Chapter Summary:
Benjen meets his presumed wife-to-be.
Of course, nothing in this world that is easy is truly worth doing.
It was a cold summer's day in the main Winterfell courtyard. I stood beside my lordly brother, Eddard Stark, in my newly made tunic and heavy fur coat. I had tied my hair back so as not to affect my vision.
Having long hair was certainly not something I was used to. In my life on earth, I had sported an undercut like the fellows in Peaky Blinders , something probably a little too common among young Irish adult men. Here in the North, though, hair of this length seemed to be the norm. Longer hair was a good exchange for improved eyesight and a glorious beard.
In my last life, I had glasses from the day I turned five until the day I fell through the portal to this forsaken wasteland, while my facial hair was little more than a few insignificant hairs and a shitty moustache.
I stood here to my brother's left, while Lady Catelyn was to his right, holding little Robb, while a maid held the hand of Jon Snow beside them. Just then, a line of horses burst through the opening gate.
They were a party of twenty, if I were to guess, all mounted. The man at the front of the party was Lord Ryswell, with his daughter beside him. Behind them were who I presumed to be Lord Ryswell's sons, all three of them. Following them appeared to be a man from House Dustin, along with men-at-arms and banner bearers to round out the rest of the party.
Lord Ryswell was the first to dismount and approach my brother. "Lord Stark". He proclaimed cheerfully. "I did not expect to see you so soon, after the war." He then shook Eddard's hand before turning to his party. "This is my heir, Roger," He said, introducing a tall young man who simply nodded towards us. "And my other two boys, Rickard and Roose". Rickard looked to be about fourteen, while Roose was about six, if I were to guess. I had nearly forgotten that this Lord Rodrik Ryswell thought it would be a great idea to name his youngest son after Roose fucking Bolton, of all people.
"And last but not least, this is my youngest daughter….Barbrey of House Dustin." As he spoke, the young lady, about nineteen years of age, strolled gracefully to join her father in front of the Starks.
"Lord Stark. I have not seen you since my husband rode off to war in the name of your Southern King. It has certainly been a while, my lord."
Ned bowed his head like a dog trying not to make eye contact when you confronted it for ripping up your socks. "Aye, my lady. William is in my prayers, as is your cousin Mark." Ned spoke sincerely, and I could tell he meant every word.
"I'm sure your prayers are a great comfort to him, my Lord". " She snarled.
It appeared the Barbrey Dustin I read about in the fifth book was not much different from the one before me. Maybe she was even worse, the wounds were still fresh and there were plenty of them. Like a million tiny cuts, it would be difficult to plaster each one.
"Barbrey, that is your liege lord. You will speak to him with the respect he deserves." Rodrick Ryswell hissed.
Lady Barbrey turned and glared at her father next. "And remind me, why are you here again, Lord Ryswell? This is a meeting between House Dustin and House Stark, and you are neither."
Lord Ryswell began to whisper intently. "I am here because I was invited, Lady Dustin and you are still my daughter."
"And I am also the ruling Lady of House Dustin, or have you forgotten the widow's laws of Queen Alysanne as well?" Barbrey hissed back.
I was shocked by the exchange but stayed quiet while Eddard was left to deal with the situation himself. "I am sorry for your loss, Lady Dustin. If I could bring William back, I would, he was a good man and a good friend."
"There is nothing we can do about the tragic loss of Lord William. You are not to blame for any of those we lost, only the Mad King and his rapist son are." Lord Ryswell interjected before Barbrey could lowkey insult her liege lord even further. "You must excuse my daughter, it appears she has forgotten that it was not just her husband who lost his life in that dreadful war, but you, of course, Lord Stark, lost both your father and your brother." He bowed his head in respect.
"There is nothing to excuse, Lord Ryswell, but I think we should move on," Ned said dismissively. It was clear to me that he was rather uncomfortable due to the mention of Brandon and his father, as well as the eyes of the onlookers who were witnessing and hearing some of the tense moments.
"Lord Ryswell, Lady Dustin, may I present my wife, Catelyn Stark, and my heir, Robb Stark," Ned said, trying to sound positive.
Barbrey's glare became even more poisonous as she took in Catelyn. It struck me all of a sudden that, even though Barbrey had married Willam and Catelyn married Ned, before all that, Barbrey had been in love with Brandon Stark. Brandon, who had left Barbrey to go marry Catelyn Tully after the last Lord Stark had determined that the House Ryswell wasn't important enough for his ambitions.
