★Torrent★ Inside the Rain Watch Full

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Runtime 90 Minute USA Year 2020 stars Eric Roberts Description Inside the Rain is a movie starring Rosie Perez, Eric Roberts, and Aaron Fisher. Facing expulsion from college over a misunderstanding, a bipolar student indulges his misery at a strip club where he befriends a gorgeous.

Can I just say I love Carey Mulligan, you just never know what kind of character she will act. an innocent young girl who falls in love with an older man, or a femme fatale revenge serial killer. It isn‘t Bad at all its REALLY good wow. When it were real i Would watch it. Inside the rain man. I listen to this while meditating. Its amazing! Thanks so much.

Rated R gives me hope that this movie may have a funny moment or two. But 3 funny bits may be pushing it. Inside the rainforest. Inside the rain. Inside the main story. Inside the rainbow lodge. This works well for me. heavy sleep 😴. They should actually make a movie like this. just for fun! It would be so good. Inside the rain review. PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 They’d made an agreement. What the deal was wasn’t clear, but it had cost them more than they’d thought possible. It had cost them friends, and lovers, and in the end, each other. And the thing that slept below the hills, that dreamt so loud it made ripples on the surface, wanted one thing: blood. Their journals were not clear on when the deal was made, but they’d been giving the thing below the hills what it wanted for years until it had grown to be too much. It had wanted one last gift. One last gift and it promised it would finally leave them be. It was to be my Grandfather. They were to go up to the caves at the top of Blackrock Hills and make their way to the centre, where Artie would slit his throat and lay him finally to rest. The decision had taken them days. They both wrote extensively about wanting it to be them so that the other could live a full life, about how they had to stop it somehow, and how this was the only way. But something happened when they were meant to make the decision. Whatever mistake my Grandfather made meant he never returned to the Well and so his journals were left uncompleted. But it was clear: it was meant to be my Grandfather. Whether he deliberately pushed Artie down the Well, or whether there was a change of heart on Artie’s behalf, we didn’t know. What we did know was that the Well was directly above a stream that ran through the heart of the hills, deep underground, a stream that worked its way through a cave system so intricate it was like a mess of capillaries and veins. When Amy read the last of the journals, and we both realised what had passed between the two of them, she spoke bitterly. “I knew it. ” “Knew what? ” “That a Voynich, that your family, put themselves first. ” I grew defensive. “We don’t know that. All we know is that it was meant to be my Grandfather, not what happened after-“ “Are you stupid? ” “What? ” “At least I know about my family. We might lie or cheat or steal but we do it for each other, the people we love, I know that - but you, you have no idea about any of it. ” I could see her building up to something, as if some storm was growing inside her. “Well now whatever it is, is threatening my family. The people I love. Whatever it is down there, whatever it wants – I’m going to find out. ” And with that, she stood up, scattering the loose pages of the journals around her feet, and left. I was in shock for a moment, thinking about why this had happened. I imagined the way her mother must have talked about Artie, her mother’s grief she must only be able to see glimpses of as if through a keyhole, her whole childhood, whole life, knowing that it had to do with Artie’s friend but never knowing what. And now finding out that it was because of a coward and a liar, and seeing that coward’s flesh-and-blood defend his actions when he knew nothing of what those actions actually meant. I wanted to apologise. I ran after Amy, but she was already gone, and had left footprints in the wet earth leading up the Hills. I followed, trying to run but each step made my feet sink deeper and deeper into the mud. I could feel the muscles in my legs begin to tire, and just when I thought I’d have to stop, and I’d lose her, I saw the opening to a cave. The cave. I didn’t hesitate and went straight in, shouting her name, crouching to fit through the tighter squeezes. I was going too fast, though, and before long I realised that I’d taken a couple of turns on instinct. That I had no idea where I was. Not only that, but I’d lost Amy. Somewhere along the way, with all these twists and turns, I’d lost her. When I tried to turn back it was clear that I was lost. Completely, and utterly lost. There was a light that seemed to come from within the reflection on the rocks, as if in that mirror-world everything was illuminated by some ghostly glow. In turn, the glow from the reflection cast a dim light over the tunnels I was in. The rock was wet to the touch, and as I progressed further and further in the cave began to shrink, like the tapering of