, Scourge of New Ghis and Despoiler of the Iron Isles looked at his lifelong friend, "Robert, you said quite clearly that the fate of Dragonspawn were no concern of yours, so I made it a concern of mine, given I believe Clegane and Lorch were acting under orders. I swore to Elia Martell to keep her daughter safe an oath by the way she had me swear on my faith and honour."
Robert looked at him sharply for a second, "Fine, but you keep her north of the neck, and I want it sworn that she'll never lay a claim on the throne." Ned nodded and looked at Rhaenys, who simply nodded "She'll do it at the Great Ting, next week. Oberyn Martell and his Daughters, are coming to re-endorse the trade pacts anyway they can represent Dorne as witnesses." There was some grumbling from his guards at the Red Viper joining them in the north but Robert soon waved it off, and looked around before turning back to Ned, "So a Great Ting, who will be here for it? Nobles only or?" Ned looked at him "No, in the South that's how it'd be but here every landholder has a voice in the Ting, but for this a Great Ting, all the village tings will send an elected representative, usually to advocate to and endorse the policies of their Jarls, or Noble Lord, as it would be in the South."
Ned motioned Rhaenys to go find Robb, and led Robert and his knights to his private offices, overlooking the practice yards where young Prince Joffrey was entering, followed by a Kingsguard.
Robb Stark, a young man of fifteen years awaiting the birth of his first child was engaged in combat against his cousin Artos Targaryen, combat practice in the North was done with live steel and armour from age ten and both young men were using styles as different as they themselves. Robb Stark, Named for the King, was in looks a near copy of his father, Eddard, the dark brown Stark hair tied into nine braids, and the beginnings of a beard on his chin and eyes that shifted between the amber eyes of a Stark Warg and the Tully blue "of the deep river" as his mother called it. He was wielding a bearded axe and broadsword while near dancing around his cousin in streaks of flashing silvered steel known as the wolfdance.
His opponent on the other hand had classical Valyrian features wrought on bones of a Northman, Silver blond hair tied back in a single thick braid and amethyst eyes looked out of the long face of a Stark. He was wielding a blade thought lost to the ages, unmistakable in its own way, a legend in itself, the runework added to the blade after the conquest near three centuries spelled out a name, and the runes invoked a truth upon the world and Black Fire trailed every swing of the sword.
Artos Targaryen was without a doubt the great hope for Targaryen Loyalists in the kingdom, given that these same men had no idea of what kind of man Viserys was, but Artos was making a name for himself as a shrewd trader already on his uncle Beron's journey to Pentos earlier in the year, having been greatly praised by the Magister of House Mopatis, he had also survived over twelve assassination attempts, many undoubtedly courtesy of Lannister gold, but for all that he was born of the North. Having been raised a Northman, to Northern Gods, raised to Praise Odin, Thor, Tyr and his mothers own matron goddess Freyja. He was undeniably a Dragon of the Old Blood, and it showed in the styles of combat he favored, Talons on the Burning Wind, was a devilishly terrifying piece of bladework, meant to be used in conjunction with fire magics and sorcery, it was a style of bladework that had near no defensive measures except for a veil of flame. As controlling the fiery sorcery demanded the use of the shield hand, a heavily armoured gauntlet, often designed as the taloned foot of a dragon was worn on the "casting" hand.
Artos Targaryen, had nearly been killed by the King while barely a moons turn old, it was only a letter from Lyanna Stark that had saved his life, the letter it seemed had done a great deal to alter the kings outlook on life, given that he brooked no dissent from his wife, Cersei of Lannister, regarding any arrangement made for any bastards he sired, though he only had three publicly known, Mya from the Vale, now a Lady in one of the old Baratheon holdfasts on Cape Wrath, a recognised Princess of the Realm, and lady regent for her halfbrother Edric, and lastly a boy named Gendry currently fostered at Horn Hill. Robert had also publicly sworn to the High Septon, that "Seven help him, he'd not lay a hand on the boy, he's not to blame for his father." With that oath sworn Robert had ordered Blackfyre taken from the castles vaults, where it had lain since Barristan took it from the dead hand of Maelys Blackfyre, and given over to the boy, now a young man at fifteen.
Joffrey Baratheon, it seemed favored his mother in looks, there was barely any of King Robert to be found in his face unlike his sister Myrcella or brother Steffon who both favored their royal father quite clearly, and at thirteen years had still not to put on muscle but he was a Prince, and as such he was sure he'd show these northern savages just what their places were. His bodyguard a member of the Kingsguard called Boros Blount, followed him closely as he stepped forward to challenge that relic of a dead house. Of Course, there is an undeniable difference between a boy who's mother puffs up his ego, and has yet to practice with live steel, and a young man, grown in the North where regardless of who you were born to be, you had to prove yourself capable to wield a blade, wield a pen and wield a tongue. Prince Joffrey lost the battle in barely a minute and gained a scar upon his hand.
Queen Cersei had demanded the young mans head for daring to strike a Prince, Robert had asked simply who challenged the other, and when Joffrey admitted it was he, the King dismissed the notion of punishment "I won't punish him for doing as Joffrey asked."
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"A Knight in the South, owes allegiance to his Lord or the King, and is the Arbiter of Justice and to the seven hells with smallfolk.
A Karl, as they call Freemen in the North, owes allegiance to an Elected Village Chief then to his Jarl or his King, and they are all subject to the Justice of the Great Ting." - Master Geir Goldweight, Merchantman from the Isles of the Sisters, speaking for the secession of the Sisters from the Kingdom of Mountain and Vale to the North, ca 200 years B.AL.
Over the next three days Winterfell saw the arrival of nearly eight hundred men for the Great Ting... last to arrive were the Umbers and the Ingjaldir, Jarls of west where the Umbers were east, the Jarl of Skagos, Rollo of Magnar had arrived earlier cutting time by sailing up the White Knife, almost to Cerwyn.
There were the usual things to deal with at a Ting, criminals to be punished, accusations lain against neighbouring lords for various things but for the Southerners the most interesting thing was perhaps the trial of Bartos Flint, fourth son of the jarl of Flint's Finger, on trial accused of slaving, he faced thirtysix freemen who would render a verdict upon his guilt or innocence after hearing all facts. Robert had asked Ned, what he had decided after the trial, to his great surprise, Ned had answered that his work was simply to see the verdict of the karls carried out, unless the man on trial chose to take the Black.
Ned stood on the end of the second day to announce that he proposed to cede the vacant jarlship of the Sister Isles from the direct control of Winterfell to his sister Lyanna's Son, Artos. The proposal was endorsed by the current Headman for Sisterton, who explained before the assembly that they sought a Jarl and that a replacement for the Jarlship was long overdue, given that Houses Sunderland and Borell had died out during the last Blackfyre rebellion.
Oberyn Martell also endorsed the appointment, to the great surprise of many given just who Artos was, however it seemed as if the Red Viper had been taught a lesson on family by his niece as she very publicly ceded her claim to the Iron throne, and after acknowledging the King, Lord Stark and Lord Martell, as representative for Lord Martell, as witnesses, she publicly stated that as his sister she also supported Lord Targaryen taking the jarlship of the Sisters.
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Roose Bolton was by many considered dishonoured, both by his guilty verdict and branding by the Great Ting some twentythree years earlier and by what he had done to earn that brand. Brandon Stark however had granted him a position as one of his own Hird on a raid on later that year on the ports of Ibben, which had seen Roose almost killed, but as he lay with poisonfever. Roose had heard the cawing of two ravens and received a vision from the gods. First Forsetí had appeared holding a great black runeblade and wearing Roose's own armour then Frigga had come her face thunderous holding the hand of the woman he'd raped and after her had appared Forsetí again this holding a set of golden scales and standing barechested on a field of blood.
It was with those images that Roose had awoken from the fever, that very morning for the final assault on the citadel Roose had told all the gathered men that he had been granted a vision in the fever then had followed a gruelling hour as the old priest of Winterfell, who had accompanied them seeking victory and death one last time had harshly interrogated him of the vision, ending with the old man accepting and penning a letter to his successor in Winterfell aswell the High priestess of Frigga that indeed Roose had been given a way to repent by Forsetí, though Frigga still clearly demanded he make amends. If Roose lived Forseti had decreed his honour restored, pending him making amends to the woman for the pleasure of Frigga, beyond the weregild he had paid her for killing her husband.
