EPISODE I

The river ran red with blood. There were bodies in the water. More than a few belonged to women and children from the neighboring villages. I knew none of the pale faces. Yet more than one had heard my name. Their ghosts haunted me through the gloom. I hid my face and turned away. The tears came, thick and poignant although no sound escaped my cracked lips. My throat ached from days feeding off the rough bark of the elm wood that lined the way. Ships and carpenters gathered along the bay by night carrying cargo up and down from the berg. Not one noticed me, and if they did all they saw was a wanderer clad in grey. Few of them knew my face. The scars had healed, and I had cut my beard. A knife had washed up the week before and had looked remarkably clean. After all was said and done, I hardly recognized my own reflection in the dim water. It was time to go.

No fugitive can stay in one place for too long. I needed to keep cover until I could determine the outcome of the war. Whispers followed me wherever I went. Red torches lit the low country by night, and you could hear the rumor of defeat in the mountains. The boy king was pressing his hold. How long before his banners flew over every hill and dell? None could say.

I left the river for the forest-path. There I sat and gazed up at the stars for a long while ere charting my course. A wagon had gone up the green way before headed for a settlement called Mullburrow. I hadn't heard of it before and assumed the folk there would be crewel like the rest. I had been mistaken for a thug more than a few times and had been beaten badly for it. A gash still chafed my upper thigh where an arrow had pierced the male. It was only after I staunched the bleeding with my shirt, I stumbled across a box of potions and ointments. There was no certainty of safe haven anywhere, and I couldn't count on luck to help me a second time.

I had just made up my mind to head to Mullburrow when I heard what sounded like a horse galloping clumsily up the road. Not wanting to be seen, I flung myself down and franticly searched for a hiding place. There was none! The hedges had been uprooted to make way for the merchants and peddlers from the North. Any rocks or boulders were also removed condemning the earth to scrutiny. A mouse couldn't stir an inch without being spotted and stomped on by an angry traveler. All I could do was hold my breath and prepare for the worst. Propping my back up against a withered tree, I shut my eyes and pretended to sleep. The hoof beats drew closer, and at length I could hear the rattling of weal's against the musty dirt. Unable to blind myself to peril, I opened my eyes and stared headlong at a great wooden cart.

An old man dressed in rugged cloth drew the contraption and at his side sat an astonishing woman. She was clad all in white and had yellow hair. A tentative moment fled by and then she gazed right back at me. She had blue eyes the color of warm water on a summer's eve and a smile brighter than the storm. I got up like the fool I was and clumsily bowed not knowing what else to do. The old man spied me next and yanked on the reigns with startling dexterity. There was no fear in his face.

"Who are you," the weary fellow called hobbling to the aged path. "Do you need help?"

"Yes," I stammered amazed at my own tenacity. An ordinary man would have shot me dead where I stood and dragged my corpse to the nearest ditch. The old fellow had to have a bow and quiver with him somewhere.

"What's your name," the woman pressed inching closer. The hem of her dress brushed my aching arm, and I trembled.

"Nathan," I lied abashed at my shabbiness. "I was a farmer … A farmer from away North. My lands … and wife were lost in the raids that followed. I am all that is left of my house."

At this the woman looked directly into my eyes and nodded as though reading the truth there.

"I'm very sorry for you Nathan," she sighed taking my hand. "My name is Ruth and this is my father Ned. We too were farmers. We own a shop in the village. You are welcome to stay the night if you like."

At the mention of the old man's name I blanched and fell suddenly still.

"What is it lad," the aged fellow insisted scratching his head. "Is everything alright?"

"It's just …" I mumbled. "I had a father called Ned once …"

"Where is he now," Ruth calmly asked squeezing my hand. "You can tell us …"

"I thank the Gods," I warmly replied feeling the softness of her grasp. "He's dead … Was the first among us to go."

"Did you love him," she inquired leading me to the cart. A smooth grin creased her lips.