a throat, and I found myself bending more and more to fit through gaps. I couldn’t go back. I tried calling for Amy, but my voice echoed hopelessly until it faded out – mocking me. There was another sound, in between the echoes. Something like a scrambling, and a panting far away. I had an image of the stag following our scent, some drowned thing soaked to core and rotting, stalking me. I could see it now, all sinew and soil, relentless, hungry. I tried to push it from my mind. I kept on. Whenever I’d press myself against a rock to squeeze past, or have to crouch under a low hanging ceiling I’d see a reflection just for a second only millimetres away, except, it wouldn’t be my face, but the face of someone else; distorted, pale, gaunt. My Grandfather, my father, Artie, Dot, and then faces I didn’t recognise: a boy who had my face but Amy’s nose, a woman with a scar that split her face in two. And each time I grew closer to the rock faces would leer at me, examine me with their dead eyes. Once or twice I was sure I saw Amy. But I couldn’t have. Just when I thought that I must have found myself in some huge loop, that I would be stuck underground for the rest of my life, endlessly stalking these caves, seeing the faces of everyone I’d ever known staring back at me, I stumbled out- And onto the shore. In front of me there lay a vast and black ocean, shored by grey slate that burst from the earth at severe angles. As with the cave, I couldn’t tell where the light was coming from, only that I could see well enough to make out a small boat on shore. And in that boat: Artie, and Amy. I made my way down the slate, cautiously, testing each step with my weight before committing. They hadn’t seen me yet, and whilst I was sure they weren’t watching I bent down and picked up a long, hard piece of stone. I thought, if needed, if Amy had somehow been turned like Artie, I could at least try and use this to fend them off. It was a dark thought, and I’m not proud of it, but the feeling of the stone in my hand at least gave me some sort of comfort. But even when they saw me they did not react, and instead seemed entirely focused on their own, private conversation. In between the sound of the waves, in that lull when one crested and smashed into the shore and another began to swell behind it, I could hear something in the distance; something like voices, screaming and bellowing over each other so that it became one awful sound. But it was only present for a moment at a time, and each time I’d try to tune in to it a wave would crash, and I’d lose it. When I grew close enough to see their faces, I slipped the stone into my pocket. Just in case. I finally reached the boat, at the end of a stone pier. It was a small, black craft that bobbed aimlessly in the water. Artie sat at the front, holding an oar in each hand. He looked to me. “You look just like your Grandfather. ” I watched a private smile play over his face and couldn’t help but see Amy in the expression. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Get in. ” His voice was deep and rasping, the consequence of years of drink and smoking no doubt, but there was no malice there. If anything it was the same tone parents use with their children; caring, impatient. I looked to Amy. She nodded. And so I got into the craft, sitting on the only other bench, so that I was pressed against Amy and facing Artie. I could see his face properly now, all the crags and trenches of old age, the yellowing of his cornea, the way his teeth were stained a slight brown. He cracked a grin, and it seemed like every single one of his teeth was at its own angle. And, hunching over and yanking his shoulders back in one motion, he began to row us out to sea. As we rowed further and further out, the shouting got louder, and, in the distance I could just make out what seemed to a huge, dark pillar. Dark, and crooked. The boat seemed just about to capsize at any moment, but each time I thought a huge black wave would sweep us all off the deck the boat would bob just above it, and we’d keep moving forward. My hands grew clammy. I didn’t want to think of what lay below us, what things lived and died in the depths of this underground sea. Sometimes, a way away, the surface would break as if something was coming up for air. As we grew closer to the crooked thing it came into focus: a tower. I could make out tiny figures running to and fro, and realised that the crooked tower was ringed by dozens of wooden construction platforms, which went in a spiral all the way to the top – like the slide on a helter-skelter. The thing was staggeringly huge, but I had no frame of reference to compare it too, only that it emerged from the water and rose up as far as I could see. Artie spoke up. “Babel. ” I raised an eyebrow. “Sorry? ” We were growing closer now, and I could see that in fact the figures were running up and down the structure, grabbing pieces of rotten, black wood from the base and sprinting their way to the top, somewhere so high I could barely make it out. “The Tower of Babel. ” Artie said. “This sea keeps rising, and they keep building. If not-“ And as if on cue, a short woman