Roose had lain his armour on an altar to Forsetí and gone into battle that day with berserker rage in his eyes, barechested. He had lived, and when they returned to the North he had gone before Lord Rickard, and told him of it all before asking leave to remake the colours and words of his house. He had then shown the proposed new colours and sigil to the Lord Paramount, getting the agreement he sought he had returned to the Dreadfort and burned every banner, ordered every shield scrubbed clean and redone with the new sigil.
Within weeks a new banner hung behind the highseat of the Dreadfort, a Barechested man holding a golden scale in one hand and a Runeblade inscribed with runes spelling out Justice, on a pitch black background. With the new words Scale and Blade. For twenty years Roose Bolton, had dedicated himself completly to the pursuit of Forsetí, Justice and Mediation. fifteen of those years he had served as Master of Laws in the North, and stood for "The North and Her People" at every trial by combat, wearing no armour upon his breast.
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Bartos Flint was a young man, a very foolish young man who had sold freemen of the Northlands to Ironborn slavers. Who hadn't reckoned on the fact the Slavers like the Goodbrothers would be known and Hunted by the fleet run by his own father Geirman.
For the farmers he'd sold it would've been enough with a weregild paid to them and possibly a finger taken, to remind him that never again. but among the rescued slaves were templewomen, beholden to Frigga, Freyja and worst of all for young Bartos to Sif.
To insult the Queen of the Gods was a grave matter all on it's own, to insult the Goddess of Fertility equally so, but when your house stood with Thor and Sif, when the castles of your bannermen flew the sign the hammer and sheaf of wheat during thunderstorms, and depended mightily on harvests run in sheltered vales, to insult the Goddess of the Harvest and Wife of the Thunderer. To sell into slavery not a mere acolyte but a well known Elder Priestess, known to have been given knowledge and Galdrs of the Harvest from Sif that even Odin himself has no kenning of...
The captain of the slavers and his entire crew had been bled to death by the hand of Geirman Flint himself so as to make amends for the stain on his house, upon the roots of the Weirwood and Rowans that stood in the temple of Sif. Prize Bulls had been sent to the temple of Frigga in the Neck, and an entire shipsload of fresh fish had been given to cats, known by all as held high by Freya, and a barrel of the best mead had been sent to her temple in the Rills.
Geirman had after each gift and sacrifice been granted dreams, first of happily wedded couples and strong castles, then of naming ceremonies were many dozens of children took part and finally he had been granted dreams of a field half in fullness, and readiness for harvest, and the other half fallow. For six nights in a row he'd been given the dream of the fields until he had sought the priestess advice, and she had told him that while for herself, given that she herself had not been so ill treated, it was done with. However Sif still demanded penance. The Priestess, acknowledging him as a good man had given him a small bottle of mead, barely a mouthful, made from the berries of the Weirwood in the Temple grove.
That night he had drunk the mead and prayed to Sif, Thor and Odin. And the gods had answered, with dreams terrifying but clear, he had been shown the scales of Forsetí, balanced upon the pommel of a runeblade stood in the great hall infront thirtysix shadowed men, inside of a Winterfell surrounded by harvest ready fields and covered by rumbling skies.
The Gods had spoken. Now, as he watched his son be put on his knees infront of a full court of thirtysix tingsmen, and the Lord of the Dreadfort, he could barely stomach the choice he'd made.
Bartos Flint was declared guilty and sentenced to seven years as thrall to Sif's temples. It was decided also that after his thralldom he would be given the choice of Exile to Essos or to Man the Wall.
Should he attempt to break his thralldom, he would be fed to the Rowans.
With the sentence passed Robert watched from the Highseat as Ned took up a staff carved with a great many of the Northman runes, handing it to young Flint he asked. "Do you, Bartos of the House of Flint, Swear to the Gods and to the Ting that you will abide by the sentence passed here today?" the young man looked up at Ned before gripping the staff and speaking clearly to the Ting. "I, Do so swear to abide by the ruling of the Ting" when he had sworn the runes of the glowed green and Robert swore he could hear wind rustling across fields before the sizzling started and the smell of burned flesh hit the hall as the man who had been Bartos of House Flint collapsed to his knees still gripping the stave.
Roose Bolton stepped forth and ripped the tunic off the young man, and all could see runes blazing with green power carving themselves into the flesh of his back, row upon row of runes appeared ending with the image of a Rowan tree carving itself up the young mans neck. Clapping the young man once on the shoulder Roose, announced to the Ting, "The Lady Sif, has accepted the Oath." Then as the temple guards in the livery of Sif carried their new charge away, the Ting moved on to other business dealing with claimed adulterers, cases of bastardry, one such case had Roberts head spinning, in the South, if a woman was caught with a child not her husbands, the man could have the marriage dissolved and the woman and her bastard tossed out, but in the North a woman could easily acknowledge her own natural children and if she could prove before the Ting that the man had been remiss in his duties, the woman would be given their combined property. There was also the quite contentious fact that the Northmen (and women) considered the southern need for "legitimization" redundant, if a man or woman acknowledge their child, which admittedly was harder for a woman not to do, said child would inherit. The King had no say.
The woman who came before the Ting, was the eldest daughter of the Greystarks. Having born a son by the Heir to the Crag, as he had sworn to her father to marry her beforehand, but the marriage was not forthcoming and apparently the young man had now forsworn himself by marrying a daughter of the richer Payne Hall, she passed the documents of bethrothal to Ned and allowed him to give approval of their legitimacy before she asked the Ting to seek Justice for her son, though he was acknowledged by her father as a Greystark, the Southron lordling refused. Robert was starting to sweat abit as the room turned suddenly seemed very chilly to him as the northmen gazed sharply at the southron king in their midst. Ned looked at the girl for a long moment for motioning her to take the runestave. "Which Goddess, do you seek to aid you?" the girl, Darra Greystark, gripped the stave and spoke up, "Honored Lord Eddard, Master of the Houses of the Wolves, Lord with the blessings of Odin. This day I, Darra of Greystark seek the justice of Frigga, and the Norns" with that announcement the room went silent as the grave.
To seek justice from the queen of the gods, who helds the oaths of house, hearth and marriage then aswell the lifebinders and weavers of fate was... well, it was a doomcalling. Eddard looked at her for a moment before his eyes shifted to that piercing amber coldness known as the wolfeyes. "Swear your oaths girl, if They accept your cause, the might of the North will see the wrong against you made right." Darra gently sat down on her knees gripping the stave, and moments later that runes started to glow gold, it soon grew far brighter then a summer sun, before disappearing in an instant. Darra Greystark had let go of the stave in shock before the glow had focused and struck out slamming into Roose Boltons runesword before reflecting and striking Robert Baratheon full in the face.
The Great Tings had often seen the judgements of Forsetí carve themselves into guilty men or women but this was a wholly different sort of message.
Frigga, Queen and Mother of the Gods had assented to her cause, and demanded the King's own hand dole out Justice.
Eddard looked at Robert as the floor around the galdrstave started frosting over. Nodding once he spoke, "The Goddesses demanded King's Justice in the case. Robert Baratheon must take up the stave and accept or deny the charge" Robert stood from the highseat and looked troubled, Eddard could understand that since southern bastardry laws were needlessly complex and smattered with stigma, were children born out of wedlock were somehow a mark of shame on the honour of a family. The only southern kingdom with sane though still incomplete laws for "natural" children was Dorne.
Ancient documents spoke of a time some two thousand years previous when the culture of the First Men had still ruled the north before the coming of the Dragonships from beyond the walls of the world, and their new way.
Now, the First Men still ruled in the North of course, but the ancient ways had been swept away in many regards, first by the women of the Norsemen, who refused the subservient role, and the lack of legal power of women in the new lands, and with the Norsemen steadily gaining influence in their colonization of the Rills, Stony Shore and Wolfswoods. Inevitable as such things always are the sons of Northern lords, had grown enamoured with the daughters of the newcomers and over several hundred years of strong mothers and wives demanding their rights by law and goddesses. Things progressed and as the seafaring traditions of the newcomers took root, the merchant fleets expanded, in the end leading to the Compact of Valyria.
