Capítulo 4: White Harbor
"We've almost made it White Harbor. You should be able to see it once we're clear of these woods." Ser Donnel Locke said.
"It'll be good to have a nice mug of ale," Torrhen replied, cocking his head towards Ser Donnel Locke, the man leading the dozen guards accompanying him on the journey.
Donnel was a tall man, with a sturdy build that hinted at years spent training in the rough terrains of the north. He had an ash-blonde beard, cropped close to his face, and intense green eyes, and cladded in chainmail with the sigil of his house - three black water lilies on pale violet. - prominently displayed on the surcoat.
They had departed from Winterfell roughly a week before and he often thought back to the moment he left his brothers in the courtyard. Both of his little brothers had been saddened to see him go, with Rickon clutching at his leg, begging him to stay, while Bran had to hide his tears in Hodor's arm.
Robb had remained stoic during his departure, maintaining a serious front in the presence of the few servants and nobles who watched. Torrhen knew his brother's true feelings, however. He knew Robb would not have seen him gone if it wasn't paramount to keep relationships with the northern houses strong.
As they rode on, the dense forest began to thin out, revealing glimpses of the distant sea. The road widened, and the air grew saltier with every mile.
Ser Donnel Locke rode ahead, his posture straight and eyes sharp, while Torrhen followed, surrounded by the remaining guards. The sound of hooves clattering against the cobblestones signalled their approach to White Harbor, the largest city in the North.
White Harbor's white stone walls gleamed under the afternoon sun, a stark contrast to the grey skies that often blanketed the North. Ships of various sizes dotted the harbour, their sails billowing in the breeze.
The smell of fish and brine filled the air, mingling with the scents of fresh bread and roasting meat from the market stalls lining the streets.
"Welcome to White Harbor, my lord," Ser Donnel said, as they passed through the gate, greeted by the city guards who recognized the Stark banner. "It's always a sight to behold."
They made their way to New Castle, the seat of House Manderly, situated on a hill overlooking the harbour. As they climbed the incline, the sounds of the bustling port faded, replaced by the quieter, more refined atmosphere of the castle grounds.
The path was lined with well-maintained gardens and marble fountains adorned the grounds
New Castle itself was an imposing structure, its white stone walls rising high above the surrounding buildings. The castle's towers were capped with blue slate roofs, and banners bearing the sigil of House Manderly—a merman holding a trident—fluttered in the breeze. The guards at the gate, dressed in the Manderly colours of blue and white wielding their tridents, stood at attention as Torrhen and his entourage approached.
Torrhen scrunched his nose up at sight of the seven-pointed star of the faith, reminding him that while White Harbour was in the north, it was influenced by the southern gods.
The Manderlys originally hailed from the Reach but were exiled by House Gardener a thousand years ago. During their exile, House Stark, who then ruled as the Kings of Winter, welcomed the Manderlys into the North, giving them dominion over the Wolf's den, and allowed them to keep their faith.
As they dismounted, a steward came forward to greet them. "Welcome, my lord. Lord Wyman Manderly awaits you in the Great Hall."
Torrhen handed his reins to a stableboy and followed the steward into the castle, Ser Donnel and the guards trailing behind. The interior of New Castle was as impressive as its exterior, with high ceilings, intricate tapestries, and polished marble floors.
The air was cool and carried a faint scent of lavender, likely from the dried sprigs placed in decorative vases around the hall.
The Great Hall was a grand space, with long tables set for a feast and a large hearth at one end. Lord Wyman Manderly, a large man with a kind face and a commanding presence, rose from his seat as Torrhen entered. Beside him stood his son, Ser Wylis Manderly, and a few other members of his household.
"Welcome, Torrhen Stark," Lord Wyman said "It is an honour to have you here in White Harbor."
"The honour is mine, Lord Manderly," Torrhen replied, a fake smile upon his lips "I am sorry neither my father nor my brother could attend."
"Apologies accept, Torrhen. Please, sit and join us," Lord Wyman said, gesturing to the table. "You were just in time for the feast, and I would like to hear of your journey."
As they took their seats, the servants began to bring out platters of food—roasted meats, fresh fish, hearty stews, and an array of breads and cheeses. A serving wench immediately placed a cup in front of him and filled it with wine from her flask, and he drank it quickly without spilling a drop.