at the bottom bent to grab a piece of the platform that had just been submerged and something grabbed her wrist. She struggled for a second or two, screaming in some incomprehensible tongue before she was pulled head-first under the waves. The builders around her didn’t even look, and kept shouting in their own, private languages, hauling wood from just above the water to the very top. Amy gave a start, spoke up, and the boat rocked. “Why don’t we help them? Offer some a chance to get off, to come with us? ” I didn’t even know where we were going, let alone trust any of them enough to offer them a space in this already-cramped boat. Artie shook his head. “They couldn’t understand you even if we tried. They’re cursed to never understand each other, no matter how hard they try, to perpetually build up and up and up to escape the rising water - surrounded by people, but alone. Alone, and scared, and trying to comprehend all” he gestured up, to the tower, to the dark above it “this. ” There was another scream, and all I could see was the wake of another builder pulled into the water. A small pool of white froth, then nothing. “Some say we once all spoke the same language, and using that true language we tried to build a tower to God. They say this is His punishment. ” Amy looked to him, and the way she hung on his words was like she was making up for all their lost time; she was a child again, at his feet by the fire, in awe at his age and grace. “I’m not sure I believe that entirely, but they’ve got to have done somethin to end up here, I suppose. ” “Is that where we’re going? ” Artie laughed. A black, harsh sound. “Not for you, boy. Maybe at the end of it all you’ll find yourself washed up on the Tower, but for now, you’re needed somewhere else. ” We adjusted our course slightly, and began to move past the Tower. The screams and bellows began to fade. I turned to watch it disappear; the thousands of people desperately trying to build it, the way it curved and bend under its own weight, the platforms like a wet skeleton, the way it let out a thunderous creak every now and again as if its very core was splintering. “Our families made a pact with forces down here. Many did. Maybe it was after the original Tower fell. Maybe it was much later. All I know is that whatever’s down here needs things from us. Offers gifts in return. ” His eyes glazed over for a second. Regret? A memory? “It’s easy to get carried away. ” A scream near the top, someone carrying a huge plank staggered – the others couldn’t wait, barged past, and they fell into the sea below. Into the jaws of something waiting. Something so large that when it moved it pulled the surface of the water after it, and for a second there was a huge, aqueous crater. For a second, I thought I could see a familiar stoop, just above eye level. Even though we were far away I was convinced that for a second I’d seen Dot, but he was swallowed by the crowd before I could be sure. “Was that.. Dot? ” Artie looked unfazed. “The man wasn’t a saint, Max. I don’t know, is the truth. Could be. ” I tried to see Dot again, but there was nothing. “I’m sure that was.. I mean – it looked like.. ” Artie looked past me. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, Max. ” I could tell that he meant it. “I’m sorry about Dot drowning. He was a friend to your father, I know. It wasn’t my choice, to do what we did to him. It had to have you here, you see. You have to do this. ” “Do what? ” “You’ll see. And Amy, you know what’s to come, and you think you’re right? ” She paused for a moment, bit her lip. Nodded. “Alright. Alright. There’s no dissuading you, I suppose. ” She shook her head. “You know your ancestors tried to plot this place once, Max? A long, long time ago. Wrote it all down, but once the manuscript reached the surface it turned to nonsense. Gibberish. ” He paused, thinking but still rowing, his body at a steady rhythm. “Nothing down here makes much sense on the surface. Try explaining that-” he pointed to the Tower of Babel; to that endless, crooked tower “to anyone on the surface. There are very few who could understand it. ” I thought on this for a while, and as the Tower faded from view I could just start to make out a distant shore. Amy must have seen it too because she went a little pale, and I felt her body stiffen against mine. She was afraid. “Whatever happened between me and your Grandfather, you know it’s forgiven? ” He was saying this as much to me as to Amy. “In the scheme of things we were so young. We were drunk, and arrogant, and both of us couldn’t bear the thought of a world without the other. We were meant to come down here, together, to meet the thing beneath the Hills and face it. But we argued, he wanted it to be him, I wanted it to be me. ” We were growing closer to the shore now, and I could tell Amy was nervous next to me, she was chewing her lip, running her hands through that bird-nest of hair, making silent words with her lips. “Whatever happened, happened. That was our turn. Now it’s yours. ” And we disembarked from the small boat, onto this new shore, and said our goodbyes to Artie. Something had passed between