When the Dragons came, Visenya had come to Winterfell on Vhagar and asked to speak in the Great Ting, by the Articles of the Compact. No records of what she said that day were kept but the North had marched for the Dragons. Torrhen Starks son Rickard had after the war married Eleana Targaryen, binding the North firmly to the Dragons New Kingdom.
But now, it was up to the Stag King, to uphold the Compact made by the Dragons.
From the fic Idea thread.
I once read somewhere on SB about an idea with Viking!Northmen, but instead of only the essential Vikingness, of being Farmers/Soldiers/Family Men/Merchants 85% of the time and Great Heathen Raiders 15% of it, lets transplant the whole culture and all the religion.
Seidr and Galdr, Runic Magics used by the Old Norse. We know from Bronze Yohn Royce that such things are used in setting, however we don't quite know how they were used but being that they apparently are quite effective. The Viking System could be very potent.
But lets face it, we all want Gore, and among the Norsemen, House Bolton would not be considered with Flayings, very cruel. Lets say that House Stark, as Lords Paramount would hold the right of Sacrifice to Odin, this would be done by Blood Eagle (since the very concept is NSFW, I suggest googling the term) among other things Wargs would probably hold places of some esteem in this North, given that clearly they have some measure of divine blood. Which would put Eddard Stark since he fathered 5-6 wargs (depending on wether you believe R+L=J), into something like sainthood.
About Lyanna, her running off with Rhaegar would be, if not acceptable. Then understandable to the Northmen, provided Rickard Stark had not actually Asked her about getting in a marriage bed with Robert. While the womans permission is not expressly required it is known that the Goddesses do not look favorably upon matches made without it, the sagas telling of such five such marriages ending, quite badly, up to and including the husband in question getting castrated. A woman was also allowed to break off any engagement if she could prove the man in question not being responsible for his children. Bastards were after all part of Norse Law in this and an "acknowledged bastard" was entitled to up to 2/3rds of the inheritance left to a "trueborn", so Jon Snow in this North, as 2nd to eldest child would be legally entitled to 2/3rds equivalent of what Robb gets. If R+L = J he'd be obligated still to ensure a fair inheritance.
This shift in culture will however help Sansa out quite abit, since her mothers influence of southern chivalry and all the other stuff she believed in GoT, would have been ruthlessly stamped out by Eddard, seeing as his children are legally his, alone unless he chooses to allow Catelyn's influence. What with there being no stigma against concubinage, multiple spouse marriage, and men being allowed so called bed-slaves a woman who could be worth as much as four pigs which, when you consider pigs being a renewable food source and garbage disposal, is quite abit of cash for someone who's only job is going to be to warm your bed. The Northern Houses are going to be larger, the North more heavily populated given that large parts of the population would be dealing in Trade, Farming and (if they can attract enough shields, with their personal prestige/ prestige of their House/Clan/Family) Raiding.
But we also know that one of the greatest sources of Viking wealth was to sign up as Vaering/Väring in the south, and fight for the Emperor of the Greek/Romans, known there as the Varangoi. So it's plausible that Viking/Northmen would have offered their services to the forty families of Valyria against more mundane enemies, that dragons were unsuited for.
So how does all this effect us when the GoT timestamp kicks off.
Gratuitously Awesome pic of Vikings.
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The Great Keep of Winterfell dominated it's landscape, a great keep of dark stone, modeled after the fabled Halls of Odin, The Allfather of the Northern Gods, the great slanted roof on the main hall could be seen shimmering for leagues around as it was made of solid silver plates, as Winterfell and it's surroundings were the nexus for all the trade of the Northlands, of course that "trade" in the winters included more raiding then the Ironborn, raiding done against the Ghiscari Remnants or in far off Sothorys and Ulthos.
It was a common fable that Northmen had been quite like the Andals until some two millenia earlier, when a fleet of longships had come out of the western seas, bringing with them new ways and new magic, the magic of the Seidr and Galdr, runic spells and chants that were lain on blades in the forge ensuring a sword to be ever sharp, never break or sung in the dead of night by lone priestess' and priests in the field to give bountiful harvests. It was also held that when the Doom struck Valyria, the Vaeringa Guards who survived it had returned to the North and swiftly led great fleets of dragonships into the chaotic Valyrian Remnants and looted more wealth in less then a decade then the Ironborn had managed in centuries, it is said the silver that make up the roof on Winterfells Great Keep were forged in those days.
For King Robert and his entourage the keep offered warm beds and hot food, had he known what the future would bring he might have turned around at Moat Cailin. When the King and his following neared the gates to Wintertown the third largest city in the Kingdom, they saw the execution field.
In the North, the Kings Peace was upheld with single-minded decisiveness usually with fines or trial by combat, but for deserters from the Wall, there was a specific punishment, from the old times when Northmen had served as bodyguards in Valyria, a deserter was tied to a steel pole, inscribed with seidr of Jotunheims frosts, and left on that pole until frozen to agonizing death, usually taking less then an hour. As they rode up toward the keep, on streets of dark stone bordered by houses in the outskirts made of wood with fine decorations, but as they neared the inner curtainwalls the houses changed to the same dark stone, decorated with carved wooden pillars. Unmistakably many of the houses featured great snarling wolves as part of their decorations.
When last Robert had seen Ned had been during the Greyjoy Rebellion, where Ned had led the fleets of the Throne onto the Iron Islands, and struck down Balon Greyjoy in the Old Ways of the North, he had never quite been able to look at Ned again after that. Eddard Stark had taken Asha and Theon Greyjoy aside as wards to Bear Island, then he had made of every adult man of Balon Greyjoy's line, a Blood Eagle in sacrifice to Odin... then with his handaxe still wet with the blood of Balon Greyjoy, he had surrendered the Islands to Robert.
Now though Robert could see Eddard and his face broke into a smile, as Eddard very clearly was a family man. Eight children stood on the steps though only three sported the Tully look, the rest, Robert assumed then belonged to Ned's other wives or simply took after need.
Legally a man couldn't have more then one wife in the lands of the Iron Throne, but the North had wrangled concessions on that particular issue when they supported the invasion of Dorne with a blockade and severe raiding against Dornish merchants and factors among the Free Cities known to trade with Dorne, so since the days of the Young Dragon, a Northman could have three wives if he so chose. On the face of it a system very similar to the Ironborn one with Saltwives, with a very crucial distinction, no Northman ever took a woman by force, their godesses forbade it strictly, it was infact punishable by branding, and if repeated mutilation or death, no man could escape the Laws of the Ting, as was evidenced by the brand on Roose Boltons hand.
"Ned!" he shouted joyously as he dismounted in the courtyard, his old friend smiling quietly as was his way.
"Robert, it has been far too long, come into my halls, share my food and be entertained by my skald" stated his brother in all but blood.
Turning around he motioned for Cersei and the children to come forward, introduced his three children, while Ned looked around abit then asked, "So where are Mya and Edric, Robert?"
Catelyn Tully paled and stepped forward, speaking quietly "My Lord, you know that we have different ways in the South", Ned looked at her then back at him frowning. Ned looked at him with those damned yellow eyes and said quietly "Catelyn, you are my love but I know, that my friend Robert would not dishonor himself by not caring for his children no matter their mother."
I once read somewhere on SB about an idea with Viking!Northmen, but instead of only the essential Vikingness, of being Farmers/Soldiers/Family Men/Merchants 85% of the time and Great Heathen Raiders 15% of it, lets transplant the whole culture and all the religion.
Seidr and Galdr, Runic Magics used by the Old Norse. We know from Bronze Yohn Royce that such things are used in setting, however we don't quite know how they were used but being that they apparently are quite effective. The Viking System could be very potent.
But lets face it, we all want Gore, and among the Norsemen, House Bolton would not be considered with Flayings, very cruel. Lets say that House Stark, as Lords Paramount would hold the right of Sacrifice to Odin, this would be done by Blood Eagle (since the very concept is NSFW, I suggest googling the term) among other things Wargs would probably hold places of some esteem in this North, given that clearly they have some measure of divine blood. Which would put Eddard Stark since he fathered 5-6 wargs (depending on wether you believe R+L=J), into something like sainthood.