"The journey was pleasant enough, my lord," Torrhen said. "Your lands are truly beautiful. I am ashamed to admit I have not been this far south of Winterfell."
"I'm pleased to hear it," Lord Wyman replied with a smile "I must ask, do you intend on competing in the tourney tomorrow?"
"I will not, my lord" Torrhen answered, his father once told him that tournaments were frivolous, pointless mock fighting when he asked if he competed himself. "You won't see me on the back of a horse charging at some poor knight with a lance."
"There is more to tournaments than jousting, my dear boy." Wyman bellowed, his laughter echoing throughout the hall "We shall be having a melee taking place as well, you must participate, we have longed to see a Stark in the heat of battle, it has been so many years, not since your father himself stormed Pyke during the Greyjoy rebellion."
"I suppose it would be foolish of me not to atleast give it some consideration." Torrhen replied "I shall let you know what I decide tomorrow."
Torrhen's gaze wandered to the large windows that overlooked the harbour, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the water. He was never one for formal occasions, they made him feel confined and out of place, and the nobles dressed more elegantly than Winterfell, with the familiar furs swapped for foreign silks.
Before he could get too lost in the view, a soft voice drew his attention. "Lord Torrhen, it is a pleasure to finally meet you."
He turned to watch as a woman sat beside him. She looked a few years older, and had striking green eyes and auburn hair that fell in loose waves over her shoulders and a slender build that made her grandfather only look larger. Her presence was graceful and she wore a warm smile that immediately put Torrhen at ease.
"This is my eldest grand-daughter, Wynafryd," Lord Wyman introduced "She has been eagerly awaiting your arrival."
"The pleasure is mine, Lady Wynafryd," Torrhen said, rising slightly from his seat to greet her.
"Thank you, Lord Torrhen." Wynafryd inclined her head gracefully.
The conversation flowed easily, and Torrhen found himself genuinely enjoying her company. Wynafryd was well-spoken and knowledgeable about the affairs of the North, and her questions about Winterfell and his family were thoughtful and sincere.
"I have always admired Winterfell," Wynafryd said as she sipped her wine. "The tales of its history and grandeur are inspiring. What is it like living there?"
"I can't speak of its grandeur." Torrhen smiled "But.. the great hall has always been filled with laughter and stories, and it is the place that has always kept me grounded and strong. I wish I could speak more about it, but its beauty is something beyond words. To me, it's simply home."
"Well I look forward to visiting one day. If it is anything like what is depicted in the tales, then it will be truly breathtaking." Wynafryd smiled.
When dessert was served—a rich berry tart with clotted cream—Torrhen and Wynafryd continued to share stories and laugh together. The warmth of the evening seemed to wrap around them, making the grand hall feel both intimate and welcoming.
He noticed the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke passionately about something, and he found himself captivated by her every word.
As they enjoyed the dessert, Torrhen asked, "I recall you had a sister, Lady Wynafryd."
"Yes, I do," she replied, a fond smile gracing her lips. "I have a younger sister, Wylla. She's spirited and full of life, always finding ways to make everyone around her smile."
Torrhen's smile widened. "She sounds wonderful."
Wynafryd leaned in, her interest piqued. "Tell me about your siblings. What are they like?"
"Robb, my older brother, is the responsible one.. Sansa is our lady, always dreaming of marrying a prince. Arya is the wild one, and is always getting into trouble. Bran is endlessly curious, and Rickon, the youngest, is full of energy," he said, though his expression soon turned sombre. "Then there is Jon. He thinks of himself as unwanted, but he was my rock, always there when I needed him."
Wynafryd smiled warmly. "Your family sounds wonderful. It's clear you care deeply for them. I remember seeing Arya a couple of years back when your father came to visit, she was a wild one to be sure." she giggled.
"Family is everything to me." Torrhen replied.
Wynafryd's smile softened. "It sounds like you have a close-knit family. Jon is your half-brother, isn't he?"
Torrhen nodded. "Yes, Jon Snow. He's my father's bastard, but to me, he's as much a brother as Robb. He's brave and loyal, even if he doesn't see his own worth."
"It sounds like we both come from places that have deeply influenced who we are," Wynafryd said thoughtfully.
"Indeed." Torrhen agreed.
As they finished their dessert, Wynafryd looked at Torrhen with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Tell me, Lord Torrhen, have you ever competed in a tourney before?"
"I've never even watched one before, my father has never been one for tourneys, and you won't find many in the north apart from here, apart from a melee. At the very least, we do not hold them at Winterfell." he chuckled.
"Do you plan to compete tomorrow?" Wynafryd asked, her excitement evident.
Torrhen threw his gaze back towards her father, Lord Wyman, who appeared to be in conversation with a group of his closest confidants, and then looked back to her.
"I will compete in the melee." Torrhen decided, nodding his head.
"I shall be cheering for you," Wynafryd said with a smile. "I'm sure you will make House Stark proud."
"Your support means a great deal, Lady Wynafryd," Torrhen said, feeling a warmth spread through him in her words.
As the feast continued, Wynafryd asked, "What do you enjoy doing in your free time, Lord Torrhen? When you're not busy with your duties, of course."
Torrhen thought for a moment. "I enjoy riding and exploring the forests around Winterfell. I find that nature can be very calming to my mind. I also enjoy reading and learning about the history of our land."
Wynafryd's eyes sparkled with interest. "I love riding as well. There's a freedom to it, a sense of adventure. And history has always fascinated me. There's so much to learn from the past."
Torrhen nodded in agreement. "Indeed. It's important to understand where we come from, to appreciate the sacrifices and achievements of those who came before us."
The feast continued late into the night, with music and dancing filling the grand hall. Torrhen and Wynafryd remained at the table, engrossed in their conversation. He realised that he didn't want this evening to end, that he wanted to spend more time with her, to get to know her better.
When the final course was cleared and the guests began to disperse, Lord Wyman approached Torrhen and Wynafryd. "I trust you both enjoyed the evening?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look.
"Very much so, Lord Wyman, your daughter has convinced me to partake in the melee." Torrhen replied, glancing at Wynafryd with a smile. "Your hospitality has been exceptional."
"I'm glad to hear it," Lord Wyman said. "Wynafryd, would you be so kind as to show Lord Torrhen to his chambers? I'm sure he's tired from his long journey."
"Of course, Father," Wynafryd replied, standing and offering her hand to Torrhen. "Shall we?"
As they walked through the corridors of New Castle, Wynafryd pointed out various features and shared stories about the history of the castle. Torrhen listened intently, appreciating her knowledge and the pride she took in her home.
When they reached his chambers, Wynafryd turned to him with a smile. "I hope you rest well, Lord Torrhen. Tomorrow will be an exciting day."
"I'm sure it will be," Torrhen replied. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, Lady Wynafryd. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."
"And I you," Wynafryd said softly. "Good night, Lord Torrhen."
He crossed his arms and leaned against the door to his chambers as she walked away, he'd never seen such a beautiful woman, even Jeyne Poole was plain in comparison.
THE FOLLOWING DAY…
Torrhen awoke with the first light of dawn, the pale rays of the sun casting a gentle glow through the small window of his guest chamber, the first thing he noticed was Magnar sleeping at the edge of the bed, for days at a time he would disappear while they travelled.
He dressed simply, pulling on a plain tunic and sturdy breeches before making his way into the quiet halls of an unwoken household.
He stepped out onto the yard, greeted by the cool morning air that carried the faint scent of the sea. The yard was spacious, bordered by high stone walls and dotted with training dummies and targets. He soon found a wooden sword leaning against the rack and hefted it.
He ran through the exercises taught to him by Ser Rodrik, and planted his feet firmly as he swung the sword in wide arcs, each movement deliberate and precise. After a few minutes, he shifted to advanced techniques, visualising opponents and dodging imaginary strikes. He targeted the training dummies, striking vital points with controlled force. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he continued, switching to defensive manoeuvres, blocking and redirecting imagined blows.
"Good morrow, Torrhen." Donnel called out "You know, I believe this is the first time in our short acquaintance I have not had to wake you from your slumber."
"Donnel." Torrhen tilted his head towards him, a grin spreading across his face "Morning to you. I thought it best to get an early start to the day, considering what's ahead."
"The melee?" Donnel approached, with his own blade hanging from his hip "Everyone has been talking about it. You look ready to take on an army with that piece of wood." he chuckled.
"You think yourself a jester, do you?" Torrhen raised a brow, before chuckling himself and then wiping sweat from his brow "I'm just trying to keep sharp, I'm not exactly the finest swordsman."
"Not right now, no. But you can be, I've seen you train in the yard at Winterfell, the only thing holding you back against your brothers is age. They trained longer than you." Donnel winked, nudging him in the arm "If you need a partner, I'm more than willing."
"I'll take you up on that," Torrhen said, adjusting his grip on his training sword.
"Good, but I must warn you. I'm not as easy to beat as these dummies." Donnel smirked, and then grabbed a wooden sword from the rack and met Torrhen in the centre of the yard "Let us see what you've got then, young wolf."
Torrhen advanced quickly with a powerful swing from the right aimed at his neck. Donnel swiftly ducked beneath the blade with only inches to spare and quickly retreated a few steps.
Not giving Donnel a moment to recover, Torrhen followed up with a series of rapid strikes. His first swing aimed at Donnel's midsection, which Donnel parried easily. The second strike, a feint to the left, was also blocked.
Donnel countered with a swift thrust toward Torrhen's chest. Torrhen sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the blow, and retaliated with an upward swing. Donnel deflected it with a quick twist of his wrist.
Both men circled each other, looking for openings. Torrhen charged in with a low sweep at Donnel's legs. Donnel hopped back, his movements smooth and controlled, and immediately moved in with a high overhead strike.
Torrhen blocked the overhead strike, feeling the force reverberate through his arms. He pushed Donnel back, attempting to unbalance him with a quick jab to his side. Donnel twisted away, the blade missing him by a hair.
The duel continued with Torrhen pressing the attack, his movements aggressive yet disciplined. He swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming to catch Donnel off guard. Donnel stepped inside the swing, bringing his hilt up to block and countering with a strike to Torrhen's shoulder.
Torrhen felt the tap on his shoulder but didn't slow down. He pivoted, using the momentum to launch another series of strikes. Donnel blocked each one, his defence impenetrable.
Donnel's experience showed as he began to anticipate Torrhen's moves. He parried a high strike and immediately countered with a low sweep. Torrhen jumped back just in time, the wooden blade whistling past his knees.
Torrhen decided to change tactics. He feinted a high strike, then quickly brought his sword down in a powerful chop aimed at Donnel's leg. Donnel, recognizing the feint, sidestepped and brought his sword up in a defensive posture.
Seeing a brief opening, Torrhen lunged forward and managed to land a light tap on Donnel's ribs.
They continued to spar, the clack of wooden swords echoing in the yard. Torrhen's strikes grew more forceful, but Donnel met each strike with practised ease, his calm demeanour never wavering.
Seeing another opening, Torrhen aimed a quick strike at Donnel's leg and succeeded in landing another hit. This time, Donnel stepped back, his smile showing he was impressed.
"Nice one, Torrhen," Donnel said, breathing slightly heavier. "You're improving."
Donnel countered with a quick succession of strikes, forcing Torrhen to retreat. Torrhen blocked each one, his movements growing more fluid as he adapted to Donnel's rhythm.
Feeling the fatigue but refusing to yield, Torrhen launched a final, powerful swing at Donnel's midsection. Donnel sidestepped and brought his sword down in a quick, controlled motion, tapping Torrhen's wrist.
Torrhen's grip loosened, and his sword fell to the ground with a clatter. He stepped back, breathing heavily
"You've got the spirit, Torrhen," Donnel said, lowering his sword. "But remember, it's not just about force, strategy and patience is just as important."
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Torrhen asked, placing his hands on his knees as he bent his upper body.
"That is many years of tournaments and training. You will get there in time." Donnel replied.
The tourney grounds were a few miles from the city itself and were bustling with activity, there were pavilions as far as the eye could see of all shapes and sizes with their respective banners streaming for the centre poles.
Torrhen was familiar with the heraldry of each house in the North, as well as the southern kingdoms, thanks to the teachings of Maester Luwin. He picked out the Tarly huntsman, House Dondarrion's purple lightning, the roaring lion of House Lannister, and there was the dark green sea turtle of House Estermont swimming across a pale green field.
As Torrhen and Ser Donnel travelled further through the tight gaps of the tents, accompanied by Magnar and two Stark men, he could spot the rusted long axes of House Dustin, the twin towers of House Frey on blue, the grey stone hand of House Flint,the crossed keys of House Locke, and despite only partaking in the Melee, there was a pavilion displaying the direwolf of House Stark for himself.