him and Amy, I’m sure of it. All this time and I’d have thought they’d have more to say to each other but they communicated in small looks and tilts of the head. He furrowed his brow, raised his eyebrows, and she nodded. She was sure. (He wasn’t) He studied me for a long time, rubbing his jaw. I felt for a moment something piercing behind those eyes, something vicious and with the raw intelligence of a trapped animal. I felt him look past me, through me, into me. I did not know if he was seeing my Grandfather, or me – whatever it was, he didn’t entirely trust me. Not yet. This all had the texture of a dream, and for a second I thought maybe it was, some fever dream I’d wake up from in a weeks’ time, but a cold salt wind rolled off the water and buffeted me and I knew this was all real. Happening. Even though I’ll dream of this, of this underground sea, and the crooked tower, and the great beasts, and Artie, for the rest of my life - I know it was real. It had to be. Slowly, wordlessly, Artie began to paddle back out into that vast sea, lifting his cap to us as he left. Amy squeezed my hand, so tight I thought a knuckle might pop and then let go. My hand twitched slightly, tried to find hers again for just a second but it’d gone. She looked at me intensely, the same way her Grandfather just had, before walking ahead. “Keep up. ” I jogged to keep up with her fast pace, and I found myself slightly out of breath as we reached the top of the spit of rock. The tower was inaudible now, and all I could hear was the crash of the waves, and my breath. As we climbed up we drew closer and closer to what seemed to be two doorways hewn into the stone. There was no door, only a faint, flickering light that indicated there was something inside each of them. When we reached the two doorways Amy gave my hand one last squeeze. Looked at me as if she was memorising every last detail of my face. There was something else there, though. Was she scared? She turned away, and entered her own doorway. Still, to this day, I do not know what Amy saw in there. I don’t think I ever will: all I know is that when I entered later, to do what I had to do, her cheeks would be wet with tears, and there would be blood on the stone. I entered my doorway, and found myself in a round, black chamber. A chamber made from something like obsidian, jagged and reflective and slick and somehow alive. The thing that dreams under the Hills reached into me. It reached into me, crawled up my spine and into my brain and spat black images onto my eyelids. I staggered under the weight of it, finding myself on my knees, head spinning, mouth dry and tasting like tar. I could see, on every wall in front of me, on every surface, hundreds of images, my father, my Grandfather, his father and his father before him, and people I somehow knew were my sons, and daughters, and their sons and daughters, until I could see my family stretching out for hundreds and hundreds of years either side of me, and I could see them all sin. I could see them all maim and lie and cheat and steal and beg and fight and hurt and wail and I could see it all as if it was happening this very second, and I could feel it, immediate, as if it had always been there. Images flickered on every available surface, on my eyelids, the walls, the palms of my hands. Scenes I could recognise: My Grandfather pushing Artie down the Well as they argued, pushing his chest and shouting over and over it should be me it should be me - my Grandfather a week later beating some poor man senseless because he looked like his old friend and he couldn’t bear to see his face, the grief that began to live in the silence and the whistle of the kettle Scenes I couldn’t: Someone who looked just like me, but far, far in the past, robbing a man in a back-street, cutting first his purse and then his stomach, and then his throat when he can see that he recognises him, leaving him to bleed out amongst the stench of shit and dirty water And I knew then that endlessly either side of me was suffering, and I could see my children who I did not know yet but already loved, suffering, and the thing that dreamt below the Hills offered me a way out. It was simple. All it needed was blood. It was the way it had always been. My Grandfather had been greedy. Wanted too much. The thing had only asked for something in return, and had been denied it. I could see Amy in her chamber, semi-comatose like me, the weight of generations bearing down on her. I could feel the piece of stone in my pocket, long and hard, and the thing showed me the image of Amy’s head – wet with blood, and how it was only that simple. It showed me Amy, dead. It had made it clear to me. It only wanted one thing. One thing and I could leave this place shedding memories like snakeskin, free of the weight of all of this- One thing and I could put this all to rest. One movement, precise and painless, and all of this grief, all of this horror could just fade away. Thoughts played in my mind, memories played across the obsidian surfaces like images projected on a screen; Maybe the reason nothing makes sense down here is because it shouldn’t. Maybe it’s