About Lyanna, her running off with Rhaegar would be, if not acceptable. Then understandable to the Northmen, provided Rickard Stark had not actually Asked her about getting in a marriage bed with Robert. While the womans permission is not expressly required it is known that the Goddesses do not look favorably upon matches made without it, the sagas telling of such five such marriages ending, quite badly, up to and including the husband in question getting castrated. A woman was also allowed to break off any engagement if she could prove the man in question not being responsible for his children. Bastards were after all part of Norse Law in this and an "acknowledged bastard" was entitled to up to 2/3rds of the inheritance left to a "trueborn", so Jon Snow in this North, as 2nd to eldest child would be legally entitled to 2/3rds equivalent of what Robb gets. If R+L = J he'd be obligated still to ensure a fair inheritance.
This shift in culture will however help Sansa out quite abit, since her mothers influence of southern chivalry and all the other stuff she believed in GoT, would have been ruthlessly stamped out by Eddard, seeing as his children are legally his, alone unless he chooses to allow Catelyn's influence. What with there being no stigma against concubinage, multiple spouse marriage, and men being allowed so called bed-slaves a woman who could be worth as much as four pigs which, when you consider pigs being a renewable food source and garbage disposal, is quite abit of cash for someone who's only job is going to be to warm your bed. The Northern Houses are going to be larger, the North more heavily populated given that large parts of the population would be dealing in Trade, Farming and (if they can attract enough shields, with their personal prestige/ prestige of their House/Clan/Family) Raiding.
But we also know that one of the greatest sources of Viking wealth was to sign up as Vaering/Väring in the south, and fight for the Emperor of the Greek/Romans, known there as the Varangoi. So it's plausible that Viking/Northmen would have offered their services to the forty families of Valyria against more mundane enemies, that dragons were unsuited for.
So how does all this effect us when the GoT timestamp kicks off.
Gratuitously Awesome pic of Vikings.
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The Great Keep of Winterfell dominated it's landscape, a great keep of dark stone, modeled after the fabled Halls of Odin, The Allfather of the Northern Gods, the great slanted roof on the main hall could be seen shimmering for leagues around as it was made of solid silver plates, as Winterfell and it's surroundings were the nexus for all the trade of the Northlands, of course that "trade" in the winters included more raiding then the Ironborn, raiding done against the Ghiscari Remnants or in far off Sothorys and Ulthos.
It was a common fable that Northmen had been quite like the Andals until some two millenia earlier, when a fleet of longships had come out of the western seas, bringing with them new ways and new magic, the magic of the Seidr and Galdr, runic spells and chants that were lain on blades in the forge ensuring a sword to be ever sharp, never break or sung in the dead of night by lone priestess' and priests in the field to give bountiful harvests. It was also held that when the Doom struck Valyria, the Vaeringa Guards who survived it had returned to the North and swiftly led great fleets of dragonships into the chaotic Valyrian Remnants and looted more wealth in less then a decade then the Ironborn had managed in centuries, it is said the silver that make up the roof on Winterfells Great Keep were forged in those days.
For King Robert and his entourage the keep offered warm beds and hot food, had he known what the future would bring he might have turned around at Moat Cailin. When the King and his following neared the gates to Wintertown the third largest city in the Kingdom, they saw the execution field.
In the North, the Kings Peace was upheld with single-minded decisiveness usually with fines or trial by combat, but for deserters from the Wall, there was a specific punishment, from the old times when Northmen had served as bodyguards in Valyria, a deserter was tied to a steel pole, inscribed with seidr of Jotunheims frosts, and left on that pole until frozen to agonizing death, usually taking less then an hour. As they rode up toward the keep, on streets of dark stone bordered by houses in the outskirts made of wood with fine decorations, but as they neared the inner curtainwalls the houses changed to the same dark stone, decorated with carved wooden pillars. Unmistakably many of the houses featured great snarling wolves as part of their decorations.
When last Robert had seen Ned had been during the Greyjoy Rebellion, where Ned had led the fleets of the Throne onto the Iron Islands, and struck down Balon Greyjoy in the Old Ways of the North, he had never quite been able to look at Ned again after that. Eddard Stark had taken Asha and Theon Greyjoy aside as wards to Bear Island, then he had made of every adult man of Balon Greyjoy's line, a Blood Eagle in sacrifice to Odin... then with his handaxe still wet with the blood of Balon Greyjoy, he had surrendered the Islands to Robert.
Now though Robert could see Eddard and his face broke into a smile, as Eddard very clearly was a family man. Eight children stood on the steps though only three sported the Tully look, the rest, Robert assumed then belonged to Ned's other wives or simply took after need.
Legally a man couldn't have more then one wife in the lands of the Iron Throne, but the North had wrangled concessions on that particular issue when they supported the invasion of Dorne with a blockade and severe raiding against Dornish merchants and factors among the Free Cities known to trade with Dorne, so since the days of the Young Dragon, a Northman could have three wives if he so chose. On the face of it a system very similar to the Ironborn one with Saltwives, with a very crucial distinction, no Northman ever took a woman by force, their godesses forbade it strictly, it was infact punishable by branding, and if repeated mutilation or death, no man could escape the Laws of the Ting, as was evidenced by the brand on Roose Boltons hand.
"Ned!" he shouted joyously as he dismounted in the courtyard, his old friend smiling quietly as was his way.
"Robert, it has been far too long, come into my halls, share my food and be entertained by my skald" stated his brother in all but blood.
Turning around he motioned for Cersei and the children to come forward, introduced his three children, while Ned looked around abit then asked, "So where are Mya and Edric, Robert?"
Catelyn Tully paled and stepped forward, speaking quietly "My Lord, you know that we have different ways in the South", Ned looked at her then back at him frowning. Ned looked at him with those damned yellow eyes and said quietly "Catelyn, you are my love but I know, that my friend Robert would not dishonor himself by not caring for his children no matter their mother."
Before Robert could do more then start up a bluster, a brash female voice called out, "I'm here Uncle Ned! Eddy is still at home at Uncle Stannis' Storms End" Mya Baratheon looked every inch her fathers daughter, though she favored "Uncle Ned" in clothing choice including a small winged spearhead icon of silver on a necklace, the symbol of the Valkyrie Cults.
That's when they heard the howling, Robert turned to Ned and asked slowly "Dratted Beast of yours still living?" Ned raised an eyebrow "He's a Direwolf, Robert, they live as long as the wargs they bond with do." Robert swiftly called out to the soldiers of his escort, "For fucks sake, draw no weapons!" just before a Direwolf as large as a horse came loping out of the templewoods gates, Robert laughs and embraces the giant creature like he would an old friend, the wolf in turn dragged a huge tongue across Roberts face, before abandoning him completely and walking over to Mya.
The young woman smiled softly, reaching out to hug the monstrous wolf, greeting him with a soft "hey, Horsywolf...long time no see."
Ned smiled the stern lines smoothing out abit, behind the braided beard. "Dear Girl, Fenrír, his name is Fenrír." Mya looked at him seriously for a moment, before breaking out in a wide teasing smile, "Uncle Ned! He's my horsywolf, yes he is!" for the royal guards and the rest of the royal party watching a young woman make googly eyes and cutesy noises with a wolf far larger then herself was a very odd image.
"Catelyn, please see to it that our guests are settled in." With that the Lord of Winterfell led the King of The Iron Throne into the Feasthall, followed by several members of the Kingsguard and Winterguards.
The Feasthall of Winterfell, was a very large room, capable of easily seating near to three thousand men, though it only saw that many on the great religious feastdays a great forest of onehundred and twenty carved pillars bore up the roof. Pillars carved with the symbol of the ravens and the wolves, aswell as many scenes out of history and gods myths. All of these pillars were decorated most handsomely in gold, silver and semiprecious stones mined in the northern mountains, the walls were paneled in rich dark woods from Ulthos and Sothorys, the hall was designed as a statement of power and might.
