Chapter 2.2 Friendly Houses

A few days passed, and Ser Morrent gathered a group of soldiers who met the requirements his lord had asked for. They were not too happy, but Lord Dustin himself promised them priority in obtaining housing upon their return, and everyone calmed down a bit.

Likewise, Ser Morrent had orders to act conservatively, and not lose men needlessly.

His way to Winterfell was quiet, and in fact he met more than one force on the road, which he joined with to keep moving.

"Are they not too few men?" asked the rider beside him, and Ser Morrent turned his eyes. He found a tall, bearded man, but with little hair on his head. He looked at Morrent gravely, questioning the number of his army.

"Few? We are contributing the same number of soldiers as you, Lord Tallhart" the knight replied to the Master of Torrhen's Square, and head of House Tallhart.

"I understand Ser, but few people live in our territories; even fewer thanks to... the migration that has occurred over the last year to the territories of House Dustin. For Robert's Rebellion I recall Willam Dustin arriving with more than ten times what they have mobilized so far."

"That same migration has been so sudden and unexpected, that order is needed in our territory, Lord Tallhart. Banditry has greatly increased, and mouths to feed, I fear we cannot spare more men. Besides, House Dustin, always committed to House Stark, bled heavily in Robert's Rebellion, and the conflict we face now is nothing in magnitude compared to facing the Mad King."

Helman Tallhart was silent for a few seconds, and his face became a little more serious, but after a few seconds he spoke again, again with a gruff, but kindly smile.

"You're right about that, this is a madman with delusions of grandeur; not a real threat. The Greyjoys couldn't even take down a great house in a one on one; now with everyone united against them, their rebellion will be very fleeting."

"Is it the same with Lord Stout?".

"He is an old man now, and has only daughters. Besides, he is missing an arm, lost against the Mad King's forces. I fear House Stout is no longer ready to leave for war."

"That's right," said a third voice, riding a little farther back, talking to his men, but he rode ahead to catch up.

"You didn't come with too many men either, Lord Ryswell."

"Well, I'm afraid just like my grandson, quite a few new tenants have come to our lands, everything needs to be tidied up. It's been a chaotic last few decades. Besides, Lord Tallhart, are you now Lord Stark's overseer? I'm afraid it is not your task, however capable you may be, to worry about that. We all serve House Stark with equal loyalty."

"I suppose so, I have no business with this" Tallhart added, and spoke no more for the remaining hour's ride, while Ser Morrent and Lord Rodrik Ryswell looked at each other sideways. It was clear that a division was beginning to form between one and the other Northern houses.

Time passed, and following the Kingsroad, a large number of tents could already be seen in the surrounding area, bordering both Winter Town and Winterfell. Many soldiers with different shields were treading the grass and chatting with each other.

"Looks like we split up here" Helman commented, as he, along with his soldiers, headed towards the left side of the camp, where the tents of House Umber, House Mormont, House Cerwyn, House Karstark, and the odd one or two others were located.

"I'm afraid so, but the next few days we'll still see each other, Lord Tallhart."

"That's right, Lord Ryswell. We are on the same side, after all."

"We are..."

"Ser" took his leave of Morrent as well, who nodded in agreement.

With the duo alone now, they made their way to the right of the camp.

"You point the place, Lord Ryswell" said Ser Morrent, being very respectful to his lord's grandfather. In this situation it was he who was in command after all, he was a simple knight acting on Lord Dustin's behalf.

"As we were on our way a raven came to me from Lord Bolton, it is on the right side of the camp, next to Lake House, and some more."

"I see" replied Ser Morrent, and they arrived at the camp with the flayed man's crest of red, on a pale pink background, stained with drops of red blood.

The duo made it as far as the main tent, and Ser Morrent could see a man... terrifying, emerge from it.

Roose Bolton has an ordinary body, neither plump, lean, nor muscular. He has pasty skin and a pale chest, seemingly smooth and hairless. His fingers are short and strong, and his face is plain, beardless and ordinary, his only notable feature being his strange eyes, paler than stone and darker than milk, like two white moons, with an incredible coldness.

His attire was black chainmail and a pale pink cloak with red spots, trimmed with white fur.

"Welcome, Lord Ryswell, Ser... Morrent, correct?" said Roose Bolton in a small, soft voice, forcing Ser Morrent to focus his full attention on the individual in front of him.

"Yes, it is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Bolton."

"Likewise. The letters my son has sent speak only good things of you, Ser. I thank you deeply for the guidance you are giving Domeric."

"There is nothing to thank. House Bolton and House Dustin are friendly houses, bound by blood with House Ryswell. These things are the least we can do."

"That's right," Roose sketched a small smile. "We are friendly houses."