not only my right to kill her, but my duty*. * I tested the weight of the stone in my hand. I imagined how easy it would be, how small and fragile her skull must be beneath her skin. I thought of the vision I’d had; the back of her head slick with blood. But my mind kept going, kept working, threw up more images. I saw her hunched in the rain outside my house. I saw the way she confessed she knew Gutter, as if she’d revealed something ugly and real inside her. I saw her limp. The way she saw her Grandfather. The way she saw me. And I knew then that the thing under the Hills lied. It had lied to my Grandfather, and to his father, and to me. It did not offer any solution to this. It didn’t have any, because there was none. And whilst it would never leave our families alone, whilst it would always dwell here, dream here, it would not make me a murderer. It would always find a way to offer a choice. That's how it has always been, and how it will always be. I just had to make the right one. Slowly, I forced my way to my feet, turned away from the images playing across every surface. I left my chamber, and walked to Amy’s. Every step sent fresh memories, fresh regrets, fresh wounds racing through me. I gritted my teeth. Kept going. She was sat in the corner, pale, wide-eyed, watching the entrance. When she saw me she flinched, for a second, but I held my hands up: empty. Her nose was bleeding, and it had dripped from her chin onto the floor. She must have taken a fall when she came in, when the weight of the memories of hundreds of years hit her all at once. She was bruised, and bleeding. But she was alive. And so together we left the chambers, climbed back down the stone shore and walked until we found an empty boat, and we rowed together back across that vast sea, and past the Tower, and went back through those wet tunnels, and I followed her the whole way – and as we got closer and closer to the surface we began to see light. Real light. I know now the thing under the Hills can’t be sated. It will always be there. And it will be there for my children, and my children’s children, and their children in turn. And it will offer them a choice the way it always has, and it will promise pleasure, or riches, or love. And they will have to reckon with it the same way I did; will have to reckon with the mistakes of their forefathers, with the knowledge that our spirits will not rest, with the knowledge of all the grief and suffering that has passed and that is to come, and with the crooked Tower and that vast underground sea. But I hope when the thing beneath the Hills shows them my mistakes, and my fathers, and my Grandfathers, they will at least know one thing, no matter what they choose: They are not alone. They never have been. We made our way out of the cave-mouth, and collapsed into the light. - We spent the next few days in the houses by the Well. We slept, ate, chopped wood to make fire, organised our Grandfather’s journals, hunted rabbits, made stew. The forest was quiet – at rest. I brought it up one morning, as we gathered water from a nearby brook. “You and Artie – in the boat. He asked you if you were sure.. Sure of what? ” Amy looked pained, as if she didn’t want to say what was next: “It’s nothing. It was nothing. ” “Amy? ” She rolled her eyes: fine then. “When I got to the boat he told me about the choice you had to make. The choice you had to make to atone for your Grandfather. ” “You knew? ” I thought of how I’d felt the weight of the stone in my hand. “I knew what it would ask you. ” “And you knew what I’d do, right? ” She shook her head. “I had a hunch. ” The brook chattered away happily to itself. She spoke again. “I trusted you, I guess. ” And as we made our way back, content and in comfortable silence, through the trees and the muted morning light, I noticed that the soil was no longer waterlogged. The storm had passed. And the earth beneath our feet was dry. x.

I cant believe theyre making this into a movie 😭😭😭 I love Jeremy Camp! I remember seeing his story years ago, I still think about it til this day. My heart ❤️🙏🏽. I wanna sleep in there. Inside the rain movie trailer. Inside the rain film. Inside the rain rotten tomatoes. Really Hollyweard ? These are it ? I only saw two at the most that might spark my interest.

Hey I said what are you doing classic 💯😳🙏. Inside the rain. Inside the rain movie 2019. Inside the rain synopsis.

Somewhere Chris Evans is having a proud dad moment

I also suffer from bi polar ADD depression and some other disorders and i really want to see this film my mom my uncle and my aunt also has bi polar so thank you Aaron Fisher for making this film and again i cant wait to see this film. Inside the rainbow for girls. Executives: how many grown men do you want to make cry? Paramount: yes.

This is really, really good! One can hear every single raindrops and it sounds feels like its on my own windue... I used it the last 3 night since just found it... Added to my playlist... I fell asleep sooooo niiice... I Love, love, love this! ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️. Inside the rainbow room. Inside thérain. Inside the rain book.