Nothing in it however spoke of power more then the Wolfseat, the great Throne of Winter, in itself a relic from the old days before the Iron Throne, a Valyrian style throne of ancient Ironwood upon it's back was carved the image of Yggdrasil, the armrests were carved with runes of justice, victory, and might. On the headrest was carved the twin Ravens of Odin but what stunned those who had not seen it before, were the Wolves. Smallfolk who spoke of the wolves of Winterfell, could speak of the packs of Direwolves that made the templewoods their roving grounds, Southern Lords who had never visited the place spoke of the Starks as these wolves. But in Essos and the Ghiscar Remnant the Wolves of Winterfell were the two lifesized statues of juvenile direwolves, each massing some sixty kilograms that stood on either side of the Wolfseat, for they were a gift from the Ruling Dragonlord of the Valyrian Freehold, and forged of Valyrian Steel and Silver. It was widely held by the Priests and smallfolk that the Throne of Winter was blessed by Odin, Tyr and Thor.
Robert Baratheon and his guards, who had never before seen these wolves, stood as many do, stunned into silence.
"Goodfather? Is the hall prepared to your liking?" came the voice of Rhaenys Targaryen, from the entrance to the kitchens. Ned smiled "Perfectly, my dear."
Robert Baratheon, turned slowly and looked at the very pregnant Rhaenys Stark, née Targaryen. Closing his eyes once and counting to ten very quickly he spoke through gritted teeth "Ned, I thought you said you were going to send her to be a septa..or templewoman here in the North, not marry her to your Eldest son!?"
Eddard Stark, Warlord of the Northmen, Scourge of New Ghis and Despoiler of the Iron Isles looked at his lifelong friend, "Robert, you said quite clearly that the fate of Dragonspawn were no concern of yours, so I made it a concern of mine, given I believe Clegane and Lorch were acting under orders. I swore to Elia Martell to keep her daughter safe an oath by the way she had me swear on my faith and honour."
Robert looked at him sharply for a second, "Fine, but you keep her north of the neck, and I want it sworn that she'll never lay a claim on the throne." Ned nodded and looked at Rhaenys, who simply nodded "She'll do it at the Great Ting, next week. Oberyn Martell and his Daughters, are coming to re-endorse the trade pacts anyway they can represent Dorne as witnesses." There was some grumbling from his guards at the Red Viper joining them in the north but Robert soon waved it off, and looked around before turning back to Ned, "So a Great Ting, who will be here for it? Nobles only or?" Ned looked at him "No, in the South that's how it'd be but here every landholder has a voice in the Ting, but for this a Great Ting, all the village tings will send an elected representative, usually to advocate to and endorse the policies of their Jarls, or Noble Lord, as it would be in the South."
Ned motioned Rhaenys to go find Robb, and led Robert and his knights to his private offices, overlooking the practice yards where young Prince Joffrey was entering, followed by a Kingsguard.
Robb Stark, a young man of fifteen years awaiting the birth of his first child was engaged in combat against his cousin Artos Targaryen, combat practice in the North was done with live steel and armour from age ten and both young men were using styles as different as they themselves. Robb Stark, Named for the King, was in looks a near copy of his father, Eddard, the dark brown Stark hair tied into nine braids, and the beginnings of a beard on his chin and eyes that shifted between the amber eyes of a Stark Warg and the Tully blue "of the deep river" as his mother called it. He was wielding a bearded axe and broadsword while near dancing around his cousin in streaks of flashing silvered steel known as the wolfdance.
His opponent on the other hand had classical Valyrian features wrought on bones of a Northman, Silver blond hair tied back in a single thick braid and amethyst eyes looked out of the long face of a Stark. He was wielding a blade thought lost to the ages, unmistakable in its own way, a legend in itself, the runework added to the blade after the conquest near three centuries spelled out a name, and the runes invoked a truth upon the world and Black Fire trailed every swing of the sword.
Artos Targaryen was without a doubt the great hope for Targaryen Loyalists in the kingdom, given that these same men had no idea of what kind of man Viserys was, but Artos was making a name for himself as a shrewd trader already on his uncle Beron's journey to Pentos earlier in the year, having been greatly praised by the Magister of House Mopatis, he had also survived over twelve assassination attempts, many undoubtedly courtesy of Lannister gold, but for all that he was born of the North. Having been raised a Northman, to Northern Gods, raised to Praise Odin, Thor, Tyr and his mothers own matron goddess Freyja. He was undeniably a Dragon of the Old Blood, and it showed in the styles of combat he favored, Talons on the Burning Wind, was a devilishly terrifying piece of bladework, meant to be used in conjunction with fire magics and sorcery, it was a style of bladework that had near no defensive measures except for a veil of flame. As controlling the fiery sorcery demanded the use of the shield hand, a heavily armoured gauntlet, often designed as the taloned foot of a dragon was worn on the "casting" hand.
Artos Targaryen, had nearly been killed by the King while barely a moons turn old, it was only a letter from Lyanna Stark that had saved his life, the letter it seemed had done a great deal to alter the kings outlook on life, given that he brooked no dissent from his wife, Cersei of Lannister, regarding any arrangement made for any bastards he sired, though he only had three publicly known, Mya from the Vale, now a Lady in one of the old Baratheon holdfasts on Cape Wrath, a recognised Princess of the Realm, and lady regent for her halfbrother Edric, and lastly a boy named Gendry currently fostered at Horn Hill. Robert had also publicly sworn to the High Septon, that "Seven help him, he'd not lay a hand on the boy, he's not to blame for his father." With that oath sworn Robert had ordered Blackfyre taken from the castles vaults, where it had lain since Barristan took it from the dead hand of Maelys Blackfyre, and given over to the boy, now a young man at fifteen.
Joffrey Baratheon, it seemed favored his mother in looks, there was barely any of King Robert to be found in his face unlike his sister Myrcella or brother Steffon who both favored their royal father quite clearly, and at thirteen years had still not to put on muscle but he was a Prince, and as such he was sure he'd show these northern savages just what their places were. His bodyguard a member of the Kingsguard called Boros Blount, followed him closely as he stepped forward to challenge that relic of a dead house. Of Course, there is an undeniable difference between a boy who's mother puffs up his ego, and has yet to practice with live steel, and a young man, grown in the North where regardless of who you were born to be, you had to prove yourself capable to wield a blade, wield a pen and wield a tongue. Prince Joffrey lost the battle in barely a minute and gained a scar upon his hand.
Queen Cersei had demanded the young mans head for daring to strike a Prince, Robert had asked simply who challenged the other, and when Joffrey admitted it was he, the King dismissed the notion of punishment "I won't punish him for doing as Joffrey asked."
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"A Knight in the South, owes allegiance to his Lord or the King, and is the Arbiter of Justice and to the seven hells with smallfolk.
A Karl, as they call Freemen in the North, owes allegiance to an Elected Village Chief then to his Jarl or his King, and they are all subject to the Justice of the Great Ting." - Master Geir Goldweight, Merchantman from the Isles of the Sisters, speaking for the secession of the Sisters from the Kingdom of Mountain and Vale to the North, ca 200 years B.AL.
Over the next three days Winterfell saw the arrival of nearly eight hundred men for the Great Ting... last to arrive were the Umbers and the Ingjaldir, Jarls of west where the Umbers were east, the Jarl of Skagos, Rollo of Magnar had arrived earlier cutting time by sailing up the White Knife, almost to Cerwyn.
There were the usual things to deal with at a Ting, criminals to be punished, accusations lain against neighbouring lords for various things but for the Southerners the most interesting thing was perhaps the trial of Bartos Flint, fourth son of the jarl of Flint's Finger, on trial accused of slaving, he faced thirtysix freemen who would render a verdict upon his guilt or innocence after hearing all facts. Robert had asked Ned, what he had decided after the trial, to his great surprise, Ned had answered that his work was simply to see the verdict of the karls carried out, unless the man on trial chose to take the Black.
Ned stood on the end of the second day to announce that he proposed to cede the vacant jarlship of the Sister Isles from the direct control of Winterfell to his sister Lyanna's Son, Artos. The proposal was endorsed by the current Headman for Sisterton, who explained before the assembly that they sought a Jarl and that a replacement for the Jarlship was long overdue, given that Houses Sunderland and Borell had died out during the last Blackfyre rebellion.
Oberyn Martell also endorsed the appointment, to the great surprise of many given just who Artos was, however it seemed as if the Red Viper had been taught a lesson on family by his niece as she very publicly ceded her claim to the Iron throne, and after acknowledging the King, Lord Stark and Lord Martell, as representative for Lord Martell, as witnesses, she publicly stated that as his sister she also supported Lord Targaryen taking the jarlship of the Sisters.