Catelyn, for her part, was as courteous as ever, though I'm not sure it was public knowledge that Brandon and Barbrey were sleeping together.
"Lord Ryswell, Lady Dustin, I am glad to finally meet you both." She said.
"The pleasure is mine, Lady Stark, I am happy to also make the acquaintance of the future Lord of Winterfell, Lord Ryswell said, while slightly touching the cheek of the baby Robb with his finger."
To the far side of them, little Jon was beginning to fuss for the maid, due to standing around for so long. This seemed to draw the attention of the castle's visitors.
"And who may this little lad be?" The Lord cooed as Jon's little face pouted up at him.
"This is my natural-born son, Jon," Ned replied.
"So the rumours were true, Lord Stark," Barbrey remarked, her tone suggesting she was intrigued, but that probably meant she was celebrating that she had more to mock Eddard Stark for.
"A rumour would suggest there was some sort of secret, my lady, the existence of my son was never a secret. From the moment I arrived, I brought him with me. Winterfell does not keep its sons as secrets. Best you remember that." The Lord of Winterfell shot back.
Barbrey, for once, decided it best not to retort with another jab. Instead, she looked directly at me. "And you must be Benjen". Well, it was nice to know she knew my name. That was more than most women back on earth. For some reason, they weren't the biggest fans of my lack of eye contact and confidence.
"Aye, that I am, Lady Barbrey, I am very glad to meet both you and Lord Ryswell, and I welcome you as well as your whole party to Winterfell," I said, trying my best not to sound awkward.
My presumed wife-to-be looked at me suspiciously before nodding slightly. Her father then took the reins of the conversation. "Lord Benjen, well met! I have heard much about you. A certain Lord Umber told me all about this Northern ale you discovered. I was hoping to try some myself.
GreatJon Umber and his uncles had visited Winterfell only a couple of weeks ago and were presented with a dozen cans of Guinness. Jon Umber was so impressed by the taste that he was willing to agree to help out with building new castles near the Wall in whatever way he could. "By the Old Gods, Ned, I have never tasted something so rich in flavour in my life," he had hiccupped before falling over after his fourth round. The table had been broken by the impact, but one of Ned's key bannermen was happy, and that was what was important.
"Of course, Lord Ryswell, the ale will be served at dinner later tonight. I am honoured to hear that Lord Umber is praising his time here so much," I replied courteously.
"We can do more than that, Benjen," Ned interjected. "I will have a servant pour some for us all, as we discuss the marriage proposal. Please follow me to my solar."
We all sat in Ned's chambers as a multitude of chairs had been brought in to accommodate everyone.
Ned sat at his desk, with me to his right and Maester Luwin to his left. While Lord Ryswell and Lady Barbrey sat at the other side.
The Maester began to speak. "Lord Ryswell, Lady Barbrey. On behalf of Lord Stark and Lord Benjen, I have put together what we believe to be fair terms of engagement for a marriage pact between Lady Barbrey and the young soon-to-be lord, Benjen Stark of Winterfell."
Lord Ryswell took hold of the papers, spent the next few minutes scanning through them, and then passed them to his daughter.
"The terms are as follows." Barbrey Dustin began to read out.
Upon marriage, Lady Barbrey Dustin is to take the Stark name and will live within Winterfell until her Lord Husband's seat is rebuilt. Once Sea Dragon Point is rebuilt, Benjen Stark is to hold it, as its lord with his lady wife by his side, the castle shall remain within the Stark name for this time and all the time to come.
It is the wish of the Lord of Winterfell that Lord Benjen Stark is to foster Eddard Stark's natural-born son, Jon Snow, once he is eight years of age, until such time when he can be named lord of his own holdfast.
Since Lady Dustin will be remarrying, the widow's laws no longer apply, and the lands of House Dustin will be given to the closest male relative.
As compensation for this loss, House Ryswell will not be required to pay a dowry.
The marriage will take place once Benjen Stark has his eighteenth nameday.
There was a cold silence as Barbrey finally stopped reading the terms out loud. Her face was hard to read, but it seemed she was not the happiest about the situation. I couldn't say I was either. While I did not mind Barbrey herself, I felt the terms were not going to be taken well, for a lady with a hatred of House Stark that ran just as deep as it did the day William Dustin died in Dorne. Eddard Stark would have to give a lot more than he bargained for.