Inside the rain aaron fisher. Watch the right side of the window, will trip you out, something keeps moving through the frame and the glass fogs up. Inside the rain wiki. Inside the rain forest. Inside the rainbow bar and grill. Inside the rain movie. The way the first thought I had was that this has Killing Eve energy not even a second into the trailer and then they said Emerald Fennell. my mind. the power I possess. This is incredible lads, finally an asmr vid that isnt all about shoving a honeycomb down ur throat. Cool👌👌👌. The North Remembers Largely made from inputs from a GNC theory whose author i was not able to find since the post was more than 7 years someone claims it I shall be more than happy to credit. That was one good theory! According to Jon and Alys Karstark, it’s a northern tradition for the old men to head out on sacrificial hunting trips come winter. They’re the most expendable, as only a select few must remain to educate the young while women and children can’t be spared if there’s to be a next generation. [Jon:] “My lady, how do things stand at Karhold with your food stores? ” “Not well. ” Alys sighed. “My father took so many of our men south with him that only the women and young boys were left to bring the harvest in. Them and the men too old or crippled to go off to war. Crops withered in the fields or were pounded into the mud by autumn rains. And now the snows come. This winter will be hard. Few of the old will survive it, and many children will perish, as well. ” It was a tale that any northman knew well […] [Jon told her, ] “When the snows fall and food grows scarce, the young must travel to the winter towns or take service at one castle or the other. The old men gather up what strength remains in them and announce that they are going hunting. Some are found come spring. More are never seen again. ” “It is much the same at Karhold. ” That did not surprise him. (Jon X, ADWD) This can also be seen with the winter wolves of Cregan Stark as well as his own main do not care for their own lives for they march to an end worthy of a march to avenge The Red Wedding, The murder of Bran and Rickon, Torrhen's Square, Deepwood motte, Lady Hornwoods fingers, they remember it all. Two years past, Cregan Stark had made a promise to Prince Jacaerys. Now he had come to make good his pledge, though Jace and the queen his mother were both dead. “The North remembers, ” Lord Stark declared when Prince Aegon, Lord Corlys, and the Lads bid him welcome. When Kermit Tully pointed out that Storm’s End, Oldtown, and Casterly Rock were as strong as Stark’s own Winterfell (if not stronger) and would not fall easily (if at all), and young Ben Blackwood echoed him and said, “Half your men will die, Lord Stark, ” the grey-eyed Wolf of Winterfell replied, “They died the day we marched, boy. ” Like the Winter Wolves before them, most of the men who had marched south with Lord Cregan Stark did not expect to see their homes again. The snows were already deep beyond the Neck, the cold winds rising; in keeps and castles and humble villages throughout the North, the great and small alike prayed to their carved wooden god-trees that this winter might be short. Those with fewer mouths to feed fared better in the dark days, so it had long been the custom in the North for old men, younger sons, the unwed, the childless, the homeless, and the hopeless to leave hearth and home when the first snows fell, so that their kin might live to see another spring. Victory was secondary to the men of these winter armies; they marched for glory, adventure, plunder, and most of all, a worthy end. (The Aftermath-The hour of the wolf, Fire and Blood 1) This extract of Arya further drives the point home. [Arya] remembered a tale she had heard from Old Nan about how sometimes, during a long winter, men who’d lived beyond their years would announce that they were going hunting. And their daughters would weep and their sons would turn their faces to the fire, she could hear Old Nan saying, but no one would stop them or ask what game they meant to hunt, with the snows so deep and the cold wind howling. (Arya II, AFFC) The defeated riverlords are discontent, and the northmen keep faith with the Starks; the Freys are pariahs to enemies and allies alike while the Lannisters are in decline; Tywin’s legacy compares unfavorably with Ned’s despite the former’s political expediency being praised over the latter’s rigid idealism. Seems that Ned’s oft ridiculed honor has achieved a posthumous victory, love mingled with a healthy respect proving to be a much more lasting influence on people than a reign secured by fear and force, which not only dies with you but warps your children into unsuitable heirs. This can be seen in the following extracts- Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is