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Roose Bolton was by many considered dishonoured, both by his guilty verdict and branding by the Great Ting some twentythree years earlier and by what he had done to earn that brand. Brandon Stark however had granted him a position as one of his own Hird on a raid on later that year on the ports of Ibben, which had seen Roose almost killed, but as he lay with poisonfever. Roose had heard the cawing of two ravens and received a vision from the gods. First Forsetí had appeared holding a great black runeblade and wearing Roose's own armour then Frigga had come her face thunderous holding the hand of the woman he'd raped and after her had appared Forsetí again this holding a set of golden scales and standing barechested on a field of blood.
It was with those images that Roose had awoken from the fever, that very morning for the final assault on the citadel Roose had told all the gathered men that he had been granted a vision in the fever then had followed a gruelling hour as the old priest of Winterfell, who had accompanied them seeking victory and death one last time had harshly interrogated him of the vision, ending with the old man accepting and penning a letter to his successor in Winterfell aswell the High priestess of Frigga that indeed Roose had been given a way to repent by Forsetí, though Frigga still clearly demanded he make amends. If Roose lived Forseti had decreed his honour restored, pending him making amends to the woman for the pleasure of Frigga, beyond the weregild he had paid her for killing her husband.
Roose had lain his armour on an altar to Forsetí and gone into battle that day with berserker rage in his eyes, barechested. He had lived, and when they returned to the North he had gone before Lord Rickard, and told him of it all before asking leave to remake the colours and words of his house. He had then shown the proposed new colours and sigil to the Lord Paramount, getting the agreement he sought he had returned to the Dreadfort and burned every banner, ordered every shield scrubbed clean and redone with the new sigil.
Within weeks a new banner hung behind the highseat of the Dreadfort, a Barechested man holding a golden scale in one hand and a Runeblade inscribed with runes spelling out Justice, on a pitch black background. With the new words Scale and Blade. For twenty years Roose Bolton, had dedicated himself completly to the pursuit of Forsetí, Justice and Mediation. fifteen of those years he had served as Master of Laws in the North, and stood for "The North and Her People" at every trial by combat, wearing no armour upon his breast.
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Bartos Flint was a young man, a very foolish young man who had sold freemen of the Northlands to Ironborn slavers. Who hadn't reckoned on the fact the Slavers like the Goodbrothers would be known and Hunted by the fleet run by his own father Geirman.
For the farmers he'd sold it would've been enough with a weregild paid to them and possibly a finger taken, to remind him that never again. but among the rescued slaves were templewomen, beholden to Frigga, Freyja and worst of all for young Bartos to Sif.
To insult the Queen of the Gods was a grave matter all on it's own, to insult the Goddess of Fertility equally so, but when your house stood with Thor and Sif, when the castles of your bannermen flew the sign the hammer and sheaf of wheat during thunderstorms, and depended mightily on harvests run in sheltered vales, to insult the Goddess of the Harvest and Wife of the Thunderer. To sell into slavery not a mere acolyte but a well known Elder Priestess, known to have been given knowledge and Galdrs of the Harvest from Sif that even Odin himself has no kenning of...
The captain of the slavers and his entire crew had been bled to death by the hand of Geirman Flint himself so as to make amends for the stain on his house, upon the roots of the Weirwood and Rowans that stood in the temple of Sif. Prize Bulls had been sent to the temple of Frigga in the Neck, and an entire shipsload of fresh fish had been given to cats, known by all as held high by Freya, and a barrel of the best mead had been sent to her temple in the Rills.
Geirman had after each gift and sacrifice been granted dreams, first of happily wedded couples and strong castles, then of naming ceremonies were many dozens of children took part and finally he had been granted dreams of a field half in fullness, and readiness for harvest, and the other half fallow. For six nights in a row he'd been given the dream of the fields until he had sought the priestess advice, and she had told him that while for herself, given that she herself had not been so ill treated, it was done with. However Sif still demanded penance. The Priestess, acknowledging him as a good man had given him a small bottle of mead, barely a mouthful, made from the berries of the Weirwood in the Temple grove.
That night he had drunk the mead and prayed to Sif, Thor and Odin. And the gods had answered, with dreams terrifying but clear, he had been shown the scales of Forsetí, balanced upon the pommel of a runeblade stood in the great hall infront thirtysix shadowed men, inside of a Winterfell surrounded by harvest ready fields and covered by rumbling skies.
The Gods had spoken. Now, as he watched his son be put on his knees infront of a full court of thirtysix tingsmen, and the Lord of the Dreadfort, he could barely stomach the choice he'd made.
Bartos Flint was declared guilty and sentenced to seven years as thrall to Sif's temples. It was decided also that after his thralldom he would be given the choice of Exile to Essos or to Man the Wall.
Should he attempt to break his thralldom, he would be fed to the Rowans.
With the sentence passed Robert watched from the Highseat as Ned took up a staff carved with a great many of the Northman runes, handing it to young Flint he asked. "Do you, Bartos of the House of Flint, Swear to the Gods and to the Ting that you will abide by the sentence passed here today?" the young man looked up at Ned before gripping the staff and speaking clearly to the Ting. "I, Do so swear to abide by the ruling of the Ting" when he had sworn the runes of the glowed green and Robert swore he could hear wind rustling across fields before the sizzling started and the smell of burned flesh hit the hall as the man who had been Bartos of House Flint collapsed to his knees still gripping the stave.
Roose Bolton stepped forth and ripped the tunic off the young man, and all could see runes blazing with green power carving themselves into the flesh of his back, row upon row of runes appeared ending with the image of a Rowan tree carving itself up the young mans neck. Clapping the young man once on the shoulder Roose, announced to the Ting, "The Lady Sif, has accepted the Oath." Then as the temple guards in the livery of Sif carried their new charge away, the Ting moved on to other business dealing with claimed adulterers, cases of bastardry, one such case had Roberts head spinning, in the South, if a woman was caught with a child not her husbands, the man could have the marriage dissolved and the woman and her bastard tossed out, but in the North a woman could easily acknowledge her own natural children and if she could prove before the Ting that the man had been remiss in his duties, the woman would be given their combined property. There was also the quite contentious fact that the Northmen (and women) considered the southern need for "legitimization" redundant, if a man or woman acknowledge their child, which admittedly was harder for a woman not to do, said child would inherit. The King had no say.
The woman who came before the Ting, was the eldest daughter of the Greystarks. Having born a son by the Heir to the Crag, as he had sworn to her father to marry her beforehand, but the marriage was not forthcoming and apparently the young man had now forsworn himself by marrying a daughter of the richer Payne Hall, she passed the documents of bethrothal to Ned and allowed him to give approval of their legitimacy before she asked the Ting to seek Justice for her son, though he was acknowledged by her father as a Greystark, the Southron lordling refused. Robert was starting to sweat abit as the room turned suddenly seemed very chilly to him as the northmen gazed sharply at the southron king in their midst. Ned looked at the girl for a long moment for motioning her to take the runestave. "Which Goddess, do you seek to aid you?" the girl, Darra Greystark, gripped the stave and spoke up, "Honored Lord Eddard, Master of the Houses of the Wolves, Lord with the blessings of Odin. This day I, Darra of Greystark seek the justice of Frigga, and the Norns" with that announcement the room went silent as the grave.
To seek justice from the queen of the gods, who helds the oaths of house, hearth and marriage then aswell the lifebinders and weavers of fate was... well, it was a doomcalling. Eddard looked at her for a moment before his eyes shifted to that piercing amber coldness known as the wolfeyes. "Swear your oaths girl, if They accept your cause, the might of the North will see the wrong against you made right." Darra gently sat down on her knees gripping the stave, and moments later that runes started to glow gold, it soon grew far brighter then a summer sun, before disappearing in an instant. Darra Greystark had let go of the stave in shock before the glow had focused and struck out slamming into Roose Boltons runesword before reflecting and striking Robert Baratheon full in the face.
The Great Tings had often seen the judgements of Forsetí carve themselves into guilty men or women but this was a wholly different sort of message.
Frigga, Queen and Mother of the Gods had assented to her cause, and demanded the King's own hand dole out Justice.