"Yes," I admitted peering down at my feet. "More than any other man."

"I wish I had known him," the old man rasped gazing up at the moon. "There were a lot of great men before this war … A lot of good men. Now they belong to the dust."

"My mother died when I was still a child," Ruth placidly reflected. "I know what its like to lose family."

"We've done our best to hold up," Ned explained climbing back onto the cart. "But you know … It's never quite the same. Elora was fond of guests, and we have never broken tradition. Its time to leave the wild. You'll die if you stay out here too long. There are worse things than wolves in the night."

"Believe me Ned," I grimly chuckled hopping onto the nearest crate. "I know …"

Ruth and I didn't speak much during the ride. She had to help her father tend the reigns and keep the cart rolling. Yet there was always a kindness there that would not die. After a time, the woodlands faded away to reveal a vast green country. Meadows and gardens inhabited the vale, and there were only a dozen homesteads in view for miles.

The village of Mullburrow was a mass of twinkling lights at the crest of an enormous hill. Alone it stood amidst the flat landscape like a beacon through the gloom. Winding paths scaled its steep sides and there were barrows about its base. Afterwards, I learned that the mad king had sent men to crush a rebellion in those parts, and that the men of the vale perished defending their kin. Now bright flowers bloom on the graves of the fallen, and there is a plaque by the wayside marking the place where they fell.

I came upon the village gate around ten when the guards were away drinking. It stood ajar and was coated with a thick layer of rust. The streets beyond were paved in marble blocks and bore the faces of the old Gods. Yellow lanterns burnt in shop-windows, and there were stands at market overflowing with bushels of corn and barley. A store bearing a weathered sign marked an armory chock full of men in male. A wrack outside contained rows of helms and axes. I never have seen a more prosperous or contented people. Even the least among the houses of the folk appeared lavish compared to the hovels of the North.

"This can't be real," I marveled in disbelief. "Tywin would sack this place in an instant if he knew it was here."

"But he doesn't," the old man laughed guiding me off the back of the cart. "He thinks we're just another port village. What he doesn't know is that we've been trading with the outside for years …"

"We're small enough to go overlooked, but large enough to govern our own affairs," she explained brushing her hair. "To be frankly honest, I've never seen a map of the entire vale."

"But surely the local lords demand tribute," I pondered aloud. It seemed ludicrous to me that anybody could have escaped the Lannister's vigilance. Afterall, they had acquired enough influence to murder my family.

"No," Ned briskly whooped evidently amused. "They're too busy killing each other. Sure some of the Lords forced us to pay a little here and there before. But the crone Walder is losing his mind, and the Lannisters don't know what they're doing."

"They never have," Ruth spat darting over to the front-Door. "Robb Stark was a fool, but he was our fool I tell you and a lot better than those rich bastards."

"And how was Robb Stark a fool," I snorted peering up at their house. It was a fine brick building with square windows and a quaint chimney.

"O that's no mystery," she giggled popping open the door like a pint of country beer. "He married that poor lass when he could have won the war a rich man."

"What about love," I asked furrowing my brow. "I heard that he fell for her and couldn't give her up."

"O is that so now," Ruth huffed pretending to be cross. "Well I guess even kings have feelings."

"So it seems," I muttered biting my lip. "So it seems."

The house had three floors. Upstairs there were four bedrooms well furnished with blankets and pillows. The main-floor consisted of two tables and a circle of chairs. Here the family did business or idly gossiped to the setting sun. The lower-floor contained a pantry and oven for cooking. Pots and pans hung on the walls, and there were shelves stock full of baked goods and pastries. Sure enough country ale and fresh bread lay neatly on a dining table perfectly arranged for supper.

At first the cite filled me with insatiable joy. But then it suddenly dawned on me … It was all too perfect … I gave a hard look at Ruth and tried to catch the slightest glimpse of deceit. But there was nothing but affection and hospitality in her smile. Unconvinced I turned to face her father. The old man was unloading a thick leather bag in the corner. He peeped up and nodded nonchalantly.