STARK. (Jon I, ADWD) “A thousand years before the Conquest, a promise was made, and oaths were sworn in the Wolf’s Den before the old gods and the new. When we were sore beset and friendless, hounded from our homes and in peril of our lives, the wolves took us in and nourished us and protected us against our enemies. The city is built upon the land they gave us. In return, we swore that we should always be their men. Stark men! ” (Davos III, ADWD) “Foes and false friends are all around me, Lord Davos. They infest my city like roaches, and at night I feel them crawling over me. ” The fat man’s fingers coiled into a fist, and all his chins trembled. “My son Wendel came to the Twins a guest. He ate Lord Walder’s bread and salt, hung his sword upon the wall to feast with friends. And they murdered him. Murdered, I say, and may the Freys choke upon their fables. I drink with Jared, jape with Symond, promise Rhaegar the hand of my own beloved granddaughter… but never think that means I have forgotten. The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer’s farce is almost done. ” (Davos IV, ADWD) [Dustin:] “Lord Wyman is not the only man who lost kin at your Red Wedding, Frey. Do you imagine Whoresbane loves you any better? If you did not hold the Greatjon, he would pull out your entrails and make you eat them, as Lady Hornwood ate her fingers. Flints, Cerwyns, Tallharts, Slates… They all had men with the Young Wolf. ” “House Ryswell, too, ” said Roger Ryswell. “Even Dustins out of Barrowton. ” Lady Dustin parted her lips in a thin, feral smile. “The north remembers, Frey. ” (Theon VI, A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD) Northern hill clansmen brave death by winter and the sword both, hundreds making a grueling march to Winterfell, for a chance to save Ned Stark’s daughter. They do not wish to returrn and they do not think they leave to fight to a bitter end for what they believe in. “Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue. ” (Asha II, The King’s Prize, ADWD) On to fake! Arya's wedding! [Davos] had hoped to hear Lord Wyman say, And now I shall declare for King Stannis, but instead the fat man smiled an odd, twinkling smile and said, “And now I have a wedding to attend. I am too fat to sit a horse, as any man with eyes can plainly see. […] My body has become a prison more dire than the Wolf’s Den. Even so, I must go to Winterfell. Roose Bolton wants me on my knees, and beneath the velvet courtesy he shows the iron mail. I shall go by barge and litter, attended by a hundred knights and my good friends from the Twins. The Freys came here by sea. They have no horses with them, so I shall present each of them with a palfrey as a guest gift. Do hosts still give guest gifts in the south? ” “Some do, my lord. On the day their guest departs. ” “Perhaps you understand then. ” (Davos IV, ADWD) When Roose Bolton summons the northern lords to Barrowton to swear fealty to him and attend Ramsay’s wedding to fake! Arya, to be held later in Winterfell, he also instructs them to bring hostages, presumably their sons or heirs. [Robett Glover:] “Much and more has happened whilst you have been confined within these walls [Wolf’s Den, White Harbor’s fortress prison], Lord Davos. Moat Cailin has fallen, and Roose Bolton has returned to the north with Ned Stark’s younger daughter. A host of Freys came with him. Bolton has sent forth ravens summoning all the lords of the north to Barrowton. He demands homage and hostages… and witnesses to the wedding of Arya Stark and his bastard, Ramsay Snow, by which match the Boltons mean to lay claim to Winterfell. ” (Davos IV, ADWD) [Ramsay:] “Lord Pig must have brought half the food in White Harbor with him. ” [Roose:] “Forty wayns full of foodstuffs […] Lord Wyman likes to eat. You may have noticed. ” “What I noticed was that he brought no hostages. ” “I noticed that, as well. ” “What do you mean to do about it? ” “It is a quandary. ” (Theon III, Reek III, ADWD) Yet Lord Manderly doesn’t heed the new Warden of the North, leaving his son and heir, Wylis, recently returned to him by the Lannisters, safely at home. More interestingly, several of the other houses follow suit. Robett Glover, who is his unwed brother’s heir to Deepwood Motte, disappears off to who knows where, though he was in White Harbor with Manderly. Old Lord Locke comes to Winterfell, but there’s no indication he’s accompanied by a son or heir, perhaps the younger man in the Merman’s Court during Davos’s audience with Manderly. Not only that, but House Cerwyn’s heir, Lady Jonella, apparently takes her leave of the wedding party after Barrowton. She’s nowhere to be found in Winterfell despite living only a half day’s ride away and being one of the signatories of Ramsay’s announcement of his nuptials. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of the Hornwood, [the parchment] read, in a huge, spiky hand. The brown ink came away in flakes when Jon brushed it with his thumb. Beneath Bolton’s signature, Lady Dustin, Lady Cerwyn, and four Ryswells had appended their own marks and seals. A cruder hand had drawn the giant of House Umber. “Might we know what it says, my lord? ” asked Iron Emmett. Jon saw no reason not to tell him. “Moat Cailin is taken. The flayed corpses of the ironmen have been nailed to posts along the kingsroad. Roose Bolton summons all leal lords to Barrowton to affirm their loyalty to the Iron Throne and celebrate his son’s wedding to…” His heart seemed to stop for a moment […] “He’s to marry Arya Stark. My little sister. ” (Jon VI, ADWD) The case of the Umbers is an entire different one. For starters, neither Crowfood nor Whoresbane is the Greatjon’s heir, and Jon suggests that they’d uphold the lawful succession unto death. [Jon:] “The Greatjon has sons and daughters both. In the north, the children of a man’s body still come before his uncles, ser. ” “Unless they die. Dead children come last everywhere. ” “Suggest that in the hearing of Mors Umber [Crowfood, who joins Stannis], Ser Godry [Farring], and you will learn more of death than you might wish. ” (Jon IV, ADWD) Later, the division of the Umber forces at Winterfell is curiously exact. All of Crowfood’s men outside the walls are young and green while Whoresbane within has under his command hoary old warriors, graybeards all. The banker [Tycho Nestoris] studied her with shrewd dark eyes. “You are the Lady Asha of House Greyjoy, unless I am mistaken. ” “I am Asha of House Greyjoy, aye. Opinions differ on whether I’m a lady. ” The Braavosi smiled. “We’ve brought a gift for you. ” He beckoned to the men [two Night’s Watch escorts, Tristifer Botley, Qarl the Maid et al. ] behind him. “We had expected to find [King Stannis] at Winterfell. This same blizzard has engulfed the castle, alas. Beneath its walls, we found Mors Umber with a troop of raw green boys, waiting for the king’s coming. He gave us this [Theon, Jeyne! Arya]. ” (Asha III, The Sacrifice, ADWD) [Stannis:] “Tell me, Theon, how many men did Mors Umber have with him at Winterfell? ” “None. No men. ” He grinned at his own wit. “He had boys. I saw them. ” Aside from a handful of half-crippled serjeants, the warriors that Crowfood had brought down from Last Hearth were hardly old enough to shave. “Their spears and axes were older than the hands that clutched them. It was Whoresbane Umber who had the men, inside the castle. I saw them, too. Old men, every one. ” Theon tittered. “Mors took the green boys, and Hother took the greybeards. All the real men went with the Greatjon and died at the Red Wedding. Is that what you wanted to know, Your Grace? ” (Theon I, TWOW) As seen above - “Not well. ” (Jon X, ADWD) I doubt the Umbers are any better off than the Karstarks in their harvest, having also answered Robb’s call to arms in force. Framed thus, Whoresbane’s loyalty to the Boltons seems even more suspect than it already is given that the Umbers are coerced into cooperation by threats to the Greatjon’s life. The two uncles, both old men themselves, have arranged matters so that the Boltons must house and feed their useless mouths, at the same time depriving the hated Freys, while their young men, women, and children alone draw on the Umber stores, which would’ve happened regardless. Should their ruse be discovered, those inside Winterfell are no great loss to the house. Would, in fact, probably find dying spattered in the blood of their enemies a far happier prospect than freezing to death alone in the wilds, like the mountain clansmen do. Similarly, the failure of the northern lords to bring hostages as demanded makes more sense assuming there’s some treachery afoot, IMO. As the theory goes, Manderly is secretly plotting with the Glovers, Umbers, and Lockes prior to Barrowton, so none of these houses show up there with any hostages. Then, at Barrowton, Manderly brings the Hornwoods, Cerwyns, and Tallharts into his pro-Stark conspiracy, hence why Lady Cerwyn departs before the wedding party changes venue to Winterfell. The final result is that the northmen in Winterfell are willing, even expecting, to die for the Stark cause or in pursuit of bloody vengeance against the murderers of their kin. They would not have lasted the winter, anyways, and by their own choice. At least this way, their lives can purchase a legacy for their heirs, who are kept away from the anticipated slaughter, beyond simple survival by freeing the North of the Boltons and Freys in an act of defiance against the Lannisters on the Iron Throne.

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