Eddard looked at Robert as the floor around the galdrstave started frosting over. Nodding once he spoke, "The Goddesses demanded King's Justice in the case. Robert Baratheon must take up the stave and accept or deny the charge" Robert stood from the highseat and looked troubled, Eddard could understand that since southern bastardry laws were needlessly complex and smattered with stigma, were children born out of wedlock were somehow a mark of shame on the honour of a family. The only southern kingdom with sane though still incomplete laws for "natural" children was Dorne.
Ancient documents spoke of a time some two thousand years previous when the culture of the First Men had still ruled the north before the coming of the Dragonships from beyond the walls of the world, and their new way.
Now, the First Men still ruled in the North of course, but the ancient ways had been swept away in many regards, first by the women of the Norsemen, who refused the subservient role, and the lack of legal power of women in the new lands, and with the Norsemen steadily gaining influence in their colonization of the Rills, Stony Shore and Wolfswoods. Inevitable as such things always are the sons of Northern lords, had grown enamoured with the daughters of the newcomers and over several hundred years of strong mothers and wives demanding their rights by law and goddesses. Things progressed and as the seafaring traditions of the newcomers took root, the merchant fleets expanded, in the end leading to the Compact of Valyria.
When the Dragons came, Visenya had come to Winterfell on Vhagar and asked to speak in the Great Ting, by the Articles of the Compact. No records of what she said that day were kept but the North had marched for the Dragons. Torrhen Starks son Rickard had after the war married Eleana Targaryen, binding the North firmly to the Dragons New Kingdom.
But now, it was up to the Stag King, to uphold the Compact made by the Dragons.
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A Matter of Honour against Aerys and lack of communication from Lyanna, also Aerys was just as nutso as in canon.Mike5320 said:
Not Really, Dorne didn't Marry into the Dragons this time around Daeron managed to conquer them outright as the northern fleet managed to worsen conditions enough that the rebellion which claimed his life never happened, that said due to the explicit protection of Rhaenys Targaryen against anyone who would wish her ill, Relations between Dorne and the North have thawed significantly. Aegon, well he's either dead or elsewhere, Elia however did die from the injuries suffered and the hand of Gregor though Gregor himself was ripped apart by "wild beasts" on his way back to the Westerlands. Viserys and Daenerys do indeed have a bodyguard of Northmen.HanEmpire said:
Note that they looted the fuck out of old Valyria, meaning that they still have huge stockpiles of Valyrian steel from those raids.Darkemace said:
Brandon I
Brandon Stark looked at Viserys then out the open window at this Khal Drogo he proposed to ally with stating calmly "No. My Prince, you may be but your mother gave yourself and your sister into my keeping, so I say this Viserys, Daenerys will not marry until sixteen years of age"The red flush creeping up Viserys' cheeks gave away his mood "I'm Your King, Stark and this marriage will return my throne to me." Brandon looked at him for a bare moment "No, Viserys, when Aegon was murdered by the Lannisters pets, Artos became King of Westeros, you will be Lord of the Valyrian Coastlands, be happy with that." that said Brandon Stark ran his fingers thruogh his greying beard and looked at Khal Drogo and his bloodriders down in the courtyard. Asking any man in southern westeros Brandon Stark must truly be blessed or cursed by the gods, a former Heir to mighty Winterfell. Brandon had seen his father burnt to death inside his armour only to be saved by the mercy of Queen Rhaella, she having talked the king into sparing him, blood after all was important. Brandon was exiled, and when news of the events reached Ned at Winterfell the Banners had been called and the Southlands loyal to Aerys had seen a raiding that made anything the Ironborn could do seem moot in comparison.
But Aerys had given Balon free reign against the traitors and Balon had sortied against Blazewater Bay and the Saltspear, wreaking havoc against the coastlands but being rebuffed and chased back into open water by the defenders. A Year later he had received a message from Dragonstone requesting a favour from the soon to be former Queen. Arriving at Dragonstone with a single runed longship he had been given a single request from Rhaella, to get them all away from Tywin and Robert. Taking command of the flagship of the Dragonstone fleet, he had gathered what volunteers would follow and after having each man swear oaths of loyalty with a galdrstave, those loyal had witnessed a man swearing falsely and the consequences thereof. It had not been a pleasant sight.
Mere hours ahead of Stannis' arrival they had abandoned Dragonstone. In the months following the flight, the Royal Fleet had attempted to hunt down the ships that sailed with Rhaella and her mysterious Master of Ships, eventually news came from the east that Rhaella had died in childbirth in Volantis and that her children were protected by the most unlikely of men, Brandon Stark, the Seawolf himself. Then the reports had started flowing in of Brandons sellsail raiders attacking ships from Lannisport and the Vale, before simply disappearing into the night. It wasn't until five years later that Brandon and his ships resurfaced again this time leading the warfleet of Volantis against Yunkai. The grey Stark Direwolf running over blue waves flew on the banner.
Exiting his study, Brandon calmly went down toward the courtyard where the Khal and his Ko's were enjoying their meal, coming to a stop some four meters away from the group Brandon cleared his throat calmly and spoke "Viserys was mistaken, there is nothing for you here, Khal Drogo, it is time for you to take your Khalasar and be on your way." Drogo looked at the old man, a famed sellsail to be sure, an exiled lord from the west bound by oath to a dead woman, one of very few to set foot in Valyria since the Doom. Famed, Respected, Fearsome but aging.
A cruel smile curling his lips Drogo rose "And if I decide to take Viserys up on his offer, even though you say these things?" Drogo watched as the mans fingers curled round the hilt of his sword, but the older man kept his stern glare on Drogo. "Leave, Horseman." Curling his fingers gently around his Arakh, Drogo smiled cruelly "No, the Dosh Khaleen have prophesied that the son of a Dragon and the Khal of Khals will become the Stallion who mounts the world. So I will have the girl and our son will have the world."
Shifting slightly he tensed preparing to draw and cut down the sellsail lord, a breeze whispered by and Khal Drogo froze as his braid and bells fell to the courtyard neatly severed at the level of his throat. Brandon rested his sword in high guard drawing a waraxe from a harness on his back, and keeping his eyes squarely on the dothraki, "I won't give you another warning Drogo, Leave." Drogo nodded shortly "This will not be forgotten, sellsail. You should fear our return."
Brandon smiled lightly "I will fear you and yours Drogo, when you teach your horses to run on the sea." with that he motioned them to get out. Returning to his study and Viserys, who sat slumped down in the chair, "I know that this entire thing is necessary, father, and I know what we must do, but I'm tired of being hunted, I just want to stop being hunted." Brandon placed a hand on one of Viserys' shoulders and gripped it gently "It will stop. Soon enough Viserys, for now Roberts spies have what we need them to have."
Looting of Materiel and SAR missions were both conducted during the ash rains of the eruption of the fourteen flames.
and yes alot of merchants and craftsmen bought their way onto the dragonships though many will of course have disembarked in places such as volantis and lys rather then all going up to the north.
and yes alot of merchants and craftsmen bought their way onto the dragonships though many will of course have disembarked in places such as volantis and lys rather then all going up to the north.
Taugundrone
I CAN DO WORDS TOO!
Khal Drogo done goofed.
The Dothraki cut the loser's hair when they are defeated, and Khal Drogo just got a haircut.
He just lost his braid, and now he's going to lose his whole Khalasar to all the contenders like a corpse to vultures, because he got famous for the whole "never lost a battle" thing, and now he just lost a battle.
The Dothraki cut the loser's hair when they are defeated, and Khal Drogo just got a haircut.
He just lost his braid, and now he's going to lose his whole Khalasar to all the contenders like a corpse to vultures, because he got famous for the whole "never lost a battle" thing, and now he just lost a battle.
Maybe its an emotional attachment only spoken in private? Considering his actual father, Brandon Stark may be the only person he considers family other than his sister.HanEmpire said:
Mochinator
Protect the weak against the evil strong.
Or that, yeah.Mochinator said:Posers!
EDIT: Another thought strikes me, do the Northmen have the same stance on cleanliness compared to the IRL Norse?
Taugundrone
I CAN DO WORDS TOO!
