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Lady Barbrey Dustin had been all smiles, but at the mention of the Sword of the Morning, her smile vanished like summer snow.
“Why mention the Sword of the Morning? What is this, Lord Eddard? Must you salt my wounds?”
Her voice rose.
The Greatjon Umber, Lord Rodrik Ryswell, Lord Cerwyn, Lord Wyman Manderly, and others who had been talking at the far end of the hall immediately came closer.
Ned felt helpless.
“Lady Barbrey, I only used the Sword of the Morning as an example.”
In truth, Ned had also mentioned the Kingslayer Jaime, Barristan the Bold, and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, all famous champions of tourneys.
Somehow Barbrey had seized only upon the name of Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.
At the Tower of Joy, the legendary Sword of the Morning had fallen.
That battle, sung of by countless singers, had also claimed Barbrey’s husband, the former Lord Willam Dustin of Barrowton.
Ned had not expected the name of the Sword of the Morning to tear open Barbrey’s old wound after so many years.
“Arthur Dayne killed my husband,” Barbrey accused.
Ned was one of only two survivors of the fight at the Tower of Joy, and he knew what had happened there.
Arthur Dayne had slain three of Ned’s companions by himself, but Willam Dustin had not been one of them.
Ned remembered Willam Dustin falling to Oswell Whent.
Barbrey seemed convinced Arthur had killed her husband.
Was it only because the Sword of the Morning’s name was so famous?
Prince Rhaegar had hidden Ned’s sister Lyanna in Dorne at the Tower of Joy, guarded by three legendary Kingsguard: the White Bull, Ser Gerold Hightower; the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne; and Ser Oswell Whent.
To rescue his sister, Ned had ridden with Lord Willam Dustin, Ethan Glover of Deepwood Motte, Ser Mark Ryswell of the Rills, Theo Wull of the mountain clans, Martyn Cassel, and the crannogman Howland Reed.
They fought the three Kingsguard.
Only Ned and Howland survived.
All the others died.
The Greatjon Umber, Lord Cerwyn, Ser Helman Tallhart, Lord Wyman Manderly, and the others watched from the side.
Barbrey’s father, Lord Ryswell, looked deeply troubled.
The widow of Barrowton remembered the brief honeymoon she had shared with Willam Dustin, and grief swallowed her at once.
“Lord Eddard, my husband died to save your sister. Yet you left him and the other brave men to sleep in the soil of Dorne. Was that truly right?”
Ned answered with patience.
“After the battle, Howland Reed and I tried to find the Silent Sisters and bring your husband and the other men home. But there were bones everywhere in those days. War had scattered the dead across the land, and the Silent Sisters could not be found. I had no power to do more. I buried my men beneath stones.”
Ned had brought Lady Barbrey her husband’s red stallion.
He had not brought back the body.
Lady Barbrey gave a cold laugh.
“Lord Eddard had no power to do more, yet you brought Lyanna’s bones home.”
Ned touched his chest.
“Willam Dustin and the other brave men who died for Winterfell live forever in my heart.”
Grief flickered in Barbrey’s eyes.
“Lord Eddard, I am grateful for your words. But I cannot understand why you left the bones of the brave men in your heart in a strange land in Dorne. My husband was born in the Barrowlands. He grew up under the gaze of the First King. The people of the Barrowlands value a proper burial above almost all else.”
“I sent men south to Dorne at once, searching for my husband’s grave. They found nothing. Your brave men simply vanished in a foreign land, beneath the eyes of foreign gods. Lord Eddard, if your brother Brandon had led that party, he would never have abandoned fallen companions as you did.” Visit novelping(.)com for the full chapter.
“Enough!” Lord Ryswell rushed forward and seized his daughter’s wrist.
“Have you lost your senses? How dare you trouble Lord Eddard with old grief?”
Barbrey forced out a smile.
“I only wished to invite Lord Eddard to see Domeric’s performance in the yard. Lord Eddard mentioned the Sword of the Morning, so I said a few extra words. That is all.”
Lady Barbrey looked at Ned with a sincerity that was almost theatrical.
“Lord Eddard, you must see Domeric’s riding and swordplay. He rides like your brother Brandon. Domeric has always been my pride.”
The others watched Barbrey turn and leave.
Lord Ryswell looked apologetic.
“Lord Eddard, I beg your forgiveness. Since her husband died, Barbrey has been drowning in grief. She lives in halls beneath the tombs of the First King. Some say the First King slowly draws the life out of the living and leaves them corpse-cold. When I look at Barbrey, I nearly believe the curse.”
The Greatjon Umber said in his rough voice, “A woman stays widowed for years, and this is what comes of it. Barbrey should find a man and let him love her hard in bed. Love would do her good. At her age, if she does not bear children soon, she may never have the chance.”
Barrowton was the third-largest population center in the North, behind only White Harbor and Winter Town.