"Do I have the right of this, Lord Stark?" Barbrey spat. And here we go. I muttered to myself. "You wish for me to give up the lands and titles that I am entitled to by the laws of Westeros, just to be a way to make sure your precious wife doesn't have to worry about your bastard boy roaming around the castle?"
I looked at Ned to see that he was close to exploding, which was certainly not a good sign. "That bastard you talk so lowly about, my lady, is to be a lord once he is of age and is my blood, you should remember that." He replied coolly.
"All I remember, Lord Stark, is that you came back from the war with that babe in your hand, but never thought it prudent to return your fallen allies. My Willam should have been buried with his ancestors, not left to rot in the sands of Dorne."
"Barbrey, you are not to speak to the Warden of the North like that." Lord Ryswell finally decided to interject, it couldn't have been more mistimed.
"I am giving the Lord of Winterfell the benefit of hearing the harsh truth within the comforts of his chambers, surrounded by his family and his Maester." Her tone was almost poisonous. "He did not think to give me the same respect when he delivered his letter of summons into your hands instead of mine, father."
She then picked up her skirts and strode imperiously out the door, followed by one of her House Dustin guards.
"Well, that went better than I expected," I said aloud.
In front of us, Lord Ryswell did not seem to agree, as he shook his head in despair. "Lord Stark, Lord Benjen, please forgive my daughter. She is still grieving over the loss of her husband, but it is no excuse for how she spoke to her liege lord, I will make her apologise and I will sign the terms on her behalf." The Lord said, sorrowfully.
"There is no need, Lord Ryswell. The widow's laws and her age would give you no legal right to do that, but also if Lady Dustin does not consent, then I do not wish to marry her." I assured him.
The lord seemed shocked by that notion, judging by his silence, but then he piped up again.
"May I speak freely, Lord Stark?" he asked my brother.
"Aye, Lord Ryswell, of course, you may," Ned responded, eyes narrowed.
"While I do not condone how my daughter spoke during this meeting, I can offer some sort of information to consider. It is not just Lord Dustin that she grieves for, she still remembers how Brandon Stark treated her and it was not fairly, I am afraid." He then paused and sighed. "If you change your mind and command me, then I will talk to her again and try my best to convince her of the ripe opportunity of this arrangement, but until then, I must make time for myself before the feast later tonight."
He then rose from his chair and left the room, leaving me and my brother to come to terms with what just happened.
"What do you make of all that, Ned?" I asked him, as the Lord of Winterfell slumped down into his chair.
"I do not make anything of it and won't until I have a drink, order a steward to bring me one of your ales, please brother." He sounded as if all the energy had been knocked out of him, and no Guinness was going to fix that.
"I think maybe we should discuss how we go forward, should this plan fail," I said, trying to steer the topic away from Irish alcohol.
Ned shrugged but ultimately pushed himself forward in an attempt to think. "Marrying you to Lady Barbrey was always going to be difficult, I did not foresee it being this hard though. Besides the Mormonts, I do not think there are any women of our age, Benjen. Mayhaps we should look south. I could write to Jon Arryn to get him to arrange a match for you with the daughter of one of his bannermen, or one of the ladies of the Stormlands or Reach. That would benefit us more in the form of grain shipments."
I shook my head. "We need a Northern bride, Ned, or the lords will start whispering. You know how they get."
I was no fan of the ethno-supremacist bullshit but even I had to admit that keeping your bannermen happy would be the right move here and House Ryswell was the best option. Ned didn't know this, and I couldn't tell him, but if nothing changed in the next fifteen years, the alliance of Ryswell, Dustin, and Bolton would have the North by its balls. Both houses fell in line despite losing men at the Red Wedding, all thanks to Roose at one stage being married to Lord Ryswell's daughter.
Ned had explained to me that he did not trust Roose Bolton, and apparently, neither did "our" father. There had always been rumours of Roose enacting the right of the first night upon his lands, and House Bolton was, of course, the historical enemy of House Stark. Ned did not need to know that his suspicions of Roose were correct tenfold, no one did.
"Very well, you have my permission to change the terms of the agreement, if needs be, as long as those terms are within my power to grant."
The question now was, how was I to woo my bride-to-be?
The night proceeded with little drama from our visitors. We feasted in the Grand Hall. Ned and Lord Ryswell drank til they were merry, and the eldest Ryswell boy even had his first taste of Guinness.
Of course, it wasn't actually called Guinness here, Ned and I decided to just call it "Northern ale" to save trying to explain where the term came from— and possibly being thought insane in the bargain. Maybe a better name would make itself known eventually.
"And tell us, Lord Benjen, how did you come up with such a fantastic creation?" Lord Ryswell asked, amazed by the taste, somehow.
"What can I say, my lord, the Gods sent it to me themselves," I said, purposefully keeping my answer vague, but since religion was mentioned, that would be enough to suit those of this time period.
I received a hearty laugh in response from the lord. Barbrey seemed to take more interest in my answer than I thought she would, and while she remained silent, I knew from the look on her face that she had been listening.
As time went on, the field of feasters began to thin out. The youngest Ryswell boys went off to bed first, followed by Lady Cat, who excused herself to go check on Robb. Within an hour, it was just me, the two lords, and to my surprise, Lady Dustin.
"So you say this ale was a gift from the Gods, is that correct?" she suddenly asked. It was the first time she ever addressed me directly, while almost alone. I was so overwhelmed about what I was going to say that I nearly started to stammer.
"Yes, my lady, that is what I said," I said as I forced myself to form a small smile, to hide the fact that I was nearly embarrassed to even be speaking to a woman again. It was truly like I was sixteen for the second time.
"And where was it that the ale came from?" she asked.
"My lady?"
"You said the gods sent you the ale. I was wondering where exactly?" She looked at me with her head tilted, waiting patiently for an answer.
"In the Godswood, Lady Dustin, I found the ale in the Godwood." I managed to finally find the words.
"How strange." She said with a raised brow. "Can you show me?"
And so we walked through the summer snows, into the Winterfell Godswood. At first, the House Dustin guards had followed us but Barbrey shooed them away, as she hung onto my arm. "I will be fine, good men, we won't be long, I am sure." She said as a way of getting them to leave her be.
I took her to the weirwood tree and motioned for her to sit.
"Touch the snow on your right, you will find a sort of box, reach inside and take out what's there."
She hesitated for a moment and looked at me as if I had grown a second head or declared that Waterford had won the All-Ireland, but she cautiously did what was asked of her and took out the crate of Guinness from the snow.
She did not pick it up with her hands but instead stood it up and, after a moment of further caution, reached inside to find the can of Guinness.
"What in the name of the Old Gods is this!" she exclaimed.
"Careful," I said. "Don't shake it too much! And to answer your question, it is the northern ale that we have been drinking this entire time." I added nonchalantly.
"Yes, I gathered that." She snapped. "What I meant was, what sort of…object is it trapped in?" She then shook it further, causing me to cringe.
"The Maester believes it is a type of tin," I replied matter-of-factly. "We do not know how the ale managed to get in there, we just know it is in there now."
She scoffed. "Surely a man of House Stark wouldn't lie to a Lady he was trying to woo?" She said, playfully.
I faked a sigh. "If I told you the truth, you would not believe me."
"Have you chosen words for your new branch of House Stark, Lord Benjen? For example, your new words could be, 'If the truth is difficult, just lie.' At least then something about your family would be honest." She seemed to find humour in how in whatever sort of facial expression I was pulling after hearing her rather harsh retort.
This conversation wasn't exactly going to plan. Well, to be honest, I did not know exactly what I was going to say to her. I thought my Irish charm, combined with the creamy taste of Guinness, would be enough.
But I had to think of something and quickly, this was a person from the medieval era of sorts, how hard could it be?
"Fine, I will tell you the whole truth, but only if you agree to not tell anyone else, this is a House Stark secret and it cannot leave the Godwood, do you understand?" I pleaded.
"Yes." She said while crossing her arms, "Now tell me."
Just then, an idea popped into my head. "Fin,e but only if you swear upon the heart tree," I smirked.
To my utter surprise, she did without any hesitation.
"Very well." I sighed. My lie had to be good and believable.
"This Northern ale, it really was a gift from the Gods, just not in the way we tell those who ask."
Barbrey raised her eyebrow but did not reply.
"It did not fall from the sky, that part was a lie. Instead, I found it here, the day Ned returned from the war. The truth is, we do not know where it came from, nor do we care, as that is not the strangest part about it. My lady, this northern ale that is within this crate, simply does not run out."
Before she could protest. I grabbed the crate and turned it upside down, a handful of cans fell out onto the snow. I then turned the crate towards her. "See? There is nothing in there, yet if I were to reach for a can, it would appear."
"So, it is…some sort of magic?" She said.