You bathed every week, regardless of whether you thought you needed it or not, and you were supposed to at least wash your face every morning.Trivia Freak said:
Wash your face, maintain your beard, clean your ears and nose with special ustensils, frequently comb your hair...Taugundrone said:
Some Anglo-Saxon chronicles mention the fact that the Viking's obsession with cleanliness led many Anglo-Saxon women to infidelity ;p
The Sandman
So Zetta Slowpoke
- Location
- Wherever I am, which isn't where I'm not
Yeah, I'd say that Drogo would at least be canny enough to be willing to wait a few years for Dany to come of age. He's got a prophecy on his side, after all; what does it matter if it takes a bit longer to fulfill than expected?
Ah, but prophecy is one of the things that people who believe in them will do a great deal to avoid/make true... And Drogo most likely will not face a mass desertion, considering that those who follow him, know exactly how powerful a fighter he is. But there will be challenges to his leadership since no one there will believe that his braid just got chopped before he could anything about it. pros and cons of having a bad ass rep.
That said, Varys and Illyrio's plots just got derailed abit, Roberts going to rest abit easier for abit, still he's got to be wondering what Brandon is up to, and he's also having his wife pointing out to him that maybe trusting Ned isn't the best of ideas considering that status of the north and that Brandon is a sellsail warlord and Targaryen loyalist even though he witnessed Aerys' madness first hand. But the really funny thing that nobody seems to have picked up on, even though i thought it was enough in there to tease, Myrcella and Tommen are ...
That said, Varys and Illyrio's plots just got derailed abit, Roberts going to rest abit easier for abit, still he's got to be wondering what Brandon is up to, and he's also having his wife pointing out to him that maybe trusting Ned isn't the best of ideas considering that status of the north and that Brandon is a sellsail warlord and Targaryen loyalist even though he witnessed Aerys' madness first hand. But the really funny thing that nobody seems to have picked up on, even though i thought it was enough in there to tease, Myrcella and Tommen are ...
Probably Robert's actual kids? Tyrion's bastards instead of Jamie's?TheLunarWolf said:
Okay, it's the former, and I noticed it on the first read-through, but between everything else, it feels secondary.
Robert I
Putting down the girls documentation that were indeed a binding bethrothal contract between Darra Greystark and Raynald Westerling, he looked at Ned for a moment then at the ring of frost that now covered the center of the speakers floor. He heaved himself up out of the seat and stepped down into the ring. Picking up the Galdrstave, Robert looked around the room at these northern lords and their headmen vassals each man armoured in various fashions, from ancient looking armours of layered ringmail covered in runic talismans to valyrian style lamellar or scale armour, others, merchantmen wore no armour per say but donned many rings and bore chains of braided gold and silver over lavishly embroidered woolen clothing, the farmers being easiest to pick out seeing as they wore no gold nor armour, but these were not the downtrodden smallfolk of the south, these where the karls of the north. Freeholders all and in the winters, the most feared raiders there was.The Ironborn after all would come with pillage and rape, but Ironborn raiders could be fought off, being as a rule cowardly in the face of any true resistance. The Northmen did not charge castles with ropes, they built siegeworks, and being the only place to keep a full record of the Valyrian legionnaires tactical manuals, were very good at doing so. There were legends from ages long since past and lands far far beyond the walls of the world that a lord of the seafaring raiders, the Vikings had sailed his fleet up a river and threatened the King of Frankland to burn the kings city if he did not pay the warlord with all the silver and gold in the city, apparently the fleet had left the city in flames several months later ladened fat with gold, silver and goods. Looking at the freemen of the North around him he could believe such stories.
Clenching his fist slowly around the polished grip of the stave he spoke clearly, "I, Robert Baratheon will see justice done. By the Laws of North and South." Tendrils of light swept across his forearm and the single word in runic script justice was marked upon it glowing faintly with golden light. As he tuned to give the stave to the dour Bolton, the doors were slammed open as Robb Stark marched into the room hauling by the upper arm Prince Joffrey who was bleeding from what looked like a knife wound to the forearm. They were followed by a group of Winterfells guards who were hauling the unconscious bodies of Meryn Trant and Boros Blount between them, the swords of the Kingsguards were quietly given over to Ser Barristan by the guards. Robert turned to Robb and quietly but in a voice filled with fury, asked "What is the meaning of this?" The two Kingsguards were dropped unceremoniously onto the hall floor as Robb released the Prince. Robb turned amber eyes towards the King and reached out taking the galdrstave from the King stated "I, Robb Stark, Heir to Winterfell, do so swear upon all the Gods I came upon Prince Joffrey threatening my wife Rhaenys Stark formerly Targaryen, and our unborn child. Claiming that he as a proper prince of the realm would be doing the world a favour by ending the life of a Dragonspawn and it's savage child." The stave glowed fiercely iceblue for a moment then nothing else occured.
A low mutter started in the hall, threatening violence against a woman, was unforgiveable. To threaten the life of an unborn child was worse still. Robb continued "As I was moving forward to disabuse Prince Joffrey here of his ideas, I was halted by two members of the Kingsguard. However at this point a patrol of our own guards was in sight and arrived swiftly to aid me in safeguarding my wife and child." Again there was nothing more then a flare of iceblue light. Robb then looked at Robert "I do not know where your son gets ideas that as prince he may do as he wishes, when he wishes and to whomever he wishes, but he will take this stave and he will explain himself and he will be judged here in this circle by the laws of the realm or by the gods, I will have my wifes rights protected in a trial by combat against him and him alone, when he comes of age." He looked down at Joffrey with cold amber eyes before giving the stave to Robert. Robert looked at Ned, "I can't sit in judgement against my son Ned, gods know his mother would have my head for it and since your family is involved you can't either if this will be fair" Ned looked angry but just as troubled. Until a voice spoke up near the back, "I can Judge here." looking towards the voice they saw none other then Lord Commander Brynden "Bloodraven" Rivers of the Nights Watch.
At onehundred and twentythree years of age he shouldn't even have been alive, but being a greenseer he didn't even look a day past seventy. Clad in black laquered scalemail and a fur cloak, the albino lord commander gazed out at the room with a single red eye, though it was said that he was so powerful he could use the eyes of his pet crow without any visible sign of warging. While the southern lords still reeling from a more rigid version of the Seven had believed Bloodraven to be a sorceror, the Northmen had recognised him as a Greenseer and he had been extensively trained by several priests. He stepped into circle and asked the ting for their acceptance, they quickly debated the issue and accepted that the man who had for the past seventy years led the battles against the Children of the Ice, known of old by the Children of the Forests and their human allies as "The Others".
Brynden was quickly accepted by the ting, Robert looked at Joffrey, who at this point was standing silent and still apparently not quite comprehending that Robert wasn't putting a stop to this, for a long moment and then said quietly "Whatever malice or idiocy drove you to this matters little Joffrey. Had you succeeded it would have meant war, do you understand that?"
"Not just the North, but every Lord Paramount in the realm would have rebelled and torn us all apart. You will explain yourself and you will take your punishment like a man, the two kingsguards you dragged into this will be tossed out, if not by Ser Barristan then by myself directly." With those words he gave Joffrey the stave then returned to the highseat and began to methodically drown his sorrows in beer together with Ned as the second trial against a Prince in nearly three centuries, the only other prince to have stood infront of a court and been judged had been Aerion Brightflame, a quite mad Targaryen, started...
The Sandman
So Zetta Slowpoke
- Location
- Wherever I am, which isn't where I'm not
Or a practical enough one to not start a war that he's not guaranteed to win, especially while he's standing in the home of the man he'd be declaring war on.StormBlade said:
Besides, this is Joffrey, otherwise known as Robert's life insurance policy against assassins and Guaranteed Target of the Year the moment Robert snuffs it. A legitimate excuse to have Joffrey killed would be doing Robert a huge favor.
Alien Space Bat did it, to get vikings into Westeros.HanEmpire said:
Easy, sail Westward from Europe, enter the time-space anomaly, sail left at the blue police box and voilà, you're there! Be careful not to sail right at the blue police box, that leads to Narnia and Middle-Earth.HanEmpire said:
Shippou
Kitsune Trickster
I find it funny that your opinion of Westeros is that its somewhere between Narnia/middle-earth and the home of an eldritch abomination that drives you insane.Doomsought said:
The ironborn do worship dagon so.... If not thing else we're headed in the right direction.StormBlade said: