The King of Winters

Chapter 72

Andrew

The woods were full of whispers.

Moonlight winked on the tumbling waters of the stream below as it wound its rocky way along the floor of the valley. Beneath the trees, warhorses whickered softly and pawed at the moist, leafy ground, while men made nervous jests in hushed voices. Now and again, he heard the chink of spears, the faint metallic slither of chain mail, but even those sounds were muffled.

His army formed behind him, beneath the canopies of the trees of the Whispering Woods. His men spoke of another battle in a forest back in their homeland, the Wolfswood. His father had won a great victory that day, smashing a huge force of Rhaegar Targaryen, twice the size of his own and ending the Targaryen conquest of the North once and for all. Andrew sat on his warhorse in front of them, hearing and waiting. Waiting for death or victory, he could not say. No one was safe in a war, in a fight. No life was certain. He ought to know that better than anyone. His mother, Joy and countless other innocent lives... He waited thinking about them, the women in his life, violet eyes, green eyes, the maid of stars and the summer maid, listening to the whispers in the woods and the faint music of the brook.

It felt odd thinking about himself in place of his father, in front of his army. Most of the men he had with him had fought with him in all his battles, shared his victory and glory while Andrew was waiting for his royal father in the safety of his castle with his mother. They would wait for him in Winterfell, standing patiently on the battlements of the great grey castle as the cold wind of the North blew past them sending chills down their backs. He did not always come when he promised he would. That had not stopped the little boy from running to the battlements of Winterfell every day. Every day until he could see King Eddard on his great black warhorse, trotting along the Kingsroad surrounded by his Lords and warriors and the glory of victory shining behind him like sunrise. Andrew would run to him as fast as his little legs would allow him. "Papa! Papa! did you fight ice spiders?" he would ask when his father took him up in his arms to hug him. "Yeah, I did," King Eddard would say smiling. "I punched it in the face and grabbed it by the legs and swung it far away beyond the Wall." Back then he had no idea where his father had gone to and it hadn't mattered as long as he returned. And he always returned except from Starfall.

And now it him who waited as his father had waited for any army who would threaten his lands and people. He was not new to fight, had never feared for his life, but looking at all the men behind him, he could not help but think of getting them all back to their homes safely. Their sons would wait for their fathers as Andrew had once waited for his, their wives would wait for their husbands as Queen Ashara had once waited for hers. He remembered Joy Hill and somehow it felt as if it was his duty to bring them back to them safely.

Ghost moved restlessly beside him among the trees. His lords bannermen were making good use of time before they rode into battle. He knew not everyone would come back alive this night. They knew it as well but none showed it as they laughed with their arms around the shoulders of the other, sharing jests with one another, helping each others with their horses and armour. He could hear the soft clinking of armours behind him. All were covered in armour and protection except their king. Only Andrew had forgone the protection of armour much to the disappointment of his lords. "Your Grace," Lord Robett had voiced his concern. "Its dangerous going to battle without armour. What would happen should you fall?"

"Don't worry too much about me, my lord," Andrew smiled at him, sadly. "I did not come all the way here just to die." He was unused to fighting in armour and was mostly uncomfortable in it. It was the main reason he had come leading an army for a battle in just his woolen white jacket and a cotton shirt beneath it and a matching brown leather pants and boots. The clothes he always preferred, no matter what.