"You don't have to worry son," he grunted still struggling with the bundle. "We're no spies. We can tell you're on the run … And believe me … We don't care."

"Papa was a deserter once," Ruth elaborated passing me an entire loaf of bread. "He fought with Robert's army in the great war and with the mad king's host away in the East."

"I had enough of slaughter," Ned sighed placing the leather bag in a nearby drawer. "I had a wife then … Nathan … and a much larger home. I ran away and swore I'd never go back. I never have …"

There was a triumphant sadness in the aged fellow's voice that reminded me of my father. I broke the bread before any of the others and handed him a piece.

"You can stay here as long as you like," he said consuming the morsel. "We are all soldiers here, and every soldier … whoever he might be, needs a home."

"What army did you come from," Ruth chimed in. "You sure don't look like a Lannister."

"Thank goodness," I laughed hardily emptying my plate. "I come from Winterfell in the North. I was one of Robb Stark's men."

"Did you know him well," she urged refilling my glass. "You speak of him as though he was a close friend."

"No man truly knows their king," I tactfully argued. I didn't dare give too much away at once.

"I see," she cunningly purred pursing her lips. "You certainly fell from high places … Nathan. You dine like a gentleman."

"If that's the case you do me more honor than I deserve," I mumbled putting down my knife. I should have known better than to cut my bread up like a lord's son. Old habits still die hard.

"Did the king's wife love him very much?" she pressed leaning back in her seat. "Or was it lust?"

"Ruth," her father interjected. There was a hint of caution in his voice as though he suspected something.

"It's alright," I replied feeling my heart burn within me like coal. "I only met the king on a few occasions. But when I did his wife was always with him. Men in the North do not wed like Lannisters … Even those in power."

"But they say the honorable Ned Stark had a bastard," Ruth huffed lifting her glass. "What of him?"

My brother John would have thrown his knife and fork across the table and tackled the woman. But I kept my calm and hid my rage the best I could.

"Ned stark wasn't a perfect man," I admitted grinding my teeth. "But he was the best man I knew."

"Where did you meet him," the old man politely asked. His question instantly killed the tension.

"The day he met with Robert," I lied feigning certainty. "The day he knew he would be Hand of the King."

"A horrid job," Ruth groaned. "What does anybody see in it?"

"Power," her father darkly reflected. The lines in his face began to deepen so that he looked haunted and haggard.

It was then the truth suddenly dawned on me. The old man couldn't be the woman's father. Papa was merely an affectionate by-name. I had been too occupied with avoiding capture to pay attention to the obvious. Ruth was adopted. She had mentioned that her mother, Elora, had died. But she never talked about her real father. Unwilling to disturb the meal, I let the riddle fall dead. I had a roof over my head and enough food to last a lifetime. Why did I want to risk all that over mere technicalities? We finished supper in peace and resigned our dirty plates to a hot tub of water. I cleaned the table and washed myself downstairs in the corner. Fresh clothes were gathered from Ned's collection, and I retired to bed about midnight. Starlight poured through the window, and I could hear the crickets in the yard. The last thing I saw before sleep took me was Ruth's sweet face staring down at me. She was smiling.

.oOo.

Then hell caught up with me. I was back in the hall, and the first arrow had just hit Talisia. She stood beside my look alike … My double … He peered down at her and attempted to shield her from the fire. But it was too late. A terrible cry rang up from my mother's seat and Greywind was cut down. The floor was drenched red. Smoke choked the air, and it was impossible to breathe. You could hear Walder cackling, laughing hysterically through the haze, his fiendish voice a knell of doom.

"You see what happens to oath-breakers Robb Stark," he called shuffling on his lofty seat. "King in the North indeed … Did you think I was that stupid …"

"Lord Walder," my mother howled at the top of her lungs. "That will be enough!"