They entered the pavilion, there were thick rugs that covered the ground, muffling his footsteps. A small table was set with a selection of simple, hearty foods and a flagon of wine, a sturdy wooden chair and a low bench offered places to sit and rest, and there was a canopy bed hugging the back, which Magnar swiftly planted himself upon.
Torrhen collected a pouch from his belt, and grabbed out a dozen silver coins and placed them on the table as he sat down, and tilted his head towards Ser Donnel "I saw a armourer on our way through the crowd, this should be enough for what I need, make sure whatever he gives you is the finest in stock." he then grabbed out a single gold coin "Just in case."
He twiddled his thumbs for a moment, before standing up from the chair and planting himself on the bed, not being able to help himself from running a hand through Magnar's light grey fur, he had grown considerably larger since they left Winterfell, with the wilderness and freedom attributing to that.
As he laid looking up at the ceiling, Magnar moved to rest his head on his stomach. He heard the flap to his pavilion open "That was quick, you managed well I trust?" he asked.
"I hope you forgive the intrusion, my lord." a soft-spoken voice replied back, causing Torrhen to rise up from the bed, though he soon was delighted with the welcomed sight of Lady Wynafryd "I thought I would come see how you were before the melee later today."
"Good morrow, Lady Wynafryd." Torrhen replied "And please, let us leave 'my lord' to my brother and father, just Torrhen will be fine."
He raised his brow as she was plainly dressed in broiled leather, blue breeches and a jerkin of the same colour and brown riding boots, there was a bow slung over her shoulder, the curved wood resting across her back and the quiver hung securely from her belt.
"You plan to partake in the archery competition?" Torrhen asked, as he moved towards the table and filled two mugs with the wine from the flagon.
His interest in her piqued at that moment. He had thought the Manderlys were too influenced by southerners, that their women did not string bows or wear breeches, yet Wynafryd proved that while they may appear southern, after a thousand years, their hearts are firmly northern.
"Well, ofcourse, just because I enjoy dressing in fancy silks, does not mean I am incapable of taking part in the tournament, there are many northern ladies who enjoy archery as much as I, and those who like to chop away with a sword." Wynafryd said, keeping her smile.
"That there is, I meant no offence. I uhm… archery has always been one of my talents, above my skill with the sword." Torrhen passed her one of the mugs, and then lifted his own "May we both triumph over our competition." He then downed its contents, with no drop of wine remaining.
"Why do you not sign up? It is not too late, there should be some spaces still open" Wynafryd raised her mug, but only took a partial sip before cupping it with both hands "I shouldn't drink so much, it could muddle my mind."
"The melee is more than enough for me. Besides, I would hate to ruin your chances at winning." Torrhen smirked, letting out a brief chuckle and leaning against the table "Will I have your father to contend with out on the field?"
"When you look at my father, does he appear to be the typical knight to compete in a melee?" Wynafryd stated, shaking her head "No, Torrhen, perhaps in his youth, though my uncle on the other hand, Wendel, has never missed one, he has won seven melees since summer began."
Wynafryd made a point, her father was a big man with a fat arse, there wasn't a point during the feast where he did not see the man stuffing his face with some extravagant food, or without the crumbs in his bushy beard.
"Seven melees in nine years? That is an impressive feat, especially for a man of his pudgy stature." Torrhen smirked, though she did look less than pleased from his remark "I jest, ofcourse, Lady Wynafryd. I saw your uncle once at Winterfell, he is a great man."
The blare of the trumpet, signalling that the jousts will be starting soon, sounded throughout the tourney grounds. Wynafryd placed her almost-full mug of wine back on the table and smiled at Torrhen before readying herself to depart.
"Would you like to join me to watch the joust? It shall be a few hours before the melee, and I am sure my father will be expecting your company." Wynafryd's warm smile made it difficult for Torrhen to reject such a proposal.
"As Ser Donnel is yet to come back from buying my armour, I surmise it will take a while, so I happily accept your offer to join you." Torrhen nodded "Though I warn you, it will be difficult to replace the company that Magnar gives." he smiled, looking over towards his direwolf.
"Well then, I will take that as a challenge." Wynafryd replied. He extended his arm for her to take, and she looped hers through his, a soft smile playing on her lips. Together, they left the pavilion on their way to the lists.
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