"Yes," I said, joyfully, "that is it exactly, my lady. As you see, when Ned and I found the crate, we spied some sort of creature watching us from behind the tree, and we heard whispers as well. I am not sure what it said exactly, and when I chased after the creature, it managed to get away…."
"And all it left was this magically ale, so aye, it really was a gift from the Gods, through what I could only presume to be a Child of the Forest."
Well, that was my tale spun. It essentially came down to "a leprechaun gave me a pack of magically self-reproducing beer." It was still a lie, but a little more believable than the actual truth….I hoped.
Maybe I would have been better off shouting out "They're after me lucky grandfather's Guinness" before running off into the snow, only to die from embarrassment.
I waited and waited for Barbrey to answer me, but instead, she just stared at the can of Guinness, examining it, as if it was some sort of UFO, which in fairness, it kind of was.
"Very well." She finally proclaimed. Only two words after all that. I felt somewhat disappointed.
"Is there anything else you wish to say, my lady?" I asked, in nervous preparation for the worst.
"No, I do not believe so, my lord, now if you excuse me, I must find my father." She rose from her seat and made her way out of the peaceful surroundings, but not before handing me the can of Guinness.
"But one more thing," she said suddenly. "You can tell your brother that I will agree to marry you, but I have conditions." She paused, waiting for my answer.
"Very well." I nodded, "What are they?"
"I am a ruling lady and I want to be treated as such. You will treat me with the respect I deserve, as your wife. I will not deal with another Stark playing me for a fool." She spat out the last part.
"Aye," I said. I mean, this was beneficial to my modern-day morals, and it made sense she would not want to be fucked around with, like what happened with Brandon.
"Next, I want links to both House Dustin and House Ryswell. I want to know that even if I am not the ruling lady, the next Lord of Barrowton will always be welcome within my... I mean our halls, as I will expect to be welcome in theirs. I wish for any children we may have to keep this link going for generations to come, they should have the chance to know their grandfather, Lord Ryswell and become fast friends with any children of House Dustin around their age."
"That is acceptable, my lady. I would not stop any children we may have from getting to know their grandfather and mayhaps they could foster in Barrowton." I said.
She only rolled her eyes and then continued. "I want to foster my nephew, once Sea Dragon Point is built and he is of age. If we are to be stuck with your natural-born nephew, then I want my true-born nephew with me for a period of time."
"Done," I said, almost too excitedly. To think I had almost forgotten that she had a relationship with Roose fucking Bolton.
"That will be all, Lord Benjen, now, if you excuse me, I need my rest." She said, and for a second, I thought I noticed a small smile across her face.
"Of course, my lady, I am sure both my brother and your father will be delighted with this news." That seemed to turn her small smile back to a frown.
Just as I was about to turn back to the tree stump again, she called me one last time.
"Lord Benjen, there is one last thing I ask of you."
"Yes, Lady Barbrey?"
"Once we are married and once we fully trust each other. I want the full truth about how you managed to find this magic northern ale, not the horseshit about the Children of the Forest bringing it to you. Do we have an agreement?"
I thought it best not to answer, instead, I just nodded and smiled slightly.
Maybe a medieval marriage would not be as straightforward as I thought, but that would only make it more interesting.
A/N- I am sorry for disappearing. I already have these chapters written and on AO3, it's just personal life happens/is still happening, so I am trying my best to juggle that, a fanfic award competition and my job as well.
I didn't know if I wanted to bother continuing here, but fuck it, I started it, so I'm not going to abandon things.
Next time on the adventures of some Irishman in Westeros, Benjen goes to the Wall to haggle terms with the Lord Commander.
Also, I forgot to "translate" the irish-isms, so here they are:
Translation of Irish culture words/terms used in this chapter:
Lack is a word for girlfriend. When I was in a relationship in school, I would have been asked "how's the lack", could be used for mocking purposes too. "How is that your lack?" . Not sure if it can be used to refer to a boyfriend or not.
Waterford winning the All-Ireland? well, Waterford is a place, Ireland is divided into 32 counties and Waterford is one of those, Dublin is another, Cork another and so on. Not every county has a city but Waterford, Cork and Dublin are some that do.
The All-Ireland can refer to the final of the GAA championships. GAA usually refers to two sports: Hurling and Gaelic Football. Now depending on where you are, your county will be known for doing well in one or the other or on a very rare occasion, both.
Waterford is better known for the hurling but with that being said, we have choked the last while. Hence the joke. An equivalent for the Gaelic football would be Mayo winning.