A scuffle broke out, and I could catch the glint of a knife. My mother's neck was thrust back, and the warm blood gushed out onto her killer's chest.

"Talisa," I cried scrambling to my feet. But it was useless. The second and third arrows had punctured her side in the fighting. The archer prepared another lethal shot but took his time about it. She looked back at me one last time and shut her eyes. Her hand was on her swollen belly. My outburst of rage and grief went unheard and unnoticed. The final arrow flew through the air and dug deep into my wife's heaving form. A blinding flash of sparks shook the chamber, and there was a loud crack. The doors to the outside were opened, and a few lumbering shadows leapt in. Fresh air filled my lungs, and I turned to the exit. It was then, I heard Lord Walder scream.

"Where is he," he bellowed like a beast. "Where is Rob Stark! Find him! Find him now!"

A sell-sword clad in black lunged to grab me, and I hurled myself through the door. Searing pain coated my body, and I fell tumbling onto a gravel highway. The river lay only a few feet away churning dim water. A party of knights coated in armor raced to seize me. I kicked hard off the blasted earth and leapt into the river's embrace. An arrow whizzed overhead, and I sank to the bottom, burdened by my blade and hauberk. A fire was burning in my throat urging me to give in. Talisa's face peered down at me from above whispering words I could not hear. My ears were clogged, and my heart filled with remorse. My jaw collided with a large moss-covered rock not far from where I was lying. I pressed all my weight against the stone and willed myself to live. In a flood of golden light, I soared out of my nightmare and into the waking world.

Morning had come, and the window was open. I had rolled out of bed, and had clung onto a chair in fear. My fingers still hurt from clasping the damned thing. I got up and shuffled into my shoes with the sun in my eyes. It was far too bright, but better than the dark. Anything but the dark … The back-Door had been flung open and held in place by a beaten old box. It had a brass lid and bore markings too complicated to read with a headache. Something about it troubled me although I didn't understand at the time. All I knew was that I needed to sit and breathe the country air while I still could. Walder wouldn't forget me. I hobbled to the garden and lay on the grass beneath a young birch. It had long branches that resembled arms reaching for the cloudless sky. You could see the cottages in the green lands below and fences on the high places where the forest ate up the good earth. A ring of stones marked a bleak pathway that ran through the hills, and you could see the low mounds where the dead men lay. The sight made me shutter.

"You're afraid Nathan," a cool female voice called from close behind. I turned to find Ruth sitting next to me. "I heard you get up and thought I'd see if you need anything."

"I'm fine," I murmured not looking her directly in the eye. So soon after Talisa …

"I already know you better than that," she warmly hummed tapping me on the shoulder. "Tell me; they won't find you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I grunted shifting away. "I'm not running from anything."

"We're all running from something," she laughed shaking her head knowingly. "That's the nature of living, especially during wartime."

"Who are you," I asked frowning down at my scarred hands.

"You tell me," she softly said shrugging her shoulders. "Who are you, yourself, and homeless?"

"I don't know," I grimaced tasting the dregs of my defeat. "Not anymore … Not since ..."

"You aren't the only one," Ruth calmly argued. But it felt too calm for comfort.

"If I stay here and they find me we'll both die," I snorted clenching my fist.

"Who says they haven't stopped searching," she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "Who says they still care …"

"Maybe," I sighed. "But I doubt it."

"Then you can't help it, can you," she firmly mused. "But don't you want to build something before you go?"

"I once had a home," I admitted feeling my heart churn with memory. "I once even had a wife … I don't want to lose that again … Not because of me."

"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try," she said with confidence.

"The way you talk about it you make it seem like the easiest thing in the world," I tenderly remarked bowing my head.

"Life is best when you love," she tactfully giggled.

"Alright … alright," I grumbled throwing my hands up in mock surrender. "I'll stay …"

"I knew you would," she warmly grunted tugging me to my feet. "Now come … Its time we woke papa."