As the widow of Barrowton, Barbrey’s dowry was immense.
Whoever married her could rule the Barrowlands at her side, so after she lost her husband, suitors came in droves.
Among them had been the Greatjon’s uncles, Hother “Whoresbane” Umber and Mors “Crowfood” Umber; Walder Frey of the Twins; Master Galbart Glover of Deepwood Motte; Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor; and many nobles from the Reach and the stormlands.
All of them had been given a cold reception in Barrowton.
Over time, men stopped asking.
Lady Barbrey was close to Catelyn’s age.
Catelyn had now borne her fifth child and seemed fertile and blessed, while Barbrey had no children at all.
Ned suddenly realized Barbrey had made Domeric into the son she did not have.
She wanted to prove her child was no worse than Winterfell’s children, and that was why she had tried so hard to bring Ned to the yard.
When Ned appeared at the edge of the training yard with the Greatjon, Lord Wyman, Ser Helman Tallhart, Lord Cerwyn, and others, Lady Barbrey’s face immediately bloomed with a smile.
Roose Bolton looked grave.
He whispered a few words to Barbrey, and she laughed aloud.
Robb and Domeric Bolton had already put on sparring leathers and taken up blunted swords.
They stood in the center of the yard.
This was no formal tourney, but a contest between the heir to Winterfell and the heir to the Dreadfort still drew a crowd of nobles, squires, and servants.
The yard filled with onlookers.
Sansa, Arya, Jeyne Poole, and the others pressed in among them.
Domeric Bolton was several years older than Robb.
Though Robb often defeated opponents older than himself, he had no chance against Domeric.
Before long, his sword was knocked from his hand.
“Children playing at battle,” the Greatjon remarked easily.
Jon Snow came next.
He did slightly better than Robb, but Domeric still defeated him without difficulty.
Ned’s foster son, Theon, was close to Domeric’s age.
Winterfell’s master-at-arms, servants, and guards all hoped Theon would win, and before the match began, Theon wore a confident smile.
But Domeric soon caught an opening.
His blunted sword struck Theon’s wrist, and Theon was disarmed.
Seeing his three pupils defeated by the heir to the Dreadfort, Ser Rodrik Cassel tugged helplessly at his snow-white whiskers and complained to Robb, Theon, and Jon.
“You may lose before the nobles of the North, but you should not lose so badly.”
The words plainly angered Winterfell’s master-at-arms.
He waved to Harwin.
“Harwin, you go.”
Harwin, son of Hullen, Winterfell’s master of horse, was one of Winterfell’s guards and a capable fighter.
Even so, he lasted only a little longer than Robb against Domeric.
Only then did people realize Domeric had deliberately held back when facing Robb and Jon Snow.
The morning’s sword matches ended in Winterfell’s utter defeat.
The afternoon would be mounted lance work.
At lunch, Ser Rodrik Cassel kept complaining that Theon, Robb, and Jon had performed poorly, and Harwin worst of all had embarrassed him.
“I may put Jory Cassel into the afternoon joust,” the old master-at-arms muttered.
“I must win at least once.”
Jory Cassel was captain of Winterfell’s guards.
He had fought in the Greyjoy rebellion and was an excellent rider.
Smalljon Umber, Ser Helman Tallhart, and a group of knights from White Harbor were also shouting that they wanted to challenge Domeric.
Lady Barbrey brought out a red stallion.
Domeric changed into armor, crimson in the colors of the Dreadfort.
His helm was shaped with the horsehead crest of House Ryswell, while his shield bore the rusted crown of his aunt’s House Dustin.
Winterfell’s master-at-arms longed for revenge, but the lance work became Domeric’s personal display.
He rode as if he and the horse were one, unseating Winterfell guards Alyn and Heward one after another.
Smalljon Umber, Ser Helman Tallhart, and Robett Glover also fell before him.
Each time Domeric won, Lady Barbrey gave a wild, wolfish laugh, while Sansa and the serving girls burst into cheers.
Roose Bolton’s expression grew heavier and heavier, his brow drawn tight.
Hullen, the master of horse, said, “The boy rides too well. Horse and rider move as one. The last time I saw horsemanship like that was with Lady Lyanna.”
In the end, Jory Cassel entered the lists himself and defeated Domeric.
By then, however, Domeric was visibly exhausted after so many rounds, and many muttered that Jory’s victory proved little.
Lady Barbrey brought Domeric before Ned and boasted in front of the assembled nobles.
“Lord Eddard, is Domeric not better than your children? Whether your heir, your bastard, or your foster son, none of the young nobles from across the North can match him.”
Ned smiled.
“Indeed. Domeric is exceptional. He is skilled in music, learned in history, and so talented at arms. Lady Barbrey, you have worked hard to raise such an outstanding young man for the North. I have decided to take Domeric as my foster son.”
Lady Barbrey stared.
“What?”
Beside her, Roose Bolton cursed under his